POOHEAD189

Blackguards!

I'm still here and ready!

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

"Must I continue? It was so hot and bloody, and while I am honored to serve the Emperor, I feel like a visceral story as this could ruin the appetites of my esteemed hosts," I temporized politely, smiling as if I was doing them a reluctant service and not trying to keep myself from getting caught in a lie. Plus if I kept talking, I could not enjoy the delightful sliders they had prepared along with the wine. A magnificent vintage, and I know my wines.

Were were in one of the smaller halls of the palace, having entered through a white and gold porte-cochère. I thought it quite reminiscent of an alternative gothic take of Belle Époque, but I was no expert. I sat near the roaring fireplace, and above the sweeping lip above the yawning pit was an enormous painting of the famous Lament of The Risen, a picturesque image of the Emperor gazing down upon Terra with a face of pity. Deemed risque in some more harsh circles, it was meant to capture his wish for the potential of mankind in a universal reality that might never be. Above us were a half a dozen six lighted chandeliers of hand painted frame accompanied with the sparkle of faceted cut crystal, however they were so high up the room still felt warm and low, as if this was a private affair. In some ways it was, I suppose.

The rotund Baron Buelmarqous had whispered to me all night of the varying illicit instances of haberdashery in the capital whilst Count Adelmar seemed unsure if he wished to duel me or ask me to marry his daughter, who to my great relief was not present. Constable Marshal Hamish, apparently from off-world but a staple in the modern cabinet of ministers, kept grilling me for stories of my family's history and my own experiences of warfare which many gave enthusiastic support for. Unfortunately, for my unyielding vice, Baroness Arsenault of the southern sector seemed particularly interested, who confessed her husband worked too long and left her with little to do except sport a decollete dress of satin at the capital, making eyes at young officers. It was a particular sort of hell, for if I gave in to her considerable charms she could steal more than my honor and give a headache I would lose my position for. The Governess had listened to my stories with an admirable patience, though I could tell something in them interested her and even I was not so arrogant to think it was myself.

The party did not necessarily come to a screeching halt, but I did not need to look up to see someone uninvited had entered. I set my wine down, wondering with my obscene paranoia if it was the MP's having come to gather me, but instead to my delight I saw Corporal Sel there. Admittedly seeing her in dress uniform was much like seeing an Tyranid in an inquisitorial uniform. Certainly something I did not expect. However, I was quite glad to have her rescue me. I was too green on this planet for me to make a character out of myself in front of the rulership, and so I took to my feet despite the calls to sit down and the pleading of lady Arsenault.

"Duty calls, eh?" Baron Buelmarqous remarked with a knowing wink, as if he had ever seen a lick of action or service besides what he pays his expensive whores.

I decided to change the topic rather than give more assurances of my having to leave. Redirection was easier, I found. I glided over to my trusty Corporal and genuflected lightly, indicating Sel to the gathered aristocracy. "May I present Corporal Seldon, whom I spoke about. A hero of the people!"

"Oh, so she is the one that killed the big ork with its own tusk?" The Governess asked, amused. "I imaged she would be taller, but she does appear formidable."

"The Corporal is as loyal and dutiful as any man who serves." I assured them, hoping Sel would say a few words so we could be on our way before I was asked to regale them with another tale of my grandfather's hunting expeditions.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

I admit, I was conflicted.

On the one hand, I joined the guard in no small part because I wished to rise on my own merits, rather than the privilege of my birth. I might be a bit vain on my looks, though I've had enough interest by the fairer sex for it to be considered a relatively safe bet I was handsome. I might be gifted in various other areas as well, a quick study and a skilled blade, but I would rather prove I can be of use to the wider galaxy, rather than merely reap the benefits of my familial luck. On the other hand, however, I had a weakness for attention, and the Colonel had given me this equine had he not? What were they supposed to think? I had, in fact, halted the Ork WAAAGH before it had even begun, along with my platoon. Should I not also milk this opportunity?

As I watched the planetary Governor and her entourage of courtiers and ministers descending the stairs to greet me, I felt a healthy middle ground was the best path at this juncture. I glanced behind me, and to my surprise, the regiment was forming at my wings, as if I were the Colonel. I saw the Colonel's Salamander, but my look was too brief to spot him amongst the officers. An aide took my reins, and I dismounted with one, fluid movement.

"Colonel, you do us great honor by presenting yourself on such a fine beast," a man said. Kayden guessed he was the chief minister judging by his apparel and ornamentation.

"Kalazar, look again," The Governess said. It had to be her. Blonde of hair with an ageless look one recieved from rejuvenat treatment, and a red diadem on her brow. "He does not appear to be the commander." This caused a number of murmurs amongst her entourage, but they knew better than to interrupt. I knew better than to try and outsmart her, and so I decided to give a simple version of the truth that was merely skewed. Around us, the column and the palace guard had taken their positions, ensconcing us in rows upon rows of watching men. "Who greets us instead of the Colonel, as is tradition?"

"I am lord Kayden Caladwarden." I saw their brows raise and visages ease at the pronouncement of my aristocratic blood. "Lieutenant of the 2nd Gendermes and Prince of Abelorn. My Colonel was gracious enough to allow me his place of honor, as I distinguished myself, along with my men, on Kaurava III against an Ork WAAAGH. He knew I had some small skill with a thoroughbred and allowed me to requisition this fine steed in his infinite generosity, boorish though I am. Allow me to say, my lady, I have heard tales of your beauty and they have not done you justice." I then genuflected in a manner only a painting could give justice. Perhaps I was laying it on a bit thick, but to my surprise, I was not met with acceptance or denial, but a laugh. The Governess gave a delightful chortle, and bade I rise before her.

"Very good, my Lord. I look forward to hearing of your exploits. I can forgive this transgression from the flattery alone." She said.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Head still swimming, at least he wasn't actually swimming any longer. Wherever they were, it was dry like a desert. However, what haunted Beren more was how they got here in the first place. The last thing he remembered was swimming to catch up to Jocasta, who's limp form was being pulled into the abyssal depths of the underworld lake. He rubbed his head and groggily asked "What happened?" as the earring drones he gifted to Jocasta lit up like fireflies and twirled around them to illuminate the small chamber. It also basked Jocasta's pretty face in light, showing his looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You were being a numbskull." She said, pushing him, albeit playfully. The woman then squared her shoulders and thrust her chest out in an attempt to mimic Beren, as if she did not already have a considerable chest herself. "Oh I'm Beren, I'm big, handsome, and strong and I'm going to throw myself into danger to save Jo without any backup plan!" Her imitation was not horrible, but she did speak with a clumsier, dimwitted cadence to drive the point home, before she deflated and crossed her arms. " Now, did we learn anything?"

"You think I'm handsome?" He replied, fluttering his lashes.

"Don't be fake with me!" She reprimanded, leaping on him to wrestle. Beren cried out as the two tumbled. It was hard to tell when Jocasta was serious at first, but he knew now she was just worried, trying to play it off as scolding. "Bet those abs aren't even real! Oh, wait no they are. But you still get what I mean!"

"Hey! Me saving you has worked so far! I'm not the one that got sucked down by a water spirit!" He shot back, rolling ontop of her.

"Don't use that wording!" She said, but she was laughing. "I've saved you plenty!"

"You ha-" He was going to assure her, but she sneezed, and there was a puff of smoke that stung his senses for the quickest moment. Somewhere in that instant, he couldn't feel her under him anymore, and when he heard her clearing her throat, he turned to the left to see her bowing theatrically, a cloth in her hand. Beren was speechless for a second, impressed. "How did you do that?"

She lifted the cloth, wrapped it around her rump and grabbed the other end, pulling it back and forth. Beren realized it was the sarong he had given her. "You sure you were raised by dwarves? Every time you find something valuable you give it away." She said with a wink.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Just to you."

Her humor fled, and there was actually a blush on her face. As much as he wanted to pursue further, the enclosed chamber with what probably had limited air was not the place to do it. He got to his feet and wiped sand off his chest and shoulders. Jocasta followed his gaze to the wall, and the the earrings flew closer, lighting up the sandstone to reveal pictogram inscriptions lining the wall. Beren did not recognize him, but Jocasta seemed drawn to it. "Speaking of dwarves, remember when I translated dwarf runes for you? Your turn..."

Roguish Anomaly: A Warhammer 40K RP

Gantz's betrayal and subsequent death was swift, but Neil was nothing if not a trooper. He rallied himself and bounced back like a rubber band, deciding he would dwell on it later. Within a second, he knelt by the ratling with the woman who called herself Rasa. He held Skit's hand as the other crewmen retrieved their weapons. Orm was quick with a gun, and Zail was a weapon all on his own if need be, but it was very likely Rasa still saved his life. Behind him, Orm pulled his gun on the blonde, eyeing her warily. "Who are you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Orm, put the fucking thing down, she's with me." Neil remarked, watching her use a cast-spray from her medipack to seal up Skit's wound after slowing the bleeding with a swab and sutures and injecting him with a small syringe.

"She's with you? Thrones sake, why not say something?" The normally too-caring hunter asked.

"You know me, I like surprises." Neil said offhandedly, sharing a small look with the woman. How the hell she caught up with him, he had no idea. Who the hell she was, was another really good question. He had been curious at the party, now he was fascinated, one might even say inquisitive. Sorry, just a joke for something years down the line. At the moment, Neil was just glad she showed up when she did.

"Am I dying, boss?" Skit asked, pained. Now that the danger was over, he could wallow in self despair.

Neil whispered to the woman. "Is he dying?"

"No," she said.

"No, you're not dying." He remarked louder.

"Feels like I'm dying." He complained.

"Oh, you'll feel alive soon enough." Neil grinned, holding up the jewel for Skit to get a good look at. The others leaned in too, and it warmed Neil's heart to see them all smile. If only Gantz hadn't been a piece of shit, Neil could have shared this moment with him too. Guess Horus was in the place you least suspected. Speaking of which, Neil saw the gorgeous woman stand up, and he rose up with her, looking her up and down. Not salaciously (or not only that), but with interest of another sort. It dawned on him that there might be other heretics down here, or worse, more arbites soon enough. He had to make this quick.

"Hi, Neil Edwards. Rogue Trader." The devilish captain said, holding his hand out to shake. She took a brief moment before taking his hand in hers and shaking officiously.

"Tilda Chastain," She said crisply. "Curator of the administratum, turned quartermaster of the guard, turned freelancer."

Neil gave a smooth, rich whistle. "Multi-talented..."

"I thought he said he knew her?" Orm asked quietly, but Zail elbowed him to be quiet.

The situation would have been completely awkward to anyone else. Neil did not continue for a small collection of seconds, the cogs whirring in his head, and Tilda shifted uneasily. Below them, Skit squirmed uneasily, muttering to himself as if to say 'I'm still here,' but did not speak up. Neil's hand still held the immaculately cut orb, a small beacon that reflected the wan light of the room gloriously. He pocketed the thing as Tilda opened her lips to speak.

"Look I-"

"Hey that's great, anyway, you want a job?" Neil asked.

Tilda blinked, flummoxed. "What?" Her confusion and surprise was different. The Rogue Trader thought it made her even prettier.

"Well I'm in need of a new seneschal since you kinda popped my last one. No hard feelings, had to be done, but all of these guys have a specialized role, can't promote them. They wouldn't want it either. But if you're out of work, why not join up, be my second?" Before she could ask why, Neil held out three fingers from his left hand and marked each with his right hand's index finger for every point he made. "C'mon, we're a lot alike. We're both cute, we both sneak into parties, I bet you're a day drinker..."

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

Graf Todbringer, I regret to say that it might be some time before this correspondence reaches you. I retrieved Lady Eleanor, but we had some trouble on the road. Brass Keep had emptied, and a host of beastmen and northmen, hundreds of thousands strong marched on Middenland to slaughter and rape what they may. The lady and I saw the great army on a hill near Grimmenhagen, and fled south on our horses with all speed. We have arrived in Untergard, and make for Talabheim. Cousin Nadine and her husband have a townhouse there, one we could use even if they are not in the city. Ulric guide you, father. I shall write again when I can.

-Kasimir Reinhardt of Middenheim

---

Emmaline moaned in despair when thunder rolled in the distance, and Kasimir sighed, more at her mewling than the thought of being caught in the rain.

It had not been an easy week. A day's ride to Middenheim, only to be blocked by the legions of hell and its mortal followers, casting a shadow over the province the likes that had not been seen since Ludenval Todbringer, followed by a three days hard and very lean ride south until they managed to reach Grimmenhagen. Halberdiers and crossbowmen had been on high alert, and the two of them had nearly been pierced by quarrels, but it was clear the walled town was fully expecting to be hit within the week, and so the two of them had stooped to paying double price for some food for the road, and then promptly rode south another two days. They had talked very little, save a few short conversations on where they had been and what they had learned in their schooling. Kasimir and Emmaline had even shared a laugh at the expense of a few particularly loathesome professors.

It was to Kasimir's great dismay that he grew to realize they actually had quite a bit in common. Both had more schooling than necessary, both had felt the sting of being used by their parents, and both of them had a particular distaste for authority. She even explained a bit of her magic, and the two of them had discussed what had happened to them since Emmaline's escape from the capital. However, any other attempt to build bridges between them had taken a backseat from the travel, the danger, and the need for quiet when bedding down for the night. That, and Emmaline's complaints day in and day out. The two of them might share some core opinions and experiences, but if Kasimir was a hawk, Emmaline was a plump goose.

Now the two of them plopped along on a wooded path, mere hours away from Untergard, a riverside town where Kasimir planned on taking a ferry to Taalagad, and there they could barter for a ticket into Talabehim. Once they arrived, then Kasimir and Emmaline could decide what exactly they were to do with one another.

"Ranald's cock, are we almost there?" Emmaline asked, dejected. She had taken to riding Kasimir's smaller horse while the bastard had taken the Destrier, and Kasimir saw his stallion eyeing him every now and then as if to ask whether this was a permanent arrangement. "My butt cannot take more of this."

"Just another hour, m'lady. Then you and your sore ass can get a rest." Kasimir remarked, glancing at her. "You know, we could have taken a wagon if you hadn't egged the peddler on."

"It's not my fault his wife got jealous," The blonde assured assured him, but Kasimir was not too certain. True, Emmaline had not tried to seduce the man, but he had seen her use similar tactics to get a free ride from the man, before his wife took out her switch and Kasimir had to save her from receiving multiple welts.

"But it is your fault your ass hurts," Kasimir quipped.

"Takes an ass to know an ass," Emmaline responded, but when she glanced at Kasimir to gauge his reaction, he wasn't looking at her. He was glancing left and right, head tilted to hear better. Before she could ask what was the matter, he held a hand out for her to stop her horse, and she did so, albeit clumsily. They waited there in silence for a few moments, the only sound accompanying them was further thunder from beyond the treeline. It sounded far too close to a monstrous growl. Emmaline cleared her throat quietly. "What is it?"

Her words were interrupted by a whistling, and two barbed arrows pierced the tree just past Kasimir. The destrier whinnied and Kasimir's steed screamed, but the two of them were well trained beasts. Figures burst from the undergrowth, some as tall as a man, while others were no larger than a child of ten. Emmaline screamed at their grotesque features, and even Kasimir's blood ran cold when he saw them. They were mutants; loathesome things that had taken refuge in the woods and congregated together to stay alive. No description could do them justice, and none were the same. Some were covered in scales of chromatic colors as others were covered in rank fur, and a few had pallid, pig-like skin almost like a man. Too-long tongues lolled out of their mouths, and the wide array of teeth covered the entirety of the animal kingdom. One had a cavity at the center of its bare chest that opened and closed like puckered lips.

"Fuck this!" Emmaline cried.

"Ride!" Kasimir ordered her, or more accurately, his horse that she was straddling. Both steeds kicked up and charged forward, but not before a few of the monstrosities had leaped at them. The destrier was trained in war, and even as Kasimir's sword impaled a flying, frog-like humanoid, viscous green fluid running down the blade, the destrier kicked the head off of a reptilian mutant wielding a butcher's cleaver, and they were off. Screamed and cries rose up behind them, and a throwing axe flew past Emmaline's head, disappearing into the trees.

"Did the horde catch up to us!?" Emmaline called to him as they sped up the path, glancing back, clearly referring to the monstrous army dozens of miles to the north.

Kasimir shook his head. "No, they're just a local pain in the ass."

"Oh ha-ha!"

How many RPs do you have at the same time?

De Trop Disgrace: Warhammer Fantasy RP

The orchard would have been lovely under the sun, during springtime where innocent looking boys like Lucian might have played with his friends or kissed his first girl under the trees. Kasimir, though never wanting for food, had never been as lucky as some of the lesser nobleborn for their truer parentage. He had never lived in an estate or had a personal garden, just a room and obligations to prove he was worth keeping. But he had seen numerous ones like this, and with the grey sky and the eerie silence of the dead, he felt he was in Sylvania, not in the heart of Middenland. Their footsteps were loud in his ears, what leaves were on the ground cackled from every step.

"Once we pass the wall to the south, we'll get to the horses a mile down the road." Kasimir whispered, and Emmaline groaned at the thought of walking a mile.

"Worry nat laydee, iv need be I zshall kereh you" Reynard proclaimed, and Kasimir rolled his eyes. He used to think tales of chivalry were inspiring. The thought fled him, though, when he realized something off about the orchard. The apples weren't red or green. They were grey, flakes falling from them. Some of them crumpled to dust before his eyes. Whatever Lucian had done had sucked the life out of them. Even the trees seemed more wilted and gnarled.

"Death seems more preferable." Kasimir said to himself, drawing a curious look from Emmaline. If undeath caused such destruction, twisted the mind so thoroughly, then he would rather go naturally than live forever, he decided. As if on cue, there was a keening wail, first dim and growing steadily louder. It had no source. It was all around them, until Kasimir realized it was screaming one word: Eleanor.

Cadavers burst out of the ground, some with pallid flesh and others naught but bone and grubs. They dug themselves out of the root infested ground, one hand clawing out of the earth between Emmaline's feet. She squealed and clutched Kasimir, kicking at the hand and crying 'getitaway getitaway!' Kasimir pulled her around with one arm and used his other to chop the hand off with a slash of his sword. A dozen corpses were half out of the ground, Reynard worrying three that had already managed to make it to their feet. Kasimir and Emmaline then looked at one another, noticing they clung to the other and promptly untangled, but not before there was a great cry of anguish from behind them. They whirred and saw Lucian standing there, wild eyed and glaring at them in disbelief. He was flanked by two wights in guard uniform, dragging their arming swords on the ground.

"Eleanor..." He said, disbelief on his face. Kasimir did not know if he was jealous or there was something else bothering him, but whatever it was, he was growing more unhinged by the second. Kasimir cut down a zombie that reached for him and clove the head of another. He was confident they could take down these shamblers, but the magic Lucian would unleash would catch them at the flank. Reynard was grabbed from behind by a corpse, and he struggled to rid himself of it before others leaped atop him, dragging him to the ground in a heap of zombies.

Kasimir chopped the head off another one, but he suddenly felt his form was stricken by something he couldn't comprehend. Some force beyond his understanding, and it was horrific. He felt his body, his soul, his every mind withering. His ears rang, his nose filled with the smell of ash, he thought he heard Emmaline screaming, but he was not sure. He tried to move, and to his satisfaction, his arm did begin to arc slowly, but then suddenly he felt every nerve in his body getting picked apart, and he screamed in pain.

However, the next moment he hit the ground like a poleaxed ox, the pressure and the torturous pain immediately subsiding. He even felt his strength returning, and he heard a distant but obviously very loud shout of "FOR ZE LAYDEE!" A figure flew past him, and Lucian went wide eyed when Reynard's crucifix sword clove into the necromancer's collarbone, chopping through meat and marrow. Blood sprayed, and the young man gaped in disbelief yet again, vainly trying to raise his arms to pry the blade out. Reynard started to say something else, perhaps something heroic, but despite Lucian's mortal wound, his spells had not been undone. The shambling guards behind him whipped their swords up with surprising alacrity and stabbed into Reynard. The man wore mail and a protective coat, but the swords were sharp, and armor did not always halt a thrust blade. Both swords penetrated his torso, but did not run him through entirely. Reynard gasped from the pain as both he and Lucian fell back onto the dirt of the orchard, staining the once verdant grass with their lifeblood. Lucian, still trying to grasp the sword, gave another rattled breath, and then died there on the ground of the estate he would have inherited. At once, the wights and zombies fell apart in piles of mottled flesh and bone. Kasimir ran to the fallen knight, and took his head in his to steady him, but after one swift glance, he knew it was too late.

"Iz mon enemee ded?" Reynard coughed, blood seeping from his bottom lip. "An ze laydee sef?"

Kasimir squeezed his hand, nodding. "Yes."

Reynard grinned, and Kasimir could tell he was happier now than he had ever been in their short acquaintance. His every breath a wheeze, Kasimir watched him struggle to continue speaking. But he was losing his grip on reality, and instead he looked up into the sky, and spoke a small sentence in his native tongue, before he, too, died. Kasimir looked at him for a long moment, sighed, and then closed the valiant knight's eyes. "May your gods embrace you, sir Reynard of Montfort." He whispered, and then drew himself up to his feet, turning to Emmaline. "What did he say, if you know?"

"I think he said...If you ever reach Montfort, tell them I fought with honor," she remarked, though the uncertainty in her voice showed it was more an educated guess. Kasimir nodded, cleaned his blade on his cloak, and sheathed it in one, fluid motion.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

Wealth and Warpstorms

"Ah look lek a cop? Moost not be doin' a gud job fettin' en." Alcander mused, raising an eyebrow at the green-haired woman. He gave a cursory glance at Camilla's soon-to-be personal guard, as well as the surroundings. He felt yet again that this was above his paygrade, even before he took the probator position. He had taken it upon himself to wear a jacket, like he often did back on Castobel. In large, artificial environments, it was often just shy of cold. That was usually a good excuse so he could keep his weapons cloaked and at the ready.

He was amused at the pomp, and at the red tinge on Camilla's cheeks from the welcome. Despite being thirty, Alcander felt as if his career was winding down, while lady Del'a'Trantio's own was blossoming. It put him in a somewhat whimsical mood, and he gave the men who stood at attention a nod of his head, before turning back to the master-at-arms. He held out a hand to shake. "Pleaser tae make yer acquain'ence."

"Top o' the marnin' tae ye," Jocasta replied, taking his hand and shaking it, though it was hard to tell if she was having a go at him or just being funny.

"No' bad, but yer tekin' through yer noose." Alcander pointed out. Jocasta wrinkled her nose and tried to look at it, crossing her eyes. Alcander strode past her to take in the immensity of his surroundings, and it wasn't even the main bridge. The hanger itself alone was beyond what he ever thought he might see again, worthy of the upper spires.

"Shoulde we check de cogitater first?" Camilla asked, a trite unsteady, likely from the circumstances. She pursed her lips. "Or we coulde eat zupper?"

"Ye doon' ''ave tae be teh acommodatin' jest kez ahm a guest." He told her. Behind them, Yvraine and one of Camilla's men stepped off the ship, the visored man holding the secured box with all of the varying peices of the servo skull. "Let's check th' cogitator fer the skell, then we can see wat on th' cooker."

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

I cannot promise I shall be able to join, but I'll know in a few days and likely play an Argonian