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NUMBER N1N3

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About NUMBER N1N3

  • Rank
    Roleplay Wizard
  • Birthday 09/12/1991

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Toledo, Ohio
  • Occupation
    Nine iron nemisis

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  1. NUMBER N1N3

    Library Zone OOC

    I'm still interested in this. If you decide to put up another interest post, please tag me, as I'd like to get something together.
  2. NUMBER N1N3

    Our Duty is Eternal

    Vil's thoughts drew a blank for a moment, and he almost choked on his drink after hearing Esteban's plan. A hefty sigh escaped, one of disappointment, followed by a deep breath to regain his composure. Extortion, it seemed, was the goal. Kidnapping, and extortion to be exact. Dumille rubbed the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb, trying not to grind his teeth. Fortunately, Marcus appeared to head a plan to kidnap the child. Villaino wouldn't object in anyway, instead deciding to focus on a way to speed up the process of causing Bloodnight to fold, and perhaps create more leverage. "Very well. I'll let you handle the kidnapping." Dumille insisted, responding to an almost eager Marcus. "I'll begin forming a counter intelligence." Dumille explained. He paused for a moment, looking towards Esteban who was taken in by his ancestory. "I'm going to need you to lay all of your cards on the table. A list of asset's, favored houses, employment records..." Another pause, stating the obvious fact that these such records were only the beginning. Vil was going to need to develop a network, and fast. Even faster, he would need to find a safe place to stow the boy, and a way for everyone to communicate without direct contact. Staying within the seams of reality, and hiding in plain sight were definitely strong skills of his. Another among the unlisted was Dumille's ability to stay one step ahead of the learning curve. His mind worked like a machine, coming to a few realizations almost instantly. "You said that Salvador could partition the crown. If the roles were reversed, could you do the same?" He asked. Only a novice in the art of deception would allow themselves to go tit for tat with another. Instead, they would need to cast the first stone, the second, and continue to strike vigilantly. The situational setup couldn't have been better for them. No one would have any serious reason to believe Salvador Bloodnight if he told them that his son was kidnapped by House Estella-Negra. It would seem like a false acquittal, or at least, an unreasonable one. However, a desperate house attacking former supplier's wasn't unheard of at all. Especially, in the face of bankruptcy. The thrill of the matters at hand suddenly returned, causing Villaino to raise a brow curiously as he awaited Esteban's answer.
  3. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate

    Brave sighed heavily, grunting patiently as he witnessed the events that began to play out. The situation at hand seemed foolish on both accounts. A stubborn old man would risk denying the aid which his people needed because of a blood feud. On the other hand, Illyana would risk her life, and potentially the lives of the caravan workers so that she could avoid harm. In the eyes of a man deserving the name Brave, both seemed like acts of cowardice. Still, with little choice, he prepared once more to lay his life on the line to settle the affairs of others, and in this sense; he was just as foolish. The sun was at it's peak above, directing shadows between the waltzing clouds that careened the horizon. The sweat beaten brows no longer exhausted heat, growing cold as a murmer of debate and doubt filled the form of aspirations everyone had brought this far. Brave could feel the burdened morale of his comrades, fighting his own confliction with... Warmth? No, inspiration. A moment of clarity, insight, and cunning. The elder would accept the supplies, on the condition that Illyana wouldn't set foot in the village. There was no need to meet down the middle, nor compromise Illyana. Taking charge, Brave stepped from his seat and beckoned for everyone's attention. "You heard em folks. Split the caravan and let's get to work! One half around, the other through." He ushered, waving for someone to hold the reigns of his cart. Brave calmed the steeds for a moment, reinforcing his bond with them and assuring that they would co-operate. A few carts trodded onward, passing his, and towards the village. Before pressing on himself, Brave looked towards Illyana and nodded, giving her a few wise words. "Keep your head down. I'll be watching." He mentioned, trying to comfort her as he grabbed his Omi Yuri. He slid the spear sword from beneath the seat, it's shaft covered in beautiful ornate carving which appeared to change colors when the light reflected from it. He slid a cloth over the rather beaten, worn, and clearly seasoned blade as a cart passed, concealing the act as he tossed the weapon into the back and hopped on it's rear, holding tightly as he accompanied the other hired hands into the village.
  4. NUMBER N1N3

    Our Duty is Eternal

    Dumille clenched his right hand as he listened to his hosts explain their situation, curling and uncurling his fingers a few times, rubbing the rings among them in-between his thumb every so often. While still unsure of Esteban's exact reasoning behind putting a profitable benefactor out of business, Dumille could list almost a dozen. The most reasonable in this case seemed to be that, perhaps, House Estella-Negra wanted to fill it's competitors shoes, or more likely in the case of Noble proclivity, put someone more controllable in their place. Factually speaking, and well aware to Esteban; Dumille was sure, someone would always fill the role of 'runner up.' Upon closer inspection of the idea, and to the best of Dumille's understanding, putting another House into that role wasn't their aim at this moment. Had it been so, surely a member of said Nobility would be at this meeting. Unless... "Understood, so what is it we need to do? I assume you want us to threaten the Bloodnight family?" The idea was quickly shook off, it now being apparent that the merchant Marcus wasn't the contender. "What is it you're after? Knowing one's motivation can prevent problems down the line."  After Marcus had asked this question, Villaino raised a stern brow. Fortunately, the old man was neither unreasonable, nor covetous. He was, however, sinister. A trait which gleaned tyrannically through the grin which had surfaced in the corners of his face. "At this point, my boy... I seek.. Knowledge. Until the resources are spent, and an outcome achieved, I cannot speak with certainty. I am familiar with a phrase to describe this policy..." He mentioned, now holding his right hand in front of his face, inspecting the luster of his jewelry. "An.. Eye for an eye??. I believe it's said." Dumille jested, the statement almost immediately causing one to ask themselves what it had meant, and of course, why he only had a single eye to begin with. A brief moment of silence licked the air as he rested his hand back onto the table, ready to get back to business. "Please, continue.." Villaino insisted, showing a lack of desire in knowing what Marcus was after. This reaffirmed his confidence that their goals wouldn't collide, and left even more dispute as to what his own aspects were. The elder was still trying to figure out what Esteban was getting at, or moreso, what ideas he had in mind to protect his own assets during this three month period. Was it black mail, extortion?.. Doubtful. That seemed more fitting for a group of thugs. Dumille was beginning to enjoy himself, assuming he and Esteban were like minded.
  5. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate (OOC)

    Posted, but I kind of winged it. Let me know if I should edit.
  6. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate

    The numbers seemed to thin shortly after departing their first stop, an unsettling feeling, which rippled through the caravan after their head departed. A few feared a scornful Uldwar, following the caravan master as he returned to shore, but hardly enough to slow the pace. It seemed Anouk's injury had taken a toll, reducing the presence of security to everyone's dismay. Brave felt little concern over the fact, being confident that he could best a few countryfolk in combat if needed, but still, he worried less about himself and more of those around him. A good soldier could always follow orders, and at times, stay one step ahead of their captain. A good captain could always follow orders, that is, to think like a soldier. It was apparent to Brave that with lesser man power, Illyana would need to adopt a more subtle approach to avoid conflict. As eminent as ever, she seemed to do just that. Having left the forefront and treading the caravan line towards the center, with stillness afoot and foreboding words of a rebellious group in the area, Illyana had shown Brave all he had needed to know. As a good soldier could then tell, trouble was afoot. The hooded Lady Uldwar nested among the caravan that Brave escorted, unnoticed by most amongst them. She seemed a bit lost in thought, shortly after being taken by the solemn knight. "Have you ever been in Corinth before, in the Capital perhaps?" The question caused Brave to remain silent, her insistance drawing his answers. "Aye. I've been. I was told that I washed up on the shore, barely clinging to my life." He explained autonomously. "They claimed that a miracle worker brought me back from the other side, healed a hole in my heart." Brave revealed, being truthful for some strange reason, as if he had a reason to be open with Illyana. Another moment of silence was broken by his introduction. "They call me.." A sharp pain tore at his chest, twisting deep into his spine and then into his mind. 'Durandal...' The name seemed so familiar, but where had it come from? It forced it's way through his throat, breaching his lips. "Duran.." Another abrupt sentence falling short of completion. Within moments, the caravan was being combed by refugees, drawing his attention. Brave raised a brow, shouting towards the family to check on them. "Is everything okay? Where are you headed?" Brave beckoned, waving them towards the caravan. As they approached, he could see that they were a bit dirty, malnourished, and weary of the troupe, as expected. Brave reached under his seat, grabbing a blanket and a sack of bread, grain, and fruits. As he pulled the supplies out, the blade of his weapon exposed itself and without paying it any mind, he went to meet the family half way, leaving Illyana to hold the reigns. Brave slung the supplies and comforts over his broad shoulders, raising a hand as he approached. "Heil.." He greeted, showing his fealty.
  7. NUMBER N1N3

    Dragon Knights Go! [Eldritch Quest]

    Mah bad. I was at work. Yeah, sounds fine, I'll just take the full ship though, always good to have spare parts. I'll fish up his sheet and post it shortly.
  8. NUMBER N1N3

    Dragon Knights Go! [Eldritch Quest]

    I've already got a character with a dragon inspired airship, oddly enough. It's thought to be a fast ship which can slow itself to charge it's heavy cannon allowing for devastating offense from a range. However, it has a weaker haul. Perhaps we could throw him in the mix in exchange for a few upgrades?
  9. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate (OOC)

    I'll have a post up in about 8-10 hours. Have the first paragraph done already, I'll finish the rest once I'm off of work.
  10. NUMBER N1N3

    Blairville - THE TOWER - Forest and Library zones

    Fine with me, but I'm in no rush either way.
  11. NUMBER N1N3

    Blairville - THE TOWER - Forest and Library zones

    I'd be more than interested in throwing my hat into the ring. I have my eye set specifically on the library zone, as having such a display of knowledge at ones immediate disposal is obviously beneficial. If anyone else is interested, perhaps we could set something up.
  12. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate (OOC)

    Sall good. You can skip me. I'll pop back in afterward.
  13. NUMBER N1N3

    Our Duty is Eternal

    Vladimir smiled contently as Samuel greeted his guests, or perhaps; sinisterly. The elder gave a courteous bow, extending his left arm, his cowl stirring in unison with his torsos contortion. Strife kept his head pointed towards the ground, remaining silent for the moment as the two followed their host. Villaino filed in behind the others, paying no mind to his surroundings, as if eerily familiar with them. Samuel spoke about livining his abode, a thought which provoked a hearty chuckle from the old soul. "I prefer the solace of dark light, but to each their own. Either way, your home is stunning." Vil complimented, ushering Strife to hand his gifts to the arriving servants. The duo, and two others, were led into a dining hall where they were seated and offered a magnificent variety of cuisines. A noble feast indeed, one Vil almost wished that he could enjoy. It was rude to dine before the full presence of the house was present, but with Samuel's insistance, Villaino reached for a jug of wine and filled his chalice. The liquid swathed about dully in the cup, his wrist halting then and again for good measure as he listened to the "entertainment." A song which caused Vladimir to close his eyes, grit his teeth, and almost feel alive again. He could almost hear her speaking to him. His dear, sweet, Morgan. The other guests broke Vil's remembrance, a good thing as it was, as he needed to be focused in the here and now; not in his past. Wulfyl spoke of some sort of exile, or a rather personal affair which hardly held weight in the villain's mind. It wasn't until she began fumbling around that she really caught his attention, and in pity, Vil tapped his pinky against the table, a ring attached clicking thrice. Strife stood from his seat, heading towards the woman to help, paying heed to her pet. The boy finally spoke up, his voice much more deep and stern than anyone could expect. "We need to clean the wounds and apply pressure. I need you to stay calm." Strife warned Wulfyl, but more obviously speaking directly to Sahual. He kept his eyes locked with the beast's, ready to act on a moments notice, holding for a second before reaching his right hand towards Wulfyl's arm. The banter at the table began again, calling for more introductions. Marcus had introduced himself, and it would seem that the slickster Villaino was up next. With his drink aired out, the deviant wet his pallet with a toast. "Indeed." He agreed with Marcus, taking a hefty swig before setting the wine down. With unending nerve, and a certain cunning only found in the mischievous, Vil displayed one of his more professional talents. The sorcerer stood, brushed his coat off, and told a blatant lie. "Damian Dumille. At your service." He roused, bowing before calmly sitting back in his seat.
  14. NUMBER N1N3

    Our Duty is Eternal

    Two weeks prior the current day, unsaid location. The foreboding stillness of the evening air was intimidating for most, almost unbearable; corrupting the minds of those unfortunate enough to wander into the vicinity. The unsaid location was no where in particular, at least, not in a physical sense. No, instead it was a mindset of no general direction, one in search of the vilest of desires. The desire for power, at any cost, with no need for discernment or definition. Unknown to it's denizens, even known to fewer in search of such. Still, from the ominous void of earthly affair, a place between world's, the source of sorcery the likes of which none understood; a single mind reached towards those with true desire. It was from this place, the "Dark well", that Vil Villaino connected with the small percentage of those in need of his talents. A mindless thrall, it would seem, siervo por siempre, without destination this time. It's intent was clear, reach out towards those who could glorify it's masters. A trivial matter in Vil's eyes, but one that could provide him a stronger foothold in this realm. The corpse shuttered violently in privacy, the sort suitable for such deeds. It vomited it's innards into a pile, clawing it's skin in agony afterward. An odd act for such a fiend, but this was only the beginning. Flesh peeled from the bone, a sight most gruesome, and after; silence, interrupted by the snapping of the exposed layers. The remaining body parts fell limp, sliding onto the floor as they revealed the cause of such unpleasantry. An old, decrepit man, emerging from the thrall. Biomancy at it's finest. The man was covered in the clotted dark blood of the sacrifice, resembling his own. His wire beard and long white locks stunk of death, and amidst the horror show, his gnarled smile and right eye almost shined through the blood bath. The vaudeville villain was given life once more, drawn towards those who desired his aid, but at what cost? Flesh birthed flesh, but what would the desire of House Estella-Negra birth? Present day, Izabal countryside. The trip through the countryside was grand. As a man who had traveled world's, and respective countries, Vil Villaino was far from a heathen. It wasn't everyday that the sorcerer was given life, nor a chance to enjoy the finer points of being of this realm. His carriage bobbed and hopped about, it's driver seemingly lost in thought. This wasn't unheard of, as Strife, the young white haired lad who served Villaino, was only the age of sixteen. He was less cultured, and more immature in comparison to War, Death, and Ruin, his elder siblings. While exact copies of each other, Strife was doomed to suffer a fate almost as bad as Ruin. Eternal youth, genetically that is, an endless struggle of confusion and angst which would never develop further. Strife seemed awestruck once the mist broke, revealing the large Manor that would host the two. Villaino smirked coyly, impressed himself if truth's were told. Casa De La Condenados. A truly magnificent sight. Vil's presence grew stronger and stronger, his intent becoming more and more clear to the Lord's whose puppet he had assimilated, that of a pleasent moniker towards their noble house. Still, there was an impending reason to stay without arm's reach between them, and the testing of the water at hand would surely set both parties at ease. The carriage came within earshot, signifying arrival. The old man slid his patch afront his left eye, hiding the empty hole from sight, and began to fit into his surcoat. As these sorts of affairs went, addressing a house of nobles that is, respect was, or should be, a top priority. Vil Villaino had every intention of giving House Estella-Negra the respect they deserved, knowing well the olden ways of such. Without a word, Strife opened the carriage for Vil, who grabbed the lad harshly by his arm. "The gifts my boy. With haste, and remember, keep your head knelt unless spoken to." He warned. Strife tugged free in arrogance, fearing not his master's ire. Still, he was compliant, quickly fetching a few chests. The first smelled of exotic scents, filled with such and fine linens, for a lady. The second was for a Lord, boasting a fine pair of boots, a large apish pelt from Taen, and various arromatic tobacco blends with an impressive pipe. The third was for their child, a sturdy straight sword, engraved with their families crest, a curved bow, and a book on the mystic arts. Fitting for one who would need to be strong to lead, resembling strength, dexterity, and knowledge. Villaino hobbled towards the door, expecting to be greeted, his servant in tow.
  15. NUMBER N1N3

    Extinguishing the Flames of Hate (OOC)

    Ikr. I'm actually enjoying writing about sitting on a cart lol. It's the little things in life that matter sometimes.
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