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Found 14 results

  1. Blairville OOC Only 2 people had shown up for his adventuring clinic. A few factors contributed to this low attendance: he was kind of young for a professor, adventuring as a whole was on a decline as circumstances multiplied avenues by which a person could make a mint without putting their lives at risk, and he wanted to teach at an intermediate level when most people were either new to the field or tired, old hands at it already. Appreciating these facts cerebrally failed to dull the emotional sting. But the pain was short-lived, and quickly replaced by the burning engine of Donovan's uncompromising ambition. He met them at the Pavilion of the Sun, Moon and Seasons; on the table were little sandwiches, empty cups, and a pot of coffee. He had poured himself a cup, minute sips turning into hearty gulps over time, but without any sense of hurry or anxiety, bright yellow eyes on a casual swivel to take in the constantly changing people-scape of the bustling market. And when they arrived, and introductions were exchanged, Professor Cutler dove into it. "This is a 102 clinic, which means no chaperone. You two are going to do it all your own, and I'll either be watching or will rely on feedback from the customer and reports from you two about each other, to determine your final score. "The job belongs to Mone, a wizard with a place in the Tower Quarter. He'll tell you the rest of the job when you get there and tell him you're on the case."
  2. It was a sunny day in Blairville when the Shields of Valor arrived. They had heard about the problems facing it, and believed it would be a good place for finding glory and rewards. A dozen or so people made their way in, each one with the distinctive sigil of their group, with Phillip Komar at the front. Their first stop was the local guardhouse, to obtain information and learn what might need to be done in order to help. After learning about a ring of kidnappers plaguing the streets, the Shields decided to make that their first mission, and arrived at a local tavern, The Magic Man, to figure out how to stop these deviant criminals. @Waking_Warrior
  3. It was a brisk morning, the sun had just began to come up. Rays of sunlight were slowly peaking up from the horizon to bring life unto the city. There was a light gust that brought in a fairly cold wind, winter would be on it's way soon enough. Some flocks of birds could be seen already making their trip to warmer pastures. Few townsfolk were lining the streets, getting ready for a busy weekend. Just on the edge of town, a merchant vessel, loaded down with building supplies, was pulling into the stables. A large hairy ox was pulling the cart, all by its lonesome. At the reigns was a merchant, Lexicus Thoren to be precise, with his short blonde hair beginning to shine as the sun had struck him. It was the day of progress for him. Flyers had been distributed to the local recruiting hubs and job postings for an armed escort job with business opportunities from a start up company that supposedly was a big business. It was time to meet up with whomever was going to show for the position. Considering how the first job posting had started, there wasn't high hopes. It took some time to remove the harness and unhitch the large ox creature from it spot on the cart, grab a satchel of trade bars and a bag full of documents, pay for the spot in the stables, and pay a bit extra trade bars to add security to the cart's contents, not really that it was needed but it kept questions from arising. Lexicus, donning his regular light plate, was starting to shine some as the sun was reflecting off his armor. The walk to the recruiting site was not going to take too long but he wanted to make sure he beat the rush of folk flocking to the streets. That and being punctual was his preferred style. Lexicus had informed the recruiting hubs to direct anyone that was interested to a local tavern so that way the merchant could get to know the folk he would be working with more intimately and in an open and very informal setting. After all, Lexicus was looking for potential long term employees as well as bodyguards and mercs to work with. All anyone had to go on was his name and a brief description of what he looked like. After a good short 'hike' around the town, Lexicus had came to the tavern, had ordered a large table for business meeting, paid up for the inconvenience of having to set up such a table, and had paid for the tavern's time for hosting an event. It would be a little expense that would be paid back after he would finally get set up in his location for the site. For now, Lexicus ordered a light drink of non-alcoholic house special, in this case being a cold mug of some kind of pint, smooth enough, but not very strong in alcohol. It was close enough. The blonde haired merchant took the time to sit back, take a breather, and compose his sales pitch to anyone that was coming to the business opportunity. It was his hope that he'd get a few bites and could have enough people to not have to call in off world talent to get started. Though, he'd already called for a meeting with his other talents, just in case things went sideways at this meeting. It was still fairly early in the morning to really make a call. Lexicus put a lot of hope into this job, he was hoping it would pay off, for now he waited for anyone to answer the posting he set.
  4. Madam Rosalia NPC It had been five years since their divorce, and not much had happened to make her regret her decision. Well, it wasn't as if they were officially divorced. After all, he hadn't even turned up to sign the papers. Legally, he wasn't even alive. His citizen's folder stated that he had been dead for 10 years and that she, Madam Rosalia, was a widow. What an absolute joke. Few knew of him, the Gypsy Market Mob Boss, her ex-husband. He applied a great deal of practical intellect to what many would consider a brutefully forceful career. Collecting tabs from the various Gypsy Market stall owners for "protection" and dealing with those who refused to comply with great severity were just a few of the activities that governed his daily life. But ever since he had risen to the absolute top of the mob hierarchy, he never had to do the job himself ever again. She for a time, was the only person who knew where he hid. But ever since their separation, he had changed hideouts multiple times to throw off assassins and jealous rivals. And most frustratingly, the law ignored him. Not because they didn't want to catch him, but because they simply couldn't hold a trial against a dead man. A deal made with a corrupt politician years prior had paid off immensely in his favour. So the Gypsy Market Mob Boss continued in his reign over the market, and in recent months, he had been getting more and more aggressive in his demands. The Gypsy Market was losing business because its stall owners couldn't make a cent with the ridiculous fees that he imposed on them. People no longer felt that the market was safe and the crowds were starting to avoid it like the plague. Perhaps it was time someone confirmed his death certificate. Rosalia hadn't picked up a weapon in years. For the past half a decade, she had lived as a simple barmaid, constantly switching between employers so as to maintain a low profile and to never remain in the same place for too long. Few knew of the immense fortune she possessed from her years a mobster. The few that were aware were affiliated with her ex-husband and sought to reclaim her wealth. She was sick of hiding. "And that is why I've brought you here today. In my prime, I would've tracked him down and did it myself," she lifted a bag of silver coins and put them on the table, addressing the individual that now stood before her. "There are others who have responded to the call. Meet back here tomorrow at seven in the morning sharp. The others will be waiting for you. Bring me evidence that he's dead, and I'll reward you all handsomely." @danzilla3 @Thotification
  5. Jute Bound Book Characters - Asura Tags - @Panda Kid Location - Blairville, Book/Ends Background Music (If you so choose) - Link There she sat, a table by the window. Her face buried in a book, enjoying the rare peace and quiet that came with her job. Being a scientist for the Illyrian Scientific Division, she really left the city. But when she did it was always a non-stop battle, usually requiring a few stitches here and there afterwards. It was one of the rare times in which she could relax and unwind in a foreign city, away from the lab and endless experiments. The jute bound book that lay in her hands was old, far older than Asura. It contained notes of rare sightings and myths of the beasts that roam Terrenus, a current passion of hers. She almost completely forgot about the world around herself.
  6. ► Blairville was cold. Tommy was underdressed. She was wearing a rain jacket, because she didn't have anything else to wear. It didn't help that the winds here were strong enough to hurl a kid (much like herself) into the river. Every now and then she'd catch the gentle drifts of wind like an icy soul caressing her skin, but most of the time, it was the WHOOSH and the FHOOOOOOO—and—Tommy got a cold, Tommy has been sniffling and sneezing for the whole duration she's been waiting here. A pair of drunkards hobbled their way behind her. Luckily, they were too intoxicated to notice Tommy, nor were they able to utilize their locomotive functions considering the fact that one of them tripped, the other tried to pick him up, but he ended up sitting down and then laid down. They complained to each other in incoherent speech about wanting to pee and not wanting to pee over there, goddamnit Joey, that's not a fucking water hydrant, that's a mailbox, Tommy, on the other hand, didn't seem to be at all bothered. She kept standing there in the cold, cold dark, along with the occasional blinks of pink logo light that flashed across her. The logo—if you could make it out—says 'The Wet Dog', and it belonged to an abandoned diner whose windows have been heavily boarded down with rusty nails and dead wood. Much like everything else in this part of the neighbourhood, it looked sketchy as hell. As far as she can tell, the light from the diner is the only light you can see from a distance away. She took out her wrist and looked at her watch. It was one of those kiddie watches where you had to slap them real hard on your wrist to wear them. Her eyes squinted from the constant flickering of pink light and the sudden disppearance of said pink light. It read 1AM. 1AM, and she's standing around in the slums. All alone. That, right there, wildly screams mug me. And Tommy is aware, Tommy is well aware of that. It's nighttime in Blairville: not a very good time for a teenager, let alone a girl, to be wandering around in a city where magical criminal activity spiked. She almost got convinced into smoking a new drug on the way here: Mydixadril, the locals called it. Scary how they almost convinced her, even more scary were the supposed side effects. Tommy shivered. But to be fair, Tommy had balls (no, not those), and she's not gonna pussy out because a bunch of evil evil wizards are out to sprinkle glitter in her eyes and take off with, like, her wallet. Which she doesn't have. Because she lost her wallet, and she figured that it'd magically come back to her in a twist of good fortune. Anyway, the matter at hand right now was way more important than her money. This interview could mean everything. Mercenary work was her only source of income nowadays. She even took a shower, bought some new clothes: the things she didn't know she was capable of doing! Tommy blew a raspberry, it faded into a cloud of white air. She started hopping and up down to shake off some anxiety. "Okay, okay," hopping up and down, "be cool, be cool," Just be cool. Say hey. Saying hi's lame, don't say hi. Just be cool. Tommy made her way up the broken stairs and almost got tetanus. Her eyes settled on the symbol on the door, the dust settling inside the etchings of wood. It looked exactly like the one she saw in her paper. A sword bisecting a scale. @Praetorian @supernal
  7. Richter König, Amelia Beaumont and Koltira Amakiir all sat around a table in Tavern in the City of Blairville. This was their first job since they managed to get the Justicar airworthy after her battle with the Rattail Corsair's back in Genesaris. They had left the ship in the capable hand of her crew but the Big Three, as they were called on the Justicar, knew they needed to make money and fast. Most of their Coffers went to repairing their Ship. Leaving many men without pay. Many of the Crewmen understood the situation and happily waited on their next check. Still nevertheless Captain Richter König would not stand idle while his crew went lacking. When he heard there was trouble brewing in Blairville he saw opportunity. They moored the Airship several miles out from the City and the trio walked their way into town. They sourced the closest tavern and began getting the lay of the land and the current societal climate. They were coming blind, without any real intel, or knowledge what in the Creator's green earth was going on between the citizens and the Gypsies. It probably wasn't helping them given they primarily worked in Genesaris but kept their feelers out all across the World of Valucre. Still the Rune Mage, Red Mage and Shield Knight wouldn't be phased though. If they could fight a dragon survive, Wreck the Justicar in a Daring Single Ship raid on a Sky Corsair's Nest and bring her back from the Ship graveyard. How tough could settling a Civil dispute between Commoners and Gypsies could be? Koltira glanced around the Tavern in a slightly paranoid fashion. As a former spy and the current spy master of the Justicar, he had to be slightly paranoid. He muttered under his breath to the Captain "With all due respect Captain. I don't agree with all three of us coming down to do this job. While I don't doubt our abilities as mages and Warriors. I do worry about us putting the remaining command Staff of the Justicar in danger's path." Richter smiled softly at his old friend as he said "You fret too much Koltira. We will be fine. Between your Sword, Amelia's Shield, and My Magic. We will be able to overcome this job with ease and panache." Koltira rolled his eyes as he said "It's my job to fret Captain. And where is Amelia anyways?" Richter took a sip of water from his flagon as he said "Probably out among the people working her 'Feminine wiles' to get us information on this Gypsy situation." Koltira sighed as he shook his head. The only problem when three nigh immortal people live together is the inevitable drama between one another. Especially since the Captain and Amelia would frequently share the same bunk with one another. Leaving Koltira to become the unfortunate punching bag for the two when they quibbled. It seems the couple had undertook this job whilst bickering. Not the wisest of choices in the Red Mage's humble opinion but he was merely the Spymaster. What would he know? Still it was good that the Couple could put aside whatever misunderstanding they were having for the Well Being of the Justicar...truly this was their family now.
  8. one. It is perhaps a testament to her upbringing that Míra does not cry, when the news comes. She spends the first few seconds after on the floor, however: staring into nothingness, blinking and blinking and not-crying, and it’s all still very much a process of mourning because there has indeed been a loss—a loss so tangible, so weighty that she feels it sticking to the walls of her ribcage when she breathes in too deep. The wine spilled onto the tiles—red on marble white—seeps into her silk frocks, staining and chilling her skin underneath. She does not move away from the encroaching puddle, focused on the inside instead, on the parts that are flayed-out and depthless and drenched, poised to snap and break. Grief hurts, presses in on everything like a newly-minted bruise, and the idea makes itself known in the distant part of her mind: everything is about to change. After: she accepts the crown of thorns, takes up the mantle of dark wings and a name that does not belong to her in the first place. She transforms the worn-down business of her family and acquires new ones, and she does not, for one second, stop and look back. Now: she begins the task of spooling her thoughts away from the death of her parents, presses her fingers into the crimson pool at her knees, and allows herself to be vulnerable, open and bleeding on the floor, just for a little while.
  9. Character in use - Chinafel Summon - Shaka Tags - @Djinn&Juice Location - Blairville Background Ambiance (If you so choose) Quests - To Make A Guardian The Market Place was bustling, herds of people drift around. Sellers and traders yell from behind their stalls, just barely audible over the talking of the ever growing crowds. The occasional guard walks by, keeping people in line. The day was brights and cheerful, with only a few clouds daring to ruin the otherwise clear sky. The city of Blairville was alive and well, its free market teeming with life. To anyone who lived here, the market area was a well know and frequently visited area. But only a handful of people truly knew of the wonders of the Gypsy Market, a small Bazar that catered to those living the life of a mage. At every stall lay magical trinkets or ingredients, their uses only limited to the buyers imagination. This is where Chinafel frequently visited to buy and sell his goods, the alleys and stalls he knew all to well. 'Hmm, a good day so far.' Chinafels store sat at the outer ring of the market place, an area usually reserved for temporary stalls. The badgerfolk sat behind a sheet of canvas, his goods lay sprawled out on top. His companion Shaka sat on top of his bag, guarding his possessions from potential thieves. He was selling a variety of charms, amulets, trinkets as well as some carved wooden utility golems. The small wooden helpers were popular with many users, as a trust worthy source of help around the house. He'd just returned from a contracted trip and was looking to unload his goods. A hooded figured approached Chinafel, his presence giving an untrustworthy aura. "Did you make it?" His voice deep and slow, with no emotion to his words. "Yes yes, I made it. I'm not someone to go back on his words you know." Chinafel handed over a small green egg, its shell covered in black paint. It sat in a wooden cage, which the hooded figure hid beneath his cloak. "Thank you, I'll also be taking my usual order." His reaction monotone as before. "Of course, I've got it right here. You know, I'd like to see you smile one day." Chinafel handed him a bag of assorted goods, which the hooded figure slugged over his shoulder before handing him a coin purse of considerable size. The man parted ways without a word, leaving Chinafel to himself. He sat stroking his beard, waiting for his next customer.
  10. A man adorned all in black, with a brown hood over his face that whipped in the chill, walked across farm and prairie land north of Blairville. To his one side, the sloping giants of the mountains; to the other, a desert. Behind him was the city, his people, two separate entities. The five had eaten in town before leaving restocking on food and water. Having spent everything but potential funds for lodging on their way down from the mountain, the operatives were optimally prepared to climb a mountain this crisp fall. After all, this frozen foot of the mountain was the last path rumored to lead to the artifact. A wizened Cain had opted not to buy any wine until after the lantern was found; believing after many a merciless experience that nothing was a romp in the park until you lived to tell it like it was. He still longed to be drunk, though. His sense of smell was damped by the desire and the cold. A bearskin mask and gloves staved off the cold, but their primary function was to conceal the likeness of Tia’s old regent. “Just look at it,” said his muffled voice. The yawn of his hood stared out on the rolling hills rising into Blaurg Mountain. Descending from the mountain’s peaks shrouded in black was a cascading energy that created evil dissonance with the city behind them. Thunder and lightning and freezing rain distributed down to the valleys so that, even in the early afternoon it appeared to be nighttime. Near the deepest scoop of the valley, a quarter mile up the dirt road, was a village. Looking down from the other side of the valley, Cain could see that rain besieged it and there was little to no traffic. “We start there,” he said. @Rin @Aleksei @danzilla3 @-Lilium-
  11. Character in use - Chinafel Summon - Shaka Background Ambiance (If you so choose) Previous Chapter - Link Next Chapter - Link (First part only) Chapter 2 - Blairville, Terrenus After several boat trips and a week of walking, Chinafel finally reached Blairville. His contract had taken him on a lengthy journey, and he was thankful that the rest was in the comfort of a city. The day was bright, and the market place blooming with happy faces. Walking into a town and being greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread was a blissful feeling to anyone. Despite only returning, Chinafel jumped straight into work. He'd managed to collect over half the ingredients on his list, the rest were items far outside of his capabilities of collecting by hand. These were specialist ingredients, only collected by the specialists. There were very few areas that these items could be collected, one area was the gypsies market. A bazar that stocks a plethora of magical items, perfect for the elder badgerfolk. "Good to be back, always good to be back." The old timer cheerfully said, walking through the red drapes of the bazar. This market felt like a second home to him, he knew every stall and could chat to each shop keep. The bazar was home to the strange, almost acted like a magnet. There was one stall in particular which Chinafel was fond of, the Grey Hunter Stall. It was a owned by a very talented hunter, as well as a good friend. He wasn't a big name, he preferred to keep to himself. The stall was long and well decorated, twice the size of any other. An example of what happens to veterans of the bazar, it was his throne. Decorated with metal chains and shield, each with their own emblem to represent a beast slain in battle. The sound of metal of metal could be heard from the back. "Actaeon? You got my order yet you old bastard?" He smashed his hand on the table, trying to get the attention of the stall keeper. The hammering stopped and a few second passed before a short beer bellied man slowly waddled his way to the front, planting his enormous sword on the counter. "You got a better attitude yet you glorified rat? Get fucking moving before I turn ya into a tunic!" A minute of silence passed before the two burst into laughter. The grand hunter was a frequent stop for Chinafel, his wares and goods are a staple in the charm makers products. The hunter was a specialist on larger game, aided by his two apprentices made him a formidable foe. "Yep, right here. Weren't easy, but we always get it done." He dropped a large pouch onto the counter, its contents creating a hefty thud as it dropped. Chinafel opened he pouch, revealing black ash reeking of sulfur. "You've been ordering a lot of draconic related stuff lately, making yourself a dragon?" "As if these old bones could tame that! Nah, a special order. It was a hard ask, but worth the gold. Where are your boys?" Chinafel put the contents in his backpack and place a pouch of gold coins on the counter top. "On lunch, probably getting themselves a drink down at the tavern." He picked up the coin purse, shacking the contents by his ear. "Good, give'em my best. I'll be see you around old timer, I've gotta little more shopping to do" He slowly walked away, giving the shop keep a brief wave. "Who ya calling old ya grey possum!? Go get yourself a new purse! Haha!" With a chuckle, Actaeon went back to his work. The hammering slowly fading as Chinafel got further away. The rest of the day was spent searching for the remaining ingredients. Despite the abundance of goods, hunting down specifics could be a challenge. Not to mention the hundreds of distractions round every corner, it was a procrastinators paradise. After visiting several herb stalls and treasure hunters, he finally completed the list. He was on the home straight, he just needed to put it all together and contact his client. 'Oh god, please let this quest end already!' ~Elemental stones ~Draconic Scale ~Korenia Root ~Copper Ore ~Manamoss ~Lavaweed ~Creeping Charlies ~Photas ~Membrane ~Dragon Ash
  12. Constans had hitched a ride with some Dougton merchants on the way to Blairville. “-and so then he says ‘fine! we’ll just put it back in the cow!’” Constans finished, pantomiming the act of gripping something tight in his hand and thrusting that hand into something unpleasant. The merchants howled with laughter. One even fell off the wagon on the left, which made everyone laugh even harder. Bigby, who was sitting beside Constans at the front of their carriage, was doubled over. Constans politely rubbed the man’s back as he looked from person to person, enjoying the mirth he made. The night air was so rich you could almost taste it. It was tinged orange, colored by the rays of setting sunlight crossing through the lazy haze of pipe-smoke he and the fellows produced. Tonight, the stories came out easy and the pace was slow, an ideal night as far as Constans was concerned. He was enjoying being out in the world, away from Coth and among folk who had no idea who he was. He’d named himself “Conner” on the travel manifest, but on account of his green eyes they all called him “Cothite”, which of course he was. Constans was proud to see that “Cothite” had become a term of endearment for the people of Terrenus; a name for free folk, for brave folk who eschewed the easy life. And if people from the cities were somewhat ambivalent about the Cothite god, well, that was to be expected. One day god would be more to them than some distant religious icon from a small town. In time, Constans told himself, in time. For now, he was happy to see that Coth had entered the public mind as a beacon of freedom in a land of lawlessness and danger. He was just as happy to see trade resuming on the roads between cities. It meant that people were starting to feel safe again, in no small part because Cothites like himself were out in the world making it so. “So Cothite,” Bigby said later, when everyone had caught their breath, “What is bringing you to Blairville? Has your fire god sent you?” This question was met with a few grunts of disapproval from the other travelers. It wasn’t in good form to pry too deep into other men’s business. Constans encouraged them to pardon Bigby with a genial wave of his hand, “I’m an elf-friend,” he began, “and a lady Ioreth, an elf, has been encouraging me to visit Blairville for some time-“ he began, but was interrupted as three of the men began talking all at once. “Is it true there are more elves in Coth than men?” One shouted over the others. Constans shook his head, ”No but there are many.” He admitted, “God alone knows why. Anyways, so this lady says I’ve been spending too much time at home, and that I ought to see more of the world. Coth is such a paradise it’s sometimes hard to find a reason to leave, but she was right.” “Aye, the fair folk always are.” Bigby intoned beside him. ”They are,” Constans agreed, “so I’ve come to see if Blairville is a good and just place, I suppose. I’ve promised my kin I’d tell them of it. Some have never seen it. Some have, but haven’t been back since before the war.” This answer satisfied his fellow travelers, and it had the added benefit of being mostly true. “Things are different now, I’d say.” Another traveler said from the carriage on the right, “All the same old problems, but worse then ever before. The damn mages-“ That line of conversation elicited a slurry of opinions all shouted over each other at once. Constans gave an apologetic look to Bigby, who shook his head as the men around them began to jostle for the group’s attention. As always, one voice finally broke out, a grey beard’s to their left: “My sister is a witch and I say there’s no good reason for putting her on a list, she’s never hurt nobody!” “But she could! And who would know?” Another shouted ”Ah, what’s a damn list of wizards going to do to protect anyone anyway?!” “It’ll hold people accountable! Show them sorcerous folk we’re watching them!” “A politician’s trick! You know it won’t do nothing!” Constans felt his eyes bouncing between speakers as he watched in silence, they continued, “What’s any wizard done to you makes you want to put them on a damn list, huh?” ”My ma told me a wizard turned my uncle Rebo into a weasel once!” It was quite possibly true, and a sobering enough thought that the group quieted for a moment to think on it. Every man there knew they would find it funny to turn one of their friends or enemies into a weasel, but at the same time knew that they themselves never wanted it to happen to them. That was the crux of the problem, as far as Constans’ investigations into the matter had discovered. In Blairville, the people were clamoring for accountability from the city’s many mages. Yet at the same time, most people understood that accountability had a nasty habit of transforming into tyranny. That was all well and good, but as far as Constans was concerned, tyranny was already well present and accounted for in city life. Yet Ioreth had challenged him to prove it. She had a soft spot for Blairville, he knew, and she was ever the skeptic even while she helped shape Coth’s dogmatic idealogies. Constans felt that if he could convince her, he could convince anyone. So here he was, going to collect the evidence his arguement would need. “Putting people on a list for maybe being dangerous is foolish.” Bigby finally said, “How many men carry swords in Blairville? No one puts them on a list and they’re plenty dangerous.” ”If I may,” Constans interjected, “a sword is a danger I can see. The man carries it on his hip. Even a secret dagger has to touch me to hurt me. Magic can kill me from miles away, or plague my dreams or do awful things I can’t even imagine. I like magic personally, but I bet no one here could tell me how it’s done, or what anyone could do to stop it if it’s thrown at you.” There was a general agreement to this, and another voice rose: “Listen to the Cothite, Big. Magic is no sword! And frankly I think the only people who ought to have it are priests. At least with a priest Gaia— or whatever god,” he added quickly, nodding to Constans, “can make sure they don’t abuse it. Who does a wizard answer to? Eh? No one! Well, should that be? I say no! And you would too if anyone ever turned your uncle into a weasel!” Others began to talk, and Constans leaned back in his seat, contemplating. Bigby beside him did the same, taking long draws from his pipe. As the light waned and the moon rose, they looked to the horizon and spotted something in the distance at the same time. “What’s that?” Constans said of the huge shape as it came into view. ”Our destination. Troubled Blairville.” Bigby answered mournfully. Indeed it was. That huge shape turned out to be walls, and the little points above were towers, wizard towers mostly. “Well, here I am then.” Constans whispered to himself, “Let’s get the measure of this place once and for all, Ioreth.” @Minuet of the Nightingale
  13. Fatal Seduction: Scene 2. There was something special about tonight--although, Ryker couldn’t necessarily put his finger on it. Fatal Seduction was busy, per usual, men from all over Blairville flocked with cash in hand. It seemed like a typical night, other than the fact that Ryker had been spending an unusual amount of time at the establishment, which had a majority of his staff on edge. All of the women on call showed up on time and even went out of their way to greet him. That’s when he knew something was off, or maybe it was just another case of brown-nosing. Whatever the case may have been, Ryker was just as much on edge as they were, their behavior only egged him on. He was even sober, or at least looked as if he had been. Perhaps that was the key--Ryker hadn’t indulged in his vice for the greater part of the evening and he didn’t have his head on straight. “Inform me upon her arrival.” -- “Will do, boss.” With that, he excused himself from the floor and made his way back into his office to powder his nose. Ryker was dressed to impress tonight, sporting a slim fitting tailored suit, black on black, adorned with a crimson tie. Concealed within his suit jacket was a holster containing a semi-automatic 9mm handgun, chambered and loaded with hollow points. Which was unlike him; normally he trusted and relied on his security detail to handle any situation that arose, but there was no such thing as being too safe. Taking a seat behind his desk, someone on staff was kind enough to arrange his paraphernalia, which made him smile. Taking hold of a nearby razor blade, Ryker began chopping at a rather large pile, from there he sifted through some of it to form a straight line and indulged with a satisfied sigh. “Any minute now.” @Sigil Warden
  14. Ryker was an entrepreneur; unlike a majority of those who shared his line of work, he invested a majority of his income in other lucrative markets. Most of which consisted of small businesses. Doing so allowed him to avoid the peering eyes of the man, via laundering his illegal profits through “legitimate” assets. All of which was carefully and thoroughly documented. Occasionally he carelessly threw his money around, whether that was on luxurious accessories, exotic vehicles, or out of spite. Tonight was one of those occasions. Ryker had finally taken a vacation, entrusting one of his many goons to oversee production and distribution of his enterprise, for the time being, only to give another his undivided attention. This venture dealt in another vice of his--women. “Fatal Seduction” is what the sign read, vibrantly glowing just above the main entrance, with an enormous man stationed just in front of it. This one didn’t sport a formal lanyard like the rest of Ryker’s law-abiding employees. Instead, a polo shirt, khakis and dress shoes adorned his appearance. He also sported a pair of sunglasses, albeit pointless at the time of day this particular establishment bustled, they did prove to be somewhat intimidating. Which were reflective and aviator in design. Several more men just like him also kept a watchful eye inside. Upon entry, the layout of the building was exactly what one would come to expect a Gentleman’s Club to resemble. Multiple stages spread throughout, a decently sized bar, multiple booth styled tables, and of course a DJ podium equipped with a microphone. Every two the three songs, the women on stage would rotate and the DJ would announce the new dancers and what stage they would be at. Desperate men of all shapes and sizes threw their money at them, some more so hesitantly, while the more experienced patron cleverly placed folded bills on themselves and stacked their singles atop one another only to be swept greedily onto the stage by the entertainers. At this very moment, Ryker was going over an application for employment he had just received, ensuring everything applicable was properly filled out. If everything checked out, the candidate would undergo an interview, which consisted of a demonstration of their skill set and of course a brief questionnaire on why they would be a good addition to the team. “What’s your stage name?” A name had to catchy. It had to have a certain ring to it. If it didn’t catch his attention, why would it catch the attention of his customers?
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