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  1. Ouroboros had existed in Blairville for only a year, and yet it gained quite a reputation for it's business practices; Marketing as a source of every sinful distraction one could ask for and headed by an Illustrious succubus known as Calypso. Calypso and Gilandriel both owning Ouroboros and seeing to it's many functions, but the demoness was far more starstruck than her reclusive partner and gladly became the face of the company. The bar itself possessing a wide array of drinks and mixes from all over the world, and even having it's own curious flair.The double door entrance manned by a bodyguard lead into a strobing hall of blues and purples opened up into a vast open space where patrons sat at various tables, and even danced to the music that emanated from seemingly everywhere. A stage visible nearly twenty ahead with dozens of patrons eagerly awaiting for the next performance to start, whatever was going on was soon to start. A bar having the most patrons crowding around it to the farthest right, A well dressed bartender weaving magic through the air and infusing the alcohol with luminescent lights before giving them to thirsting patrons. An orange tinged drink being presented to an awestruck woman . his gold skin making his magenta gaze more prominent through the locks of periwinkle hair. The sound of sudden cheers catching attention as many started to crowd around the stage placed directly in the center of the main floor; The entire bar now focusing their attention around a woman in a jeweled dress. Her hair long and sparkling gold, and matched her eyes as the room filled with the music of her voice as she started a performance without introduction. Her voice being backed by an unseen melody of electronica that vibrated the air and had many already jumping and down in place as her falsetto skyrocketed into a nonearly thirte the music seemed to twirl around as the note held and was carried off into the melody itself as she continued to sing once more. This club taking it's music quite seriously and making it a performance and something one can thoroughly enjoy dancing to. Tears beginning to christen her face in an unexpected drive of emotion as the music continued to boom throughout the bar. Calypso herself watching from a distant stool, A most evocative woman with eyes of sultry hot pink. A lackadaisical smile touching her perfect lips. the air around her crackling against skin as though this woman possessed an intoxicating aura. She possessed snake earrings that looped through her elven ears a few times before the sapphire eyed heads perched at the pointed tips. Her hair an ocean of silver and gold locks that flowed down her exposed back and hung off the stool. her dress enrapturing her physique in a tightly woven pendulum of anticipation that dared to come lose and expose them to a wave of emotions they hadn't expected to combat today Calypso intrigued to see the new performances her stars were putting on tonight. They were indeed giving their best as tonight was the night she had a meeting with Ina over a potential music interest. It seemed a band was being started and they wanted to use her stage to reveal it. She was all too happy to add more performances and if it increased her reputation all the better. Gold Dust's performance ending with a gallivant of cheers as she curtsied and blew out a few kisses to the front row before vanishing behind the curtain. The succubus finding this performer to be her greatest asset, and certainly made her the hottest underneath her collar. The atmosphere seemed to change once more; The man on stage seeming to be more than a stage act. He breathed the very life into the stage itself as he moved from the high energy he had been belting out to something more close to home as he took hold of the mic and announced that he would be playing something near and dear to his heart; A song from his hometown. Sevra groaning from her position guarding the office and slumped into her chair; the lack of bass these songs lacked did not vibe with the DJ, but even she couldn't deny the awe his performances always emanated. ]The music becoming high in energy, but possessing an alluring tune that many still grooved to as the musician took the stage once more and filled the bar with his dulcet tones. The lyrics could almost be felt internally as his voice drew forth a glamour that showed the reason why he was Calypso' Main Act. An incubus who infused all his power into the skills of a bard, twisting the archaic class on it's head. Any gender hard pressed to conceal the adoration that was being pulled from them as he rocked the house the best way he knew how. @Shatter @-Lilium-
  2. I did a little turn in front of the full-length mirror in my inn room, unable to suppress a grimace. Was this outfit good enough? Was it even in style? It had been so long since I'd been on a date, I wasn't even sure if they were still called "dates" anymore. I'd decided, tentatively, to keep my Melissande Le'Blanc outfit; I was going to have to get used to it as my "primary" form if I was going to become an infamous pirate captain. Wouldn't do for the captain to go around changing genders and species between every port of call. Eyebrows would be raised. Questions would be asked. There would be talk. Nothing was worse than unspecified talk. Well, other than decapitation, I suppose. Decapitation always sucks. It was going to be weird though, sticking with one body for an extended period of time; the last time I'd done that, tri-cornered hats with feathers in them were the style. And longbows. And green tights. Ahh, those were good days. "But should I be taller?" I shifted my form to be six feet tall and peered at the mirror. "Or should I be shorter?" I compressed my body down to just about five feet tall. The shorter version of me, thanks to conservation of mass (fie and damnation on that infernal limitation!) had a more prominent bedonkadonk. Was that fashionable? Or were we more in a tomboy sort of era? I had no idea. It didn't occur to me to ask if my date was an ass woman. So many questions it didn't occur to me to ask. I'm usually better at thinking on my feet than that, but for some reason, this entire concept was flustering me. A date. A real, honest-to-goodness date; not a con, not me playing an angle, not me trying to get something out of someone in the service of my own selfish goals. Just two people getting together and seeing if there was a click. A connection. A chemistry. That was... kind of a foreign idea. And it produced foreign feelings. I was sure I hadn't created butterflies in my stomach, but for some reason I felt them anyway. I grimaced again at the mirror and split the difference between the heights, settling at about five-foot-six. It was pretty average, probably not great for a first impression, but time was running out and really, the specifics of my physical features were entirely negotiable. I wondered if that was something to bring up at the first date, or if that was more like third-date information. The Rookhelm Tavern Hall was busy that night; I might should have arrived earlier, but I had to take a detour through the public gardens and surreptitiously dig up a couple of pretty flowers. As for where I got the pot to put them in, well, better to not ask too many questions. That was definitely not first-date information. I stepped up to the doorman, potted plant in hand, and gave him my best smile. "Le'Blanc, reservation for two?" He looked down at his clipboard and frowned; he was just about to bring his eyes back up to mine and tell me he didn't see me on the list, except his eyes never got to mine. They stopped on the pile fire-cut gems that had just magically appeared on his fancy lectern. It took him a second to figure out what the deal was, but to his credit, he didn't even purse his lips before sliding my "gift" into his apron pouch. "Of course, Madame. Right this way." He led me to a nice table, not too far from the kitchen, not too close to the middle of the room, perfect for an intimate conversation in a comfortable setting. I sat down and addressed the host before he walked back to his position. "My other party will probably ask for me, but on the off chance she's forgotten my name--gods know I do sometimes--just be on the lookout for a beautiful young woman with a regal bearing and the most amazing hair." "Of course, Madame." He smiled at me, and I was pretty sure I had his attention in a good way. Tonight would be awesome. Assuming I wasn't hideously out of style. But it was too late to worry about that. @Lucinda Valentine
  3. 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
  4. It was late afternoon when Will Sharr entered the Purple Axe. It was an active inn, filled with residents that were simply enjoying their meals and each other. Judging by the time, the nightlife wouldn't start for a little while, so this would likely be the mood for as long as he intended to stay. Fortunately, he was seated quickly and, as soon as he sat, he set a battered crossbow down on the table and put his head in his hands. It was hard to pin down his thoughts. They came together then blew apart, driven by the wind of his memories. He could close his eyes to force some order, but the moment he was distracted was the moment everything went to shit. Will sucked in a breath, running his hands through his hair. It was all so raw. The wizard Mone and the damnable ring. When would Professor Cutler get here? He'd been told to head over to the Purple Axe and here he sat, one denizen amongst a dozen that were being served their lunch. I'm hungry...and not poor anymore. Actually, maybe I should order something. He raised an arm to flag a server down. The woman nodded to show that she'd seen him, then made a confused face when Will winced in pain. His arm still ached from the tattoo the Cutter had given him. It was a Glizer spell sleeve, whatever that meant. As far as he understood, it would give him an edge that he sorely needed. Indeed, Will was a human in a world of magic. If he wanted to continue down this path...if he wanted to build a career of extraordinary adventure, he would need to become extraordinary to keep up. He flexed the arm, watching the markings ripple in response. What could he do with it? How did it even work- Serill, fading to nothingness, ripped apart by Pierre. He winced as the memory shot through. Donovan suddenly just being there. How? Gods, what had happened to Mone? The ring? How does someone contain them? "...have a warm selection of meats and beer on tap." Will blinked and looked up at the waitress, who regarded him with a smile. Maybe she was used to strange customers. He looked past her at the half-orc innkeeper that seemed to be running things. He'd looked at Will with a kind gaze too. He must've given off the air of someone who needed sympathy. Or a hug, he thought with a grin. "Ah, I'm Will Sharr," he said finally, sliding his eyes back to the waitress. "Nice to meet you. I'll just take chicken and water. I'm kinda simple." "And that is appreciated, Mr. Sharr." She left soon after that, leaving Will with his thoughts. He wished she hadn't. @supernal
  5. Arsinia Crescentia was a fairly simple women, as simple as one of her station could be. Standing at four foot two and of a strong constitution, she ate meager meals though she could afford more, and her housing area was small but she could pay for a larger one. She didn't care much for wealth and comfort, simply yearned for the rewarding effort of smithing. The jarring clangs of metal on heated metal, the satisfying hiss of warm iron meeting water, and the workout that came with pumping the bellows. Smithing was her life. And her shop, the Crescent Hammer, was going to be her lifeline. Arsinia, if you haven't picked it up yet, was a blacksmith. She originally started it as a hobby, but eventually money started to dwindle, and she came to face the facts: You needed coin to survive. Without coin you couldn't buy food, or water, or a workspace, or materials... If she wanted to keep up the hobby, she needed to turn it into a job. So here she was. Wiping her hands down the front of her smock, she looked at her newest creation: A long, thin sword called a rapier. She should name it, she thought, but her mind was blank of ideas. Her short, brown, bobbed hair bounced as she spun deftly towards the back door. She opened it and stepped through silently, into the space behind the counter. Into her shop. Her shop. The concept felt so new, so foreign- but she wasn't dreaming. She beamed with pride, gazing around the room. It was filled with various examples of her work- battleaxes, warhammers, shortswords, staffs- there were even some pieces of armor scattered about. The shop looked clean, new- void of the usual dust that seemingly followed her everywhere. The weapons were arranged neatly on racks, in displays, and on the walls, with stands near the doorway for the armor. The wooden interior felt crisp and well-kept, and she was glad. She knew that the tiny bell arranged above the door would ring out an alarm whenever somebody entered- nothing too shocking, simply a noise like a windchime- and that a sign above the door exclaimed the presence of the building to anybody who passed by. It was only a matter of time. Until then, she'd wait. She sat, folding her hands. Only a matter of time, she assured herself. OOC Thread
  6. The sun seemed to shine a particularly intense red this sunset as time seemed to slow for a lone woman walking the streets of Blairville. The winding streets of the city served only to confuse her natural sense of direction and the men stunk like work and filth. Nocturna hated mankind but she came to this city to find someone she wanted. She could tell her mark was close but the busy streets made her frustration rise. People pushed passed her in their rush to get where they were going. She had to restrain her outrage as she felt a hand along her body , only a child attempting to steal her non existent coin. Her scowl was enough to scare the pick pocket away but now she had lost the trail. She wished she could just fly above it all to get a better sense of direction but that would only cause undue commotion. No, better to walk among the men of the city than draw attention such as that. Thats when she caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit with dark black hair. Formal attire, unusual for every day travel but it suited perfectly to his personality. Slowly she approached the man, the draw of the mark grew stronger as she drew closer. She could see the profile of his face now! It was Noah! Her heart raced with excitement as she hastened her pace. Quickly without her own direction her hand reached out to him once he was close enough. She grasped the cuff of his suit jacket before she realized she didnt look the same. She had changed her appearance quite a lot. changing her hair to an earthy brown and her eyes to a more human hazel. She also was much shorter now a more average height of 5"4. She however did not hesitate, without fear she took another step before a strong tug would grasp Noah's attention. @danzilla3
  7. 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."
  8. ► 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, too drunk to notice her. One of them tripped. The other tried to pick him up, but he ended up tripping, too. They went on to complain in incoherent speech about wanting to pee and, no not over there, don't do it there, goddamnit Joey, that's not a fucking water hydrant, that's a mailbox, Tommy didn't bother, and kept standing there in the cold cold dark—occasional blinks of pink logo light flashed across her. The logo—if you could make it out—said '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 disappearance of said pink light. It read 1AM. 1AM, and she'd been standing around in the slums. All alone, wildly screaming mug me. 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. 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
  9. Addison had only known the 'Rat King' as a small metal box which received letters and delivered letters. It was through this little hole in the wall of a locked house which she communicated with the mysterious man. Apparently, he needed materials which were extremely difficult to acquire for a scientific experiment. Whoever, he or she, whom was hidden beyond the tiny little hole in the wall claimed to be a man of great scientific ambition, whom sought to advance genetic research decades beyond what they had at the present moment. At first, Addison was suspicious of the man's grand claims, but when he began to back it up with concepts and theories which he had written himself, she became determined to aid him. In exchange for her assistance, the 'Rat King' offered her a hefty sum of payment in exchange for the acquisition of the items he required. He also gifted her with a large lump sum, deeming her trustworthy within the first few interactions which he had with her. The lump sum was meant to be used for the purchase of goods, and at the end of it all, he would top up anything she spent, so long as it was part of what he had requested. Not having much knowledge of the customs of Blairville, Addison put up a small hiring notice to recruit a guide to take her through the places which they had to go to acquire the things which the 'Rat King' requested. Eventually, one individual took up her offer. And so she waited in a quiet square in the park, a small checklist gripped in her left hand, and a small amount of gold gifted by the 'Rat King' strapped to her belt. @MaskedHero
  10. With her competent secretary Kora running the migration programme through the Dawn Komturie portal, Addison was finally able to catch a break from her work to see the world which James had been brought up in. Armed with a wrinkly map of Terrenus (Fracture) and several days rations, the Master Knight set out on her journey to explore this strange new world and the wonders it had to offer. Blairville was a city of magic. It’s population was more magically adept than any other she had ever seen. Almost every man, woman and child had some form of mastery over one magical art form or another. But as she strode through the city, there was a somber atmosphere that seemed to plague the people. Everyone was restless and cast suspicious glances at her as she walked past. Brimming shophouses filled with unique goods and wide doors stared back ominously at her, as if daring her to try to enter. The midday sun glared down against he hooded shoulders, the only figure along a quiet and empty street where dozens of people hid within their homes and watched in anticipation. As she continued down the road in bewilderment, the first sign of welcome presented itself in the form of a stray dog, which strode up to her wagging its tail enthusiastically. She smiled, bending down to pet its head, before realising that it had a missing ear. “Poor thing,” she remarked, scruffling its chin before standing up. The dog barked, running over to a lamppost with a piece of paper wrapped around its pole and wagging its tail excitedly. Curiously, Addison followed and straightened the piece of paper in her hands. Her eyes scanned it, revealing it to be a recruitment call for temporary deputy positions to help clear up the aftermath of some sort of disaster. A smile crossed her lips and she detached the piece of paper from the pole before looking down at the dog. “Thanks, hon,” she whispered quietly, before heading off to find the police headquarters.
  11. 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
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. 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.
  15. 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.
  16. 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.
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