DeadLikeLatinTest

[Dead Like Latin]

Welcome to my test forum
Please do not take anything here without permission. Most of the things I post here were created for, and paid for by, other Gaians. As a result, using them is not only distasteful, but also stealing and will not be met kindly. Likewise, any characters I post here are original unless otherwise stated. Making use of their backstory, or other qualities like theirs will be considered stealing.

In case you're wondering, yes I do take requests, though I don't have a proper store open for it. I can create graphics, do coding, and even do sigmaps. All of these things have a price based on the amount of work I have to put into them, which we can discuss further if you're interested. I also do Gaia Ghost-Writing, where I can come up with scenarios for characters, themes for roleplays you might be trying to create, back-stories, and so on and so forth. Send me a PM for more information.

You can find the roleplays I'm currently apart of here:
@: [CLOSED] The Wasteland: A Lit. roleplay set in post-apocalyptic Seattle, Washington. A zombie outbreak has begun to spread across the United States. Here, I play two characters: Chelsea Amanda Glass, and Nika Roza Danilovo.

@: [CLOSED] Riften: An Adv. Lit <-> Elite Lit. roleplay which takes place in the world of The Elder Scrolls. Mostly in that of Skyrim. 100 years after the Dragonborn, Riften is divided between those who follow the mad practices of the Jarl, and those who are loyal to the secret society known as the Thieves Guild. Amidst the "civil war" between these two groups, dragons have returned once more, and are beginning to plague the town. Here, I play Nyrr Vermin. A manipulative, greedy Bosmer merchant who runs a store called The Spinning Wheel. Out of his basement, he runs a Black Market operation to assist his fellow Thieves in purchasing goods that would otherwise be considered illegal.

@: [CLOSED] Charmed: The College Years: A Lit. <-> Adv. Lit roleplay set to the universe of charmed. Here, I play Cameron James Stone, a young witch from Louisiana who has moved to Seattle to take part in a university setting under rule of the elders of her kind. Profound in alchemy and a gifted cryokinetic, she plans to carve her future out piece by piece in the newfound living situations.

[Dead Like Latin]

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Post Layout by DeadLikeLatin

[Dead Like Latin]

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[Dead Like Latin]

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nullam et vehicula odio, id tristique libero. Suspendisse a nibh in leo pellentesque iaculis. Vestibulum sodales ac odio nec cursus. Duis vitae quam erat. Quisque porta arcu in metus rutrum pretium. Ut posuere consequat sapien, id interdum risus feugiat interdum. Suspendisse blandit euismod convallis. Vestibulum commodo velit sit amet tempus facilisis. Nullam est eros, lacinia eget laoreet vitae, pretium in magna. Nulla facilisi.

Curabitur ullamcorper non dui vel varius. Nam at ultricies risus. Quisque rhoncus quis metus nec commodo. Vestibulum magna dolor, tempor scelerisque mattis id, porttitor scelerisque augue. Aenean iaculis augue non consectetur suscipit. Sed gravida eros velit, id sagittis odio eleifend sit amet. Fusce vulputate luctus sem, sollicitudin elementum sapien mattis nec. Suspendisse ut metus tempor ipsum luctus adipiscing vel ut est.

Donec nunc nulla, interdum id odio et, accumsan imperdiet felis. Aliquam aliquam lobortis fringilla. Cras nec odio ante. Vestibulum pellentesque placerat mi, ut hendrerit mauris ullamcorper in. Proin rhoncus justo lacinia urna sollicitudin, id rhoncus quam rhoncus. "Nam sit amet nulla fermentum lectus sollicitudin rhoncus a a nisl." Nullam dignissim fermentum congue. Vivamus euismod eu sem at vestibulum. Nulla facilisi.

Aenean posuere magna vel lacus sagittis, ut eleifend augue consectetur. Etiam mattis lorem id odio ultricies venenatis. Phasellus mattis vehicula enim at lacinia. Nunc pulvinar, nulla at tincidunt condimentum, velit lacus euismod arcu, ac varius eros leo et ligula. Nam gravida consequat imperdiet. Vestibulum suscipit posuere condimentum. Proin vulputate eu neque in pharetra. Nullam eu velit a mi vestibulum mattis. Suspendisse potenti. Etiam quis faucibus justo, ut venenatis risus. Vestibulum venenatis a purus vitae congue.

Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Mauris a tellus a magna convallis varius ac commodo est. Sed sit amet magna feugiat, aliquam leo non, hendrerit est. Donec non rutrum ante, et vehicula arcu. Donec et nibh adipiscing, placerat nibh non, sagittis orci. Ut vitae sollicitudin dolor. Duis ultricies justo quam, vel sagittis justo auctor nec. Sed vel sem nulla. Nam feugiat libero at pellentesque bibendum. Ut bibendum arcu in tristique sodales. Quisque nisi ipsum, semper sit amet laoreet ac, lobortis id lacus. Donec quam nisi, malesuada in faucibus eu, imperdiet eget urna. Praesent mollis suscipit nunc, vel fermentum mauris viverra dignissim. Sed interdum leo nec turpis feugiat condimentum. Integer vel tellus elementum, scelerisque libero ac, pulvinar dui. Fusce pretium condimentum enim in blandit.

[Dead Like Latin]

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Theme by DeadLikeLatin

[Dead Like Latin]

✖✖✖ İ ɯɨʂȟ ɩ ɯɑѕ ᶳᶵᵣᶱᵑᵍ ᶒᶇṓụǥȟ ǂƠ ɩȋϜΊ ΝΟϮ οΝΈ Бᴜᴛ ᴃᴼṰḤ Ṑḟ ụʂ ✖✖✖

▶▶▶ƨƱɱɘᴅᴬẙ ḷ Ẉḭἶἰ Ḃᶒ ᶳᶵᵣᶱᵑᵍ ᶒᶇṓụǥȟ ǂƠ ɩȋϜΊ ΝΟϮ οΝΈ Бᴜᴛ ᴃᴼṰḤ Ṑḟ ụʂXXXXXX

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Layout by DeadLikeLatin

[Dead Like Latin]

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Melanie James Andersson ; The Seductress

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THE BASICS
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↷ I am controlled by: DeadLikeLatin
↷ Nickname: Melanie
↷ Date of Birth: July 8 1988
↷ Age: 35
↷ Gender: Female
↷ Eye Color: Green
↷ Hair Color: Dirty blonde
↷ Height: 5'7
↷ Weight: 115 lbs
↷ Likes: Vanity, safety, social situations, giving advice, the kindness of strangers, and feeling at home
↷ Dislikes: Dishonesty, curelty, suffering, constant movement
↷ Personality: Melanie is nothing less than a seductress. A woman born of the inward knowledge that she has a body full of beauty, and looks that could kill. She's manipulative, and always has an underlying goal for each of her actions. Unafraid to try to seduce man and woman alike, she uses her charm and smooth words to have her way. Upon meeting her, and perhaps through your entire duration with her, you might find yourself enamored, only to have your feelings unreturned. Her vernacular is very smooth and crisp, and her voice is sultry. Despite her age, her body remains youthful and desireable.
↷ Biography: Melanie was born to a rather wealthy family in the heart of Seattle. Her mother and father were both considerably stuck up in comparison to her, and as a result she felt compelled to run away at the young age of 15. During this time, she used her charm and good looks to manipulate men and women alike, moving from house to house and job to job, making whatever money she could to survive. Never really having one true stable home, or one returning loyal lover, Melanie learned all too well the instabiltiy of life and the various curves it could throw you. When the infection hit, Melanie was living with a suitor she had met at a night club. When the first radio broadcast was sent out, she abandoned his home to run off on her own. She currently makes her livelyhood scavenging what she can out of the city of Seattle. Much like before, she moves from place to place, never staying put for too long. As she encounters survivors, she uses her charm to manipulate them into getting what she wants. This is how she has managed to last for so long.


BEFORE THE INFECTION
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↷ Family: Mother and father, presumed to be deceased.
↷ Pets: None
↷ Living Arrangement: Varied depending on the month. Was generally a house with a suitor she had met.
↷ Vehicle: None. Would use vehicles belonging to her suitors. From time to time she would steal their vehicles.
↷ Occupation: Once held a job as a showgirl at a baroque nightclub.
↷ I was saving up for: Her own car
↷ Favorite Hobby: Dancing
↷ Favorite Food: Any italian cuisine
↷ Best Experience: Running away from home to start her life
↷ Worst Thing Said About Me: It was not uuncommon for rumors to spread about Melanie being a slut. Of course, these rumors were not far from true.
↷ My Biggest Secret: Melanie once combatted a strict and relentless eating disorder.
↷ Most Important Thing in My Life: Herself.


AND THEN THE END WAS HERE
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↷ My Survival Skill is: Her ability to seduce and charm.
↷ When It All Happened, I Was: At a suitor's apartment
↷ Weapons: A pocket pistol
↷ Is the Glass Half Empty or Half Full: Depends on the situation.
↷ I Like (Groups/Being on my own): Melanie prefers to be around other people, but only if she can succeed in manipulating them. She tends to enjoy playing with other people's emotions, and finds those she accompanies to be silly, stupid, insolent, or downright incompetent.
↷ My Biggest Secret: More than once, Melanie has found lone survivors, charmed them, and then killed them after earning their trust, in order to take control of their supplies. Survival of the fittest is her top concern.
↷ Most Important Thing in My Life Now: Herself

[Dead Like Latin]

Nyrr Vermin●

|||||||| ↷ THE TWO-FACED MERCHANT●

"No, you don't understand," Nyrr slurred, pushing his pointer finger into the chest of one of the oversized bouncers at The Bee and Barb, "I'm not drunk. Look watch this, I guarantee you every septim I have in my pocket- and I mean that, every septim that I can take this bead and throw it into that cup." Moving to take the bead from his pocket and hold it upright, he aligned himself with the drinking glass that sat on one of the wooden tables in the Inn. Using his left hand to throw it while his right hand clutched his sixth glass of mead, he let the small wooden trinket fly. It was poorly launched, and bounced sorrowfully into the floor. Nyrr turned back to the man who was trying to force his departure. "Ok, ok, how about this-" Nyrr tried to reason, before he was picked up by his waist, and escorted to the Inn's exit. As he was hoisted, the bottle of mead he had been working hard to consume spilled down the back of the forceful patron, soaking his cloth shirt. "Now see that's what you get for laying your hands on a... on a perfectly innocent man." As the last slurred taunts left his lips, the bouncer slammed the door behind him. As it closed, the music that was once loud and boisterous to Nyrr grew muffled. The laughter which filled his ears from fellow drinkers and dancers was muted, and the fireplace which kept him warm was long gone. "You just wait, see if I ever give your inn another dime!" Nyrr shouted at the door, throwing the empty glass cup he still held at the closed threshold. It shattered into pieces before him, and as they fell to the ground he let out a hiccup. It had been yet another night of drinking for him, yet another night of being 'escorted' outside of The Bee and Barb. What was left of his dignity was drowned in his last glass of mead. His alcoholism was no secret to the people of Riften. It was a medium-sized town, small enough that if you made a scene, everyone would know about it. It seemed like everyone knew about Nyrr every Loredas evening.

Shambling down the streets, Nyrr began to make his way back home to his shop. For many years now he had ran The Spinning Wheel, a well-established trading post in the heart of the Riften marketplace. On the top floor of the establishment was his penthouse-style living quarters. Perhaps that was why the gracious folk at The Bee and Barb deigned to tolerate his rambunctious behavior every week. When he wasn't out replacing his blood with the Black Briar's brewed delights, he tried his best to lead a normal, respectable life. Buy goods. Sell goods. Make enough coin to pay the taxes. Eat enough to keep himself alive. But he had a sweet spot for alcohol. Always had, and probably always would. "You know, I remember the last time I got into a bar fight!" Nyrr exclaimed, speaking loudly as he shuffled down the empty, quiet night streets. "It was... It was at Windhelm! I was on vacation... oh but that kid had it coming!" His words echoed throughout the alleyways that surrounded him. His only guiding light was the full moon above him, providing him with just enough illumination to keep him from tripping over the heavy-set stones used to pave Riften's walkways. His home wasn't far now, and soon he could crawl into his bed and sober up before waking to another hard day's work. As the breeze drifted by and brushed past his exposed cheeks, it helped him to clear his head, if only enough to find his way home. He was a simple man, Bosmer in origin, standing roughly 5 feet, 8 inches. Slender and delicate in nature, he was hardly something you would consider a threat. His garments were gracious and flattering. From a distance it was not hard to tell that he was a considerably wealthy man, and all of this was thanks to his ever-continuing and successful life as a businessman. Some Bosmer learned to shoot, some learned to hunt, but Nyrr? He learned to barter. From a young age, and consistently since then until today, he had honed his speech, making a joy out of manipulating those around him. Nothing put a smile on his face quite like other people's septims.

As he turned the final corner before his homestead and trudged to his door, he fiddled around in his pocket to find his house key. Grabbing the metal device and inserting it into the lock, he opened the door and entered, his boots making a thumping wooden sound on the hard mahogany floors of the establishment. He took off his satin jacket and hung it up on the coat rack next to the door, did the same with his wool hat, and then began to force himself upstairs and into his cot. Flopping over onto the cold, soft mattress, he let his head rest on his pillow. His arms hung off of the bedside, drifting back and forth by their own inertia. He had passed out once again.


~~~~<>~~~~


When the morning turned to rear its ugly head and sunlight leaked in to rest on Nyrr's closed eyes, he shuffled around in his cot. Sitting upright to rub the sleep from his face, his head let out an aching pound. 'Another hangover, no surprise...' he thought to himself as he gathered his thoughts. He was still in the garments from the night before, minus the jacket and hat. He smelled of booze and despair. There was no pride in the nights he spent drinking. If anything, it was an insult to his day-to-day demeanor. "Dammit, I need to learn some self control." He uttered to himself. "No more drinking. I'm done. This time for good." He uttered. It was a routine promise that he made to himself every morning after. Every time he said it, he meant it. Every time he broke it, he regretted it. There was something about intoxication that was irresistible to him. Maybe it was the fact that he could forget every bad thing he had ever done in life. Maybe it was because when he was drunk, he wasn't taunted by every person he had ever ******** over, jerking their wallets for every last septim. When his mind was clouded by rums and mead, he could forget the kind of person he had become. Flinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge, he let his head rest in his hands. The headaches wouldn't go away, not any time soon. This was a punishment he knew all too well. "Might as well grin and bear it." He muttered, standing up to stretch his muscles out. The morning was young, and he had plenty of time to set the shop up for its day-to-day activities.

The Spinning Wheel was well known all across Riften. It was a popular trading post and pawn shop, where people could come for anything their heart desired. For a price. Nyrr had established it long ago, after he grew tired of living his life as a traveling merchant, moving from settlement to settlement across Skyrim bartering Skooma. The Spinning Wheel was his chance to settle down, and live a slower-paced life. The citizens of Riften were colorful people, full of surprises and stories to tell. In a way, their gossip was another form of payment for Nyrr. Nothing made his ears p***k up like a good rumor, and with the ongoing conflicts between Riften's Jarl and the ever so secretive Thieves Guild, there were many rumors to be heard. Riften was a divided city. In a way, it was at civil war with itself. A very dirty-handed, secretive civil war. The royal figures of Riften were ever-determined to wipe out the last remaining shreds of the once glorious thieves guild. Meanwhile, there were those in Riften who worked to help their efforts. There were those who had become friends with the guild, and gardened their trust until it blossomed into full fledged contracts of devotion. Nyrr was glad to know that he was one of them. The Thieves Guild were his close friends, and he had made it his second job in life to assist them in any way possible, going so far as to set up another shop in his basement. A Black Market, specifically for the guild and any other ne'er-do-wells who picked up on its trail. Here, shipments of supplies which would otherwise be deemed illegal were dealt from Nyrr to his patrons. It was a secret market, known only to those deemed worthy by Nyrr and his cohorts.

Walking to the ground floor of his store, Nyrr paced his way to the door which led down into the basement. This was not the only entrance to his black market operation, one more doorway could be found connecting his home to the sewers, behind one of the bookshelves in the cellar. This was a reasonable way for the members of the guild to visit him and request supplies without drawing too much attention from the guards which vigilantly patrolled the streets. As he opened the door and made his descent, he grabbed his clipboard which hung on the wall. Using a quill-ink pen, he began to keep inventory of what was still in stock down there. "Moon sugar... Skooma..." he listed off aloud, "God they love their hallucinogens." He continued to overview the items he had in store. Various poisons, weapons, lockpicks and the like. All things that were outlawed in the supposedly peaceful and crime-free town. With the data recorded, Nyrr headed back to the ground floor, to begin taking inventory of his main stock. The legalities. The things the average joe came in for. Foods, clothing, medicine, trinkets, artifacts, you name it. If you could pronounce it, Nyrr could get it for you. Of course, the operations were not done alone. Nyrr had a loyal and friendly store-hand who aided him in all of his endeavors. An apprentice of sorts. His name was Ja'saad Zahjtani. A Kahjit, who assisted him in the day-to-day meanderings of the establishment, and aside from Andriel Nightwood, leader of the Thieves Guild, he was possibly Nyrr's best friend. The two had worked together for many years now, assisting in the upkeep and management of the operations that happened under their roof. Nyrr saw much potential in his underling, and was proud to work alongside him.

As the morning began to pass, Nyrr was happy to work over the counter. The interactions with his customers that entered in and out helped him forget about the hangover he had given himself the night before, and whats more so, the money he earned through his work made him even happier. As the day progressed, Nyrr waited patiently for his apprentice to arrive for work. It was about to be the turn of a new week, and as was their routine procedure, it was time for Nyrr to hand Ja'saad the list of supplies they needed to have shipped in. That's where Ja'saad was most useful. He was unafraid to leave Riften and contact their suppliers, giving them their orders, and then bringing the shipments in for him. Nyrr might have been the one to organize the black market, but it would be impossible without Ja'saad's connections and brawn. Looking over the clipboard which held their supply information one more time, Nyrr read it aloud to himself once the store emptied out. "One crate of Moon Sugar... Three of Skooma, thirty packets of lockpicks..." Item after item was listed out in solitude. Nyrr liked to talk to himself if nobody else was around. He was a social butterfly, and complete silence made him uneasy.

As if from nowhere a woman burst through the front door. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was one of the many piss-poor citizens of Riften. She was a good hearted person, but horribly stupid. So of course, Nyrr enjoyed her company. "Bandits!" she exclaimed, her face full of fright. "They're trying to raid our town!" In an act of extreme dramatization, she turned back outside before Nyrr could get a word in, slamming the door behind her to return to her panic-stricken rampage. Unphased, Nyrr continued to his business, grabbing a white cloth to wipe down the countertops. Bandits were issues that the Jarl dealt with. She might be power-hungry and insane, but she was also capable. Nyrr trusted her and her guards to keep their workings secure. "Perhaps my apprentice has taken to help fend them off?" Nyrr wondered aloud, pondering where his shophand could possibly be. "It's not like him to be this late."


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"Filthy, disgusting countertops..." Nyrr murmured under his breath as he pressed his weight into the cleaning cloth he had laid out on the mahogany cabinets. Dust was the number one enemy when it came to running a business. If the masses think your wares are filthy, they will want to buy them for less. Or worse, they won't show up at all. As a general rule, having spotless countertops was something he took pride in, ensuring every last inch of dust was picked up by his cleaning cloths. After scrubbing down the display cases for some of his more lucrative prospects, he moved on to sweeping the floors. It seemed like everyone who came inside to browse the store ignored his welcome mat, made firmly from the bristles of a cow's pelt. "They could wipe their feet once in a while..." he complained, brushing all of the loose mud from customer's boots into a neat and tidy pile, before sweeping it out of the entrance's threshold, in a brown cloud of grime. A clean home was a happy home.

The sound of the bandit raids outside began to grow louder and louder, and almost to the point of concern. Based on the growing intensity of the noises, Nyrr assumed the rabble was drawing closer to The Spinning Wheel. Just as he was readying himself to lock the doors, it all died away. Complete silence. Had they been killed? Did they retreat? It didn't matter. When he heard the familiar cheering of Riften's defenses, he was assured that the company was dealt with. Not bothering to go outside and see for himself, he returned behind the counter, doors still unlocked, to finish up the final bits of parchment-work required to have the shipments of legal items brought into the city. After that, it was only a matter of delivering the order to one of the many couriers that polluted the city. They were a reliable service, and Nyrr always trusted them to get his shipments in on time. 'No time like the present.' he thought to himself, grabbing his order form and folding it neatly before sliding it into an envelope. Using a box of matches, he lit a nearby candle, and gave it time to begin forming a puddle of wax beneath the wick. Pouring the hot substance onto the envelope, he sealed it tight. Donning his coat and hat from the night before, which still rested firmly on the rack nearby his door, he slid the letter into the inner-pocket of the ornate parka, then opened his door to head out onto the streets, closing the door to The Spinning Wheel behind him. The sun outside was high in the sky, but the air was crisp. Winter was coming, slowly bringing in a cool chill with it. This was the precursor.

As he walked the roads of the city, gossip echoed all around him. Some were speaking of the bandit raids, and how lucky they were that the Jarl took such good care of them. Others were perpetuating rumors about her instability and corrupt point of view. Then, there was the common rumors of the thieves guild, and the risk of plagues being spread by the ever-growing population of sewer rats. It was all silly to Nyrr. He was only interested in the good rumors. The juicy ones. The people who cluttered the streets of Riften's market knew very little on any
of the matters they chose to whisper about to another. He rolled his eyes as he passed them all by, and arrived at the door to the Courier Service Depot. He opened the wooden door, and crossed into the heart of the building. A warm fireplace made it feel comforting. Over the counter stood a lean man, donning the silly, loose-fitted leather coif that all couriers seemed to make apart of their uniform. He was thin and handsome, bent over a news parchment that bore the Whiterun emblem. Whiterun and Solitude were the only two cities in Skyrim with a population large enough that a news paper made sense. Everywhere else, word of mouth was key. Nyrr liked it that way. It made things more interesting. It made things easier to cover up. "Evening courier," Nyrr began, reaching into his jacket to pull out the order form, "Another shipment. Have this delivered per my usual requests. I need it here by next week, so make a rush for it."

"Of course, Nyrr." The courier said in a friendly tone. They had exchanged before in the past. Every month, to be exact. It was a never-ending routine, and despite this, Nyrr never learned the man's name. He was simply 'Courier' to the entrepreneur. That's the way it would stay. "I'll be seeing you next month!" Nyrr boasted in an elated tone as he turned to leave the building. Halting before closing the door, he turned back to the courier.

"Silly me, I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of septims, dropping them on the countertop to the right of the boy's news parchment. "And here." Nyrr looked around the building to make sure they were alone before pulling a small burlap bag out of yet another jacket pocket. It was bound together with a thin fiber rope, and smelled strongly of a sweet nectar. It was moon sugar, and Nyrr had made it a habit of bribing the courier with a generous amount to ensure his order forms made it to his suppliers on time. The courier looked at the pouch, and took it swiftly into his pocket. Nyrr nodded to him, and gave a sly grin before completing his business, and exiting the depot. Walking back to The Spinning Wheel, he pondered if growing moon sugar himself would be something to research. He knew it grew bountifully in Elsweyr, but doubted Skyrim's cold weather to be suitable for the delicate plant. It would have to be something to discuss further with Ja when he got a chance. His apprentice was Khajiit by birth, and would know more of its habits.

Returning to The Spinning Wheel, he closed the door behind him shutting out the cold pre-Winter air. He hung his coat and hat on the rack once more, leaving him in his merchant's overshirt, which had three buttons near the neck and was as white as snow. Moving to the seating area of the establishment, he bent under the rock fireplace, and lit it with one quick strike of his tinderbox. Slowly the logs and charcoal in the foyer caught the spark, and the flames resting on them cast shadows throughout the building. The room grew warmer and more comforting, which was just the way Nyrr liked it. He had always regretted not building a second house to the side of The Spinning Wheel when he moved back to Riften. Living upstairs in the same place you work at could become stressful at times. It felt like he never got time to get away from the pressure of his job. Today, the areas to the left and right of The Spinning Wheel were already developed. There was no longer room to create a house for himself outside of the building. He had accepted this fact many years ago, but still reminisced about what life would be like if he had a separate, real home to return to each night. He moved slowly back to the countertop and read over the other order form that laid there. This one was for his black market dealings. He couldn't trust to have the couriers deliver that. One wrong word, one misplaced step, and the Riften guard would burn The Spinning Wheel to the ground. No, the only person who could be trusted to deliver the form which specified the illegalities of his black market was Ja. Hopefully he would see him soon, so he could pass off the parchment. Moon sugar supplies were running dangerously low, and Nyrr would be damned before he started dipping into his private stash in order to meet demand.

It wasn't long after lighting the fireplace that the door opened, and a woman came through the threshold. At first, Nyrr didn't recognize her. She looked ragged and misshapen, her skin, hair and clothes covered with all sorts of grime. It wasn't until she wiped her feet on his welcome mat that it was clear who she was. Nobody else was careful enough to keep from tracking grime in on his floors. "Yvona!" He exclaimed, moving towards her, arms outstretched. "I had wondered where you've been all week. You look like hell." He reached forward to hug her shoulders, patting her on the back. Yvona was his drinking buddy, and the two had been through more than their fair share of ales together.

"Scraps of cloth if you have them, clean ones this time, and a few pelts." she said to him, listing off her requirements. Despite their long friendship, the two were much more than drinking buddies, but also business associates. Yvona was the court wizard to the Jarl, and one of her right-hand lackies. She had honest intentions about her, but Nyrr never let himself get too close as far as friendships go. If she ever knew of his dealings with the Thieves Guild, he would be in a tight mess he wasn't sure his silver tongue could get him out of. Moving to the back cabinets which rested against the far wall, Nyrr pulled the doors open, and started gathering her requests. He kept all of his bolts of cloth together, nice and neat. Lucky for her, the shipment had not yet run dry, so the new, clean ones still stood together in a nice pile. He walked back to the counter, and laid them on the mahogany near Yvona's hands.

"Cloth is on the house. Pelts are gonna cost you, though. I'm running out." As he spoke, he moved his eyes to the order form which still laid perfectly flat beside Yvona. The order form which specified all of the different illegal substances, intended to be passed onto Ja. "s**t!" he thought to himself, swiftly grabbing the paper before she got a good look at it, crumbling it up into a ball before throwing it in his pocket. "I swear, trash is all over this place. I can't seem to keep it clean." he said calmly. "Now, anyway, about those pelts. 80 septims per pelt. I only have bear in. Hunters have been in and out of my shop like mad buying them off of me. Taxidermists too. I can't afford not to increase my prices. You understand." As he went to the back room to grab the pelts, he yelled back to Yvona. "So tell me, what's the latest gossip with you courtly folks? You know I like the juicy stuff. What's the damage caused by our bandit friends from this morning looking like?"


Location: The Spinning Wheel || Company: Yvona || Feeling: Anxious/Curious



OOC: Oh god this post was so bad, I'll try my best to go back and revise it to help it flow better, but I'm all kinds of burned out this evening. Anyway, hopefully this is enough for Yvona to work with when making her next post. ♥

[Dead Like Latin]

☾Cameron Jane Stone☽
I . A M . C H A R M E D . A . W I T C H
_______“I guess I'm stuck with me” _______

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✶✶ I call the voice in my head:
DeadLikeLatin
✶✶ Many call me:
Cam; Cameron
✶✶ I’ve seen this many moons:
22
✶✶ Well, last time I checked I was:
Female
✶✶ I have an affinity for:
Alchemy
✶✶ But my true gift is:
Cryokinesis


X O X☾☾ A little more personal

✶✶ I came to UW for:
Psychology
✶✶ I live in:
Room 201
✶✶ In five words or less people describe me as:
Eccentric and self-centered
✶✶ My Parents were:
My mother was a witch. I've never met my father.
✶✶ There’s this song stuck in my head:
FKA Twigs - Water Me
✶✶ I can be found spending time at:
Anywhere there's people, alcohol, or rumors to be heard.
✶✶ I find myself attracted to:
Both, though I favor women.

✶✶ I absolutely can’t stand:
Being ordered around, people who don't take me seriously, and being ignored.
✶✶ But I couldn’t live without:
My friends, gossip, and my personal space.


✶✶ My life story, so far:
My life started off as normal as anyone else's I suppose. I was born and raised in Louisiana. The south side, thirty miles from New Orleans in a small town surrounded by swamp and spirit. I never knew my father, he abandoned my mother before I was born. But that's fine, we made out alright without him. Mother and I lived in a small house she built herself. She was a tough woman. Nothing could ever seem to get her down. I wish I had her endurance. The house was crude, and out in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Town was a ten minute bike-ride away, so needless to say, getting to school was tough. Especially when it rained. The seclusion was intentional, however. It wasn't until I turned 13 that my mother revealed her lineage to me, and the reason why my father left so many years ago. She was a witch. And just like her, I had inherited the gene. It was a hard secret to keep, not just for me, but for my mother as well. Many people in our small town believed our family dabbled in Voodoo. I guess we did, for all intents and purposes. Many of the so-called "Voodoo priests" in Louisiana were our close friends. We were all witches and wizards in kith and kin. We shared notes, practices, and offered comfort to one another in times of need and tragedy. The humans weren't too kind to us, but we could survive past that. We had our circle. We were happy. My mother started teaching me the practices of Alchemy from a young age. She was a master, and intended to pass her craft onto her daughter. I absorbed every bit of information like a sponge, taking my own notes and forcing myself to remember every little detail. Today, I'm the best at what I do. Self-proclaimed of course, but I could prove it if I had to.

High School was tough for me. It didn't take long for me to become the Voodoo Girl as a result of cruel and unusual rumors. Friends were scarce. I felt like I was completely alone. My mother offered time and time again to pull me out, and home-school me. Today I wish I had taken her up on her offer. Even without the magical background, it would have been hard for me to make friends anyway. My personality is eccentric. I like to mess with people who I think aren't as smart as I. Sometimes I stick my nose where it doesn't belong. I'm adventurous, in more than one sense of the word. But I'm also proud. I'm tough. I stand up for myself when others think they can walk all over me. One day, during my senior year of Highschool, I proved it. I was on my way to the locker rooms after gym, to change clothes, and a girl I knew from previous insults came up behind me, and tripped me as I was walking to the showers. As I fell, so did the towel which covered my body. I fell face first onto the linoleum, exposed and embarrassed. Enraged, I flipped myself back over, and stared at her, boiling with fury. As I did, the air around her seemed to freeze, despite the humidity inside the room as a result of the hot water in the air. The ice particles gathered on the tips of her hair, and accumulated over her skin. I didn't hurt her, but it was enough for two things to come to light. One: I could control ice. Two: I had been exposed. Nobody other than the girls who were watching the scene could indefinitely prove the ridiculous claim, but it was enough of a spectacle to force the elders to turn their eye my direction, and take me away from my mother. I finished High School under their watchful eye, at one of their own academies for others like me. There, I blossomed, and prospered, honing not only my abilities, but also studying even more concerning the prospects of alchemy.

By the time I had graduated, I surpassed my mother. At the end of my High School career I was allowed to return home. I spent two long years with my mother, who was growing ill. She had developed a case of bone cancer. Worst case seen in almost ten years, according to her doctors. None of the other witches or wizards in our circle of magical acquaintances seemed to know anything we could do to help her. No spell nor brew, no totem nor ceremony. I was determined, however. I wanted her suffering to end. I tried potion after potion of my own design, pulling everything I knew about herbs and ingredients together in a last-ditch effort to spare my role model. After many weeks of trying desperately, I had given up. My mother was in too much pain for me to bear. I made her a pot of tea, and infused it with a poisonous brew. She passed slowly, and by the time her life came to an end, we were both at ease. Do I have guilt? Sure. But I would have had just as much if I allowed her to suffer and die slowly from the cancer.

It was my own decision to come to college. With my mother dead and most of the town out to lynch me for unholy practices, I knew it was time for me to go. I packed my things, and hitchhiked my way to Seattle, Washington, where I joined the College I'm at today. Here, amidst others of my kind and under the watchful eyes of the elders, I plan to blossom into the mature and respectable witch my mother would have loved to see me as. I'm currently taking classes in psychology, in order to secure a cover-job as a therapist once I graduate. Meanwhile on the side, I continue studying chemistry, and history. Here, I feel like I can make new friends and forget my past. Here, nobody knows who I am or where I came from. I can be anything or anyone I want to be. The feeling is overwhelmingly comforting, and I can't wait to exploit it.

[Dead Like Latin]

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Theme by DeadLikeLatin