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Master Cliff Fate Captain
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 Posted: Wed Apr 05, 2023 12:11 pm
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Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2023 7:46 pm
The waves crashed around the ship as the land slowly came into view, the rising sun on the horizon blinding for only a moment while it pierced the cloud cover. The journey had been an adventurous one if not slightly arduous. However, the Argent Dawn had seen worse and she still kept her sea legs about her. As the morning ticked along, the crew scurried above and below deck, making preparations for landfall. A young human man, no more than twenty years of age, however, remained still and stared at the horizon ahead of him. He was lost in thought while recounting a dream he had the night before -- the same dream that had come to him several times before during the voyage. He was always beckoned to an unknown body of water and when he stared down at his reflection, it was him but it wasn't. He was older, more regal-looking. He assumed that is was just the sum of his ambition playing out in his subconscious; he always wanted to be a lord. He didn't have a title but his father had made his way as a seabound merchant and that is where he found his fortune. When his father had met his end on the seas, the money stored away went to him. He purchased a ship, funded a crew, and decided to set sail for the mainland. Something at the back of his mind beckoned him to it. He shook his head when he heard a voice call out to him from behind. He turned to meet her gaze. "Amelia," he said with a slight smile. "Your Excellency," she said with a gesturing bow. "You don't have to do that; you know I am not a lord." "Not yet," she said with a smile that bared her pearly teeth and accented her bright blue eyes. "I am beginning to believe it won't happen," he said while leaning back against the prow. "We haven't even made land yet," she said while making her way toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Have faith." "That's the one thing I cannot buy," he said mostly to himself. "As soon as I run out of money, these men will abandon me." "But I won't," she said with another smile that flashed his way. "We couldn't crew this ship by ourselves but once we make landfall, we won't need anyone else." He looked into her eyes and found a surety that he had become accustomed to seeing from her. They had known one another since they were small. They grew up together. The only difference between them was this his father struck gold while hers did not. "So sure about that, are you?" She nodded. "Of course. Ever since you brought me with you, I decided that I would believe in you. That was a year ago now, and I sort have gotten used to it. It's second nature." He managed a bit more of a smile this time. "Thank you." "Of course, Your Excelle -- Richard." "Second nature of you to call me by a title I don't yet possess too?" he asked. She only laughed in response. Transition! The Argent Dawn sailed into the port city of Westgate, the large ship keeping to the deeper waters and forcing the shore parties to row in on small boats. Once upon the docks, the quartermaster Armen had leave to replenish supplies. Coming from the isles out to sea put a heavy burden on their reserves and the seamen he had brought with him were not used to being on the mainland for long stints. Meanwhile, Richard and Amelia made their way into the town proper. They both knew the seedy reputation of the city and remained close by one another: one eye one another and the other on their purses. Westgate was home to villainy and scum of all kinds; there were even rumors that vampires ran the night. They could have easily made port in one of the other cities on the other side of the Dragonmere but they were not guaranteed to have the information they were seeking. Indeed, more upstanding cities like Suzail and Arabel were not ripe for the picking. "How do you know where we're going?" Amelia asked softly as she was not trying to draw attention to them. "I honestly don't know," Richard replied with equal softness. "It is just a feeling." "Well, can your feelings be quicker about it? I don't want to get caught out here with nothing between us and pirates but our good intentions." "I'm chasing dream notions; I don't know if they are necessarily good. Neutral? Yes. Good? Yet to be seen." Amelia could only roll her eyes before noticing that Richard had stopped in front of an establishment where the sign said bathhouse. "Really?" she asked flatly. "Don't ask me," Richard said as he grasped the small privacy cloth in the doorway and pushed it aside. Immediately his senses were met with the powerful steams, incenses that smelled of sweet spices, and a myriad of other scents that he could not identify. Amelia followed him in, her nose wrinkling at the assault on her senses. "I never did like public baths." "They aren't so bad," Richard said. "Insofar as you don't pay too much attention to the people who come and go." He walked over to small offering bowl that was on display and fished a gold piece out of his pocket, placing it inside. "I don't think you had to pay," she remarked. "It looks like it's optional." "Yeah, but it is the courteous thing to do. We don't want to appear impudent or rude." "Good point. That was enough for the both of us, right?" she asked. "Of course," he said flatly. "This is a coed bath by the looks of it." He made a motion towards the myriad of both male- and female-presenting individuals in the water. "Not going to bother you, is it?" She made a gesture that looked like she was brushing him off. "I am more worried about you." She was already undressing herself. "Be careful not to embarrass yourself, Your Excellency."
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Siegfried x Siguror Hagen
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Posted: Sun Apr 16, 2023 10:58 am
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Posted: Mon May 01, 2023 4:13 pm
 𝕮ahir The cloaked figure stalked silently toward their intended destination, footsteps lighter than the snow falling on the first day of the frost's arrival. Their gait was purposeful yet subtle, they knew where they were going, they knew where they wanted to be, and knew the most ideal way to arrive there, almost as if they were hunting down some sort of quarry.
They'd previously studied this port city known to be Westgate as intimately as some would their own lovers long before arriving. Know thy enemy was a creed the cloaked figure lived by but knowing one's surroundings and environment most often proved equally as relevant. Knowledge was a tool in itself that most grossly underestimated but not this particular individual.
Lord Masque expected nothing short of the utmost diligence and attention to detail, qualities the mysterious hooded figure not only possessed but honed daily. Being multiple steps ahead was always the most ideal scenario to place oneself in, in order to reap the most benefit from any given situation. Of course, improvisation was also a valued skill considering almost no plan was one hundred percent reliable. Being able to think on one’s feet and changing tactics on the fly was yet another equally valued asset.
Slowly but surely the cloaked figure continued silently stalking closer and closer to their quarry, efficient enough at melding into the darkness that they practically became a part of it despite the fact dusk had just barely begun to kiss the land with the very shadows this hooded individual thrived in. Very few, if any, seemed to take notice of the figure, just as Lord Masque would want. Subtlety was an art just as beautiful as any painting, dance, or song. It was this figure’s trade, pride, passion, and livelihood.
Just as they’d studied the city beforehand, they had also done so with their intended audience. It was always advisable to research one’s potential new business partners to assure neither party was wasting their time conducting a fruitless transaction that would risk leaving a bad taste in both party’s mouths in the end. It was best not to burn bridges unless there was a benefit behind it. Best not to reveal or announce oneself for the very same reason.
At points the figure opted to skulk along the rooftops, at others, they would drop down into the alleyways all for the sake of subtlety as Lord Masque would have wanted. Eventually a letter seemed to manifest almost out of nowhere as the figure went to deposit it at a drop point. To the untrained eye, the spot was nothing special. To a thief's eye, or one so inclined to verse themselves in the way of subtlety, they would recognize it as a sanctioned point not to be tampered with for it bore the mark of the higher beings that truly ran this city. The higher beings that were mere rumours or bedtime stories to most of the citizens of this city.
A spectral hand that was not the figure’s own deftly bestowed the letter in passing to a fellow hooded being, one that was far more petite in stature compared to the original figure. There was no pause to exchange formalities, it was exclusively a clinical business transaction bereft of any warmth. The exchange was so quick the figure was hardly able to make out any mannerisms or qualities that stood out to identify the other being with other than the petite stature and the faint scent of roses and decay.
The figure decided it was probably in their best interest to assure they were not followed. In order to prevent such an event from happening, the figure appeared to duplicate itself, one heading in one direction and the other heading in another direction. The original figure also, within the blink of an eye, became an elderly individual slowly ambling down the street with a walking stick, asking passersby for spare change. This farce continued on for nearly half an hour until the old person meandered down an alleyway and disappeared entirely, revealing the original hooded figure that opted to remove the cloak, a 6’2’’ elven male with silvery hair that had a singular braid along his left temple and vibrant green eyes stood in place of the former elder and began making his way toward one of the local taverns, The Leaky Grape, roughly 3 blocks away from the alleyway he’d chosen to shed his disguise in.
|| OOC: I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME FIGURE OUT HOW TO RESIZE AND CROP s**t IN IMGUR CUZ THEIR NEW EDIT MENU ******** SUCKS. KTHX DEAL WITH THE HUGE AF IMAGE, I HATE IT HERE, BAI. ||
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Posted: Wed Jul 12, 2023 5:35 pm
The sound of wooden gates opening as he stood outside the city in the morning. Pre-dawn activity had gathered in front of the city of Westgate, as he waited for the sun to break the horizon and begin the day. The crowd was bustling, farmers and travelers looking to do business or trade their wares or goods, livestock cried out as they sat there impatiently, children gently snored in their parent's arms. Kellan kept a cloak draped over his head, the morning breeze a bit chillier than where he came from. Even though it was colder, the smells of the crowd were still the same.
Soon the town bell rung, as the dawn light broke through the horizon, the creaking of the metal gate across the mighty portcullis as people began to file in. Guards took names and asked for the business of the travelers. Kellan had no desire to deal with the guards, so he took a moment and breathed in deeply before blending into the crowd.
He'd heard of work in Westgate, at a tavern called the Leaky Grape. It was the kind of work a man of his skill could be of use. He had not much else here in this world, as he was not of it. He slipped through the main gate, moving quickly through the crowd as he made his way to his destination. The tavern was just beginning its day, with the morning drunks stumbling in for their first round of the day.
Taking a seat in the corner, Kellan kept an eye out for those that might be looking for similar work to his own. He was ready for just about anything, he had to be, as he was in a world that was not of his own.
OOC: Please let me know if there are issues, intros often suck!
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Posted: Wed Jul 26, 2023 6:38 pm
 
“Sid, I’m heading out to meet the guy at the docks!” Astra shouted from the front of their messy shop. There was still an hour till the Argent Dawn was supposed to arrive, but she wanted to post their “looking for help” sign at the Leaky Grape before then. Sid was adamant they didn’t need help but looking around the discombobulated death-trap of a sales floor, suggested otherwise. Some store and dock protection wouldn’t hurt either, then they could focus solely on experimentation and production. The template for the magi-capacitor was ready. The dielectric had been easy to source, so now it only needed the right conductive metals for the plates. Then she would have to see if the blacksmith could understand her template for the sheets, as well as the components for the resistor.
Interrupting her reverie, Sid’s voice shouted in return from the back of the lab, “Don’t get caught up in your daydreams again and forget we’ve been summoned by our benefactor to his masquerade this evening,"she finished in a singsong. When an affirmative response wasn’t returned, she added, “You know, the guy who gives us all the funds we could ask for?” Sid rhetorically questioned. “Not to mention it’s going to take you an hour minimum to get that oil out from under your nails!”
Astra teasingly rolled her eyes and shouted back. “Yeah, yeah, how could I forget! But also, its barely mid-morning, so I have plenty of time.” For good measure she added, “and you love my daydreaming when it makes us money!” Despite her playfulness moments ago, an unease settled in her stomach. Truly, anyone would be thankful for Lord Lucivar’s support. But what Sid had alluded was that he was also one of the strongest, most cunning Vampire Lords in Westgate. His temperament was that of a calculated mastermind. Observantly serene but always exacting. She never wanted them to be on the wrong side of his displeasure. Then again, there were worse underground bosses with whom to have connections.
Shaking the worry from her mind, Astra stepped over the pile of mismatched products to the left of the door, slapped on her favorite cowboy hat and locked the entrance to Gadgets and Gizmos Aplenty behind her. This wasn’t the seediest part of town, but even with their benefactor’s protection, it was still Westgate. She couldn’t leave the safety of her business partner and best friend to chance. The comely woman had saved her life when she had arrived in this world. She owed her that life, if not more.
Meandering away from the store, down a cobbled path, Astra remembered her stumbling arrival at Sid’s doorstep two years ago at the insistence of a loud voice in her head. Before that moment, she had woken up, prone on the steps of a temple in Westgate, bloodied, half-dead and extremely confused. Of course, she had not known where the hell she was at all. The last thing she remembered was the Aurora Borealis-like tunnel she had walked through in her dream. It was wild to imagine the science…or magic that brought her dying soul from Earth to this world called Toril. But thanks to the kindness of a red-headed sorceress she was able to find a place in this unrecognizable new world. Truly, Sid, Volt and her work kept her grounded.
Letting the memories roll through her mind as she walked, she tipped her hat at Baldrumin the blacksmith in passing. His craft was excellent, and his mood always terse but there was always a toothy smile for his highest paying customers. A lot of what Astra crafted couldn’t have been completed without his handiwork with metals. She continued her walk down East Market St, observing the colors of shop banners and acknowledging the bustling people through the hubbub of the mid-morning streets. This street had a strong community of craftspeople and shop owners. People who watched each other’s backs. You needed a small force like that in a city like this, where crime and competition flourished. At the end of the rounded corner of the street was her favorite bakery, and dear gods of science she could smell the fresh bantam bread wafting in the air towards her, poking at her empty stomach. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to grab a few.
“Morning Nelly! How goes business?” Astra waved jovially towards the delicate woman whose apron was covered in dough. The woman moved energetically in a way that belied her stature.
Pushing the escaped wheat-colored curls of hair out of her face, Nelly smiled brilliantly and said, “The person with the best appetite in town is just the person I wanted to see!” With a waving motion she called Astra over, “Come, come, I have something new for you to try.”
Without further ado, Astra pushed towards her, smiling in greeting. “And what new recipe have you ingeniously concocted for me?”
“Well, I tweaked the chicken mixture just a bit. I boiled the bantam breasts with onions, carrots, salt, pepper, and bay leaves and shredded the breasts when they were done…” she said excitedly, ticking the ingredients off with her fingers and continued, “then sautéed the finely chopped garlic and onion with some of Georg’s farm fresh butter. Mixed that with the chicken, the experimental creamed cheese I told you I was working on with Georg, salt, and pepper…stuffed it in a dough I made for frying and boom, the perfect fried Bantam.”
Astra’s mouth watered as she wondered if she too sounded this excited when she talked about her own work. “Are they ready now? Might I buy a handful for the road?”
“For you dear, the first batch is free. Just give me your honest opinion.” And she shuffled away to put the food together.
Astra fished around the interior pocket of her leather jacket for two gold coins. There was no way she was taking Nelly’s delicious product without pay. When the talented baker came back with a paper sack full of freshly fried Bantams, Astra placed the two gold coins in the front pocket of her flowered apron and booked it down the street.
Calling back at the baker in glee she shouted, “You’ll get a full review this afternoon, I promise. And just remember, you should always charge for your orgasmic food Nels!” Astra waved heartily back at her while grasping the precious sack of Bantams to her full chest.
Looking to check the height of the sun as well she could through the tall chaos of buildings, Astra added speed to her slight jog. She had maybe thirty minutes before the shipment arrived and she hadn’t even made it to the bar yet. Jogging down a few more narrow blocks towards the docks, the wooden bar loomed ahead. The lucky grape sported two purple banners on either side of an etched mahogany sign with the images of grapes on an upturned bottle. This particular bar was always bustling with local activity. It served a variety of patrons, from the seediest to the typical working class. A working class of good strong people with a sense for hard work. It’s why she had chosen this bar to advertise in the first place. That and the bartender happened to be her good friend.
Pushing through the double doors of the already bustling bar, she headed directly to Sylvestro. They were pulling taps of the fruity amber ale the tavern was known for. “Good morning to my most favorite bartender in this fine establishment!” She flourished with the free hand not holding the still warm fried goods.
Sylvestro answered her greeting with one raised purple eyebrow. “Gooood…and what is it I can do for you my most pesky customer?”
Astra sheepishly withdrew a gold piece, sliding it towards the brown elf. “Was hoping you could maybe let me post my for help sign in the bar?” When they didn’t immediately respond, she added, “Can I sweeten the pot with a fresh-out-of-the-oil Bantam?” Astra shook the paper bag open just enough to allow their scent to hit Sylvestro’s nose.
“Nelly made them?” They inquisitively intoned, then closed their eyes with a big inhale.
“Syl, would I ever steer you down the wrong path?”
Their gaze scrutinized her as she returned with, “Okay, I strayed one time. One time, which my stomach paid for dearly—” she heard Sylvestro clear their throat before adding, “and yours.” She shook her head back and forth, “Never again…promise.” She added for good measure.
They rolled their cinnamon brown eyes, reaching out a hand. Giddily, she handed one bantam over, plucking one out for herself. “Cheers,” she motioned to tap the other bantam with hers. Bringing the tear-dropped-shaped fried dough to her mouth, she finally took a bite out of its crispy golden beauty. Simultaneously they threw their heads back and moaned in all its glory to the food gods.
“Oh my, that is absolute ambrrrrosia.” Sylvestro said stretching the last word.
“Undeniably,” she responded around a mouth full of chicken.
Licking her fingers, she took a moment to savor the remnant of her Bantam before continuing the conversation. Nervously tapping a left hand, she licked the saltiness from her lips, “So you’re sure it’s okay?”
Rolling his cinnamon-colored eyes dramatically and sighing he asked, “When have I ever said no?”
Astra winked, “Denied me? Never.” Continuing to tap the table she added, “Have you heard of anyone looking for a part-time job either working security or running a store?"
“I can think of a handful of people, but I’d advise against it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if they aren’t skimming from the top of the employer’s profits, then the rest of the lot can’t count past the fingers on their right hand. There is no in-between.”
Pondering over their statement, Astra nodded in understanding. “Well, hopefully, this will bring in someone fresh and new,” she waggled her brows as she held up the sign.
“That brooding tall, dark and handsome fellow is new.” Sylvestro nodded their head to the left side of the bar. “So is that delectable silver-haired god in the corner.”
Astra looked first to the closest man. “What do you know about him?”
“Absolutely nothing, but I’d like to,” They sighed.
The ruggedly handsome man seemed to be momentarily lost in deep thought as he brought his ale to his wet lips. He held himself differently from the relaxed patrons around the bar. Sitting stiffly and out of place. Covered in slight road dust and muddy boots, he appeared to have just arrived at this seedy metropolis. Curious indeed.
Moving her gaze away from the quiet man to the corner Sylvestro had nodded at, she began observing the devastatingly handsome elf. The worry lines between his brows were the only thing that diminished his rugged beauty. He seemed simultaneously angry and reserved. Like a simmering stew waiting for its boil point to change causing its contents to overflow.
Before Astra could stop staring, the silver-haired man turned and looked at the pair of them. Startled after being caught, Sylvestro pretended to wipe that pesky spot on the bar, and she did the only thing she could, smile and wave. The verdant eyed man returned the gesture with a nod that suffused the flush she felt in her face.
Finding herself in the awkward position of staring, Astra tapped on the bar and said, “Well, if I don’t leave now, the merchant might leave with my merchandise.”
They gave her an awkward smile as she walked over to the wooden post closest to the bar and attached the paper with a tack fished from another pocket in her leather jacket. Finishing the task, she sidled back to the bar, placing her hands on either side of her waist and propelled herself far enough over the counter to plop a smacking kiss on her friend’s purple-banged forehead. Then picked up her bag of Bantams on the way down and handed two more to Sylvestro.
“Don’t frown so much. It makes you scrunch your forehead and gives you a unibrow.” She laughed at her own comment as she turned on the ball of her foot and headed toward the port.
There was the usual amount of dock action for this time of day. Most of the fisherman were out testing their luck on the Sea of Stars, but the rest of the hubbub was filled with the loading and unloading of product to and from cargo ships. Some of the boats showed scars of tribulations with pirates, at least for those lucky few who made it to port. Astra tightened the grip on her leather satchel and gave a comforting tap to the hidden pistol at her thigh. About eighty percent of her dealings on the docks were fine, and that was thanks to her connection to Lord Lucivar. But for the other twenty, she kept her eyes peeled.
Walking to find a high point on the docks, Astra looked for the telltale banners of the Argent Dawn. Off in the distance, she saw the supposed ship making its way. If her estimation was correct, they would be docked within ten minutes. Finally, that electrum would be hers, and her designs would come to life. The science of Earth was just a dream now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t meld science from her home world with magic this one. This wondrous place had the energy (magic), now they just needed the right vessel. In this home away from home, Astra let her brown waves cascade down her back as she closed her eyes and faced the sun. The future looked electric.
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Posted: Tue Aug 01, 2023 8:20 pm
. o O ( Still no post style muwahahaha ******** the rules I have money. ) The night before, in one of the many deepening and dark chasms of the West Gate underworld, a fire roiled within a hearth of cold stone, illuminating the sizeable room that hung with an equally chilled air. Hanging from the ceiling was a crystal chandelier that reflected the firelight and made it dance across the ceiling and surrounding walls. There were no windows allowing the light to escape, and that was how they liked it. A black chair with a tall back and cushioned with red velvet was set in set in an uncomfortable proximity to the hearth as if whoever sat in it begged for the warmth of the flame but was unable to drink it in. Naturally, the figure sitting in the chair couldn't enjoy the heat of the fire he had set even if he were to cast himself into it. Such was the price he had paid for the gift of a second, heightened life of extravagant damnation. His pale, opalescent eyes stared into the heart of the hearth, staring at the embers that flickered about before vanishing into the air. The hot coals of the logs that had been crackling away were a bright red-orange which reflected in his eyes. He looked like he was studying them, as if the remnants of burning cords of wood were able to tell him something. Something then broke his trance and forced him to look upwards where he regarded a pale, slender woman with alabaster hair that framed her face on either side and cascaded downwards to the small of her back. She shared the same pale, opalescent eyes that he did and the only color was the rouge that she placed upon her high cheekbones, as well as the red that she applied to her lips. In spite of accepting what she was, she didn't enjoy the almost lucid whiteness of her skin. Perhaps that was why she wore color whenever she could. Even now, she wore a blood red velvet slip that was a size too big and it slipped off one shoulder at the best of times. She stood there for a second, hand on one hip and another brandishing two small goblets. "Cecilia," he said softly, "you're blocking my light." There was a glint in her eyes, both playful but also ferocious. She was a temptress some of the time but a huntress all of the time. "It's the only way to get your attention these days," she said, her Barovian accent coating each of her words. She gingerly sat herself down upon his laps, pressing her back against his torso and leaning the back of her head in the crook of his neck. Even now, he could feel how dangerous she was. She was being coy, her favorite game. He knew that she had a hairline trigger and could turn into that monster he knew was inside of her. Even though she was purring in his ear, letting that demure chuckle feather its way into his mind, he was keenly aware of that it was half an act. "What can I do for you, Cecelia?" "I just wanted the pleasure of your company, that's all." She lifted herself up just enough to let the two goblets float from her hand into the air in front of her. Appearing beside the goblets was a small decanter which lifted itself above the goblets and tipped over, pouring a stream of red and black into both of the goblets before vanishing. "We never talk anymore." "You mean we don't have sex anymore," he said flatly as she played around with her magic. "Well, that too," she said with a soft chuckle while she pressed the rim of the goblet against her lips and tilted her head back, allowing the mixture of blood and wine to fall down her throat. He watched her, watched the lump in her throat move as she gulped it down. "Is the other one for me or are you a lush tonight?" "I want your company," she said lightly but he could hear the razor edge of her words. "Drink with me." The goblet floated into his hand and he wasted no time downing it. "Human," he said, detailing the notes of it. "And a one-hundred-year red. Not bad." "You could always tell, Soren," she said with a soft chuckle. She finished her drink and the goblet vanished along with his. "Please stop ignoring me." There it was. She dropped all pretense and drove a stake into the heart of the matter. She was lonely. The huntress, the warrior queen, the white widow who had slew her human husband after he had saved her from dying of flu, was here before him, simpering like a b***h who lost her pups. "You're not a thrall, Cecelia, you don't need to follow me around." "But I want to," she said with all the bite she could muster in her voice. "Remember what we used to be?" "I remember," he said softly while turning his gaze back into the fire. "That fat duke husband of yours wanted me to save his beautiful young bride. Little did he know that the very thing that saved you would also rob himself of you." There was that soft chuckle from her while she purred into his ear. "I wish you could have seen the look on his face when I ripped his throat out. It took weeks for me to rinse the taste out of my mouth. That was the first time you left me alone. I barely found you." She gently traced a pointed nail across the skin of his cheek. "...but I did." "Yes, you did. I had to know you'd be able to survive on your own. As much as a gift this is, as some of our kind would have you believe, it is a curse tenfold. Not everyone survives the blood haze, even fewer survive being turned." He turned his gaze upon her. "You turned out all right." "Because you were my sire, Soren. You were...are...strong. I feel intensely alive because of you -- more so than when I was really amongst the living. There is a magnetism between us...something more than this dead flesh of ours. You fill my veins with fire and I cannot stand this cold distance that you have put between us." Sorin continued to stare at her for a moment before turning his gaze back towards the hearth. He couldn't help how she felt; the bond between sire and dhampir was intense. Often it was mistaken for a heartfelt emotion like love and if they were ever spurned, it often turned into an intense rage. However, the feelings surrounding him and his people was something that turned his heart colder than when it had stopped beating. "Cecelia...." Transition! The Argent Dawn had pulled into the harbor and the men who worked the ship were unloading the crates of their wares that they had brought over from the islands. Most of it was citrus fruits and spices, the luxuries that mainlanders either couldn't grow or had trouble doing so. It was a reprieve from the same potatoes and corn and dirt vegetables that they were used to. One of the deckhands noticed that from the moment they were pulling into port, docking the ship, and began unloading, a woman of sun-kissed skin, brown locks, and amber eyes had been watching them. He adjusted the sash around his waist, fixed his hat, and pressed his feet towards her. "Um, 'scuse me, ma'am, but yer starin' mighty intently. Is there somethin' we could 'elp you with?"
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Posted: Wed Aug 09, 2023 2:58 pm
  The curse that stained her soul followed her like a malignant wind, chasing her across the continent. No matter where she settled, the deal she made in desperation kept cropping up as though it were a persistent weed, a creeping vine bent on entangling her. The woman blinked back tears that refused to surface, the backs of her eyes burning from the effort as the ship was pulled toward the docks, marking the end of her venture on the sea. Time, it seemed, had done little to alleviate her guilt, the emotion a festering knot in her belly. Here’s to hoping distance is the key.
“Dock’s choc-a-block, Cap’n.” One of the hands reported, tossing the mooring lines to those helping bring the vessel in. “Gonta be a tight squeeze fer sure.”
She only heard the report because of her placement aft the deck, but she watched as the crew worked with the dock workers to berth their haul. Impressed with their efficiency, she dipped her head toward the captain. “It’s a fine crew you have." Natalia remarked, adjusting her bag at her waist. “Once again, I cannot thank you enough for the safe passage.” Holding up a pair of golden coins for the man, his gray gaze took her in. Had be been a younger man, his tastes might have been more than amorous as he eyed her trim waist, the soft bow of her hips… the generous curves up. But her dark hair and piercing blue eyes reminded him too much of his daughter to inspire such an appetite.
“I don’t need your bit o’ shine, Miss. Ye earned yer keep by fixin’ their clothes, keeping the bellies well-fed.”
Hooking a stray curl behind her ear, she fell into an informal curtsy. “I still appreciate your aid. In all things.” Though he had been impervious to her allure, the same could not have been said of his men, and he had shielded her from the more zealous hands on deck.
Chuckling, his voice held a gravelly quality only achieved from years of smoking a pipe. “I can’t say ‘at part was me pleasure. But ye should still be wary o’ the city. Place isn’ fit fer gentle company.”
Though he couldn’t have known, Natalia was counting on that. A city so mired with criminal activity would make it easy to slip between the cracks and escape justice. “I’ll keep that in mind, Captain O’Rourke.” She feigned a promise for his benefit. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
He tipped his hat to her, and she departed from the Ivory Breeze without any more fanfare. Drawing her hood up, Natalia fixed her gaze on the cobblestone path just off of the docks and did her best to be nondescript, forgettable - dark cloak, her bags all muted colors, her countenance obscured from a passing view. Only the bottom half of her face visible, the way her mouth formed a frown painted a heavy, melancholy cloud that dubbed her a woman in apparent mourning.
Her threadbare slippers made naught a sound against the pathway as she plodded through the city of Westgate, summoning discipline to appear as though she had purpose to be here. Tearing her eyes from her path, she glanced about the town, indecision marring her features. From what she knew of Westgate, daytime only provided a false sense of security, and she should suspect hostility from most everyone she crossed. She held the bag at her side tighter still as the streets swarmed with people - merchants, thieves, sailors and the like. Dodging this way and that, the bustling of all walks of life left her ill at ease. Too long had she hid away from general hubbub of a larger settlement in favor of Guerrin’s hamlet.
His name alone pricked at her heart with the points a thousand needles, and she swallowed a lump of air, forcing her conscience to stray from the memory of his glassy, lifeless eyes staring up at her - laden with betrayal.
Definitely far from what one might describe as paradise, this port city offered a fresh start… one she desperately needed. Chancing a glance to read the signage above doorways, the first tavern she happened upon had a curious name. How could a grape be leaky? Her expression contorted into something of disgust from the images the name conjured, but she resigned herself to give the place the benefit of the doubt - especially given the stifling heat that made the air itself feel wet, as though she were drawing it into her lungs through a cloth. Plus, the “Help Wanted” sign caught her interest.
Dipping inside, Natalia doffed her cloak and folded it over one arm before choosing a seat at the bar, nearest the wall. “Excuse me.” She piped up, her accent light with rounded consonants. She leaned over the wet bar to eye the barkeep as she pushed back the cascading ebony curls over her shoulder. “There was a sign outside advertising help was needed.”
Full, rose-colored lips pursed as sapphire imbued orbs took in the tavern. For such an unfortunate name, it certainly was cleaner than expected. “I am new in town, and could use a bit of work.”
__________________________________
I hate intros.
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Posted: Wed Aug 23, 2023 10:04 am
 𝕮ahir A number of gazes had wandered toward the cloaked man's direction, gazes he most certainly took note of, but actively chose to barely acknowledge as that was not his purpose here. Lord Masque valued subtlety and it seemed the cloaked man still had much to learn in the way of perfecting the art considering there were a set of gazes in particular that had lingered on him far longer than necessary, seemingly ogling him. The preference would have been a simple glance in his direction and nothing more. He wanted nothing more than to be a mere wall flower, fly on the wall, someone that was practically nonexistent to everyone within the crowd.
His uncanny ability to draw the attention of others without even trying was something his fellow Maskarrans often belittled him for. They spoke down to him regarding his elven heritage, that his features were too soft and welcoming, how he needed to harden those features and become more distant, unremarkable. Part of him wondered if it was out of jealousy they said such things, a part that was perhaps a tad vain.
The other part of him full heartedly agreed with his fellow Maskarrans and tirelessly sought a permanent solution to his ailment. Magic was always a temporary solution as an option, he could alter his appearance for a short period of time. The disguise kit he was rather adept with was also another option, however, neither were permanent solutions to what was clearly an ongoing issue he had yet to find a satisfying resolution to. After all, there weren't many who willingly marred their own faces, or self mutilated themselves like deranged butchers. Perhaps it was a vice that would prevent him from ever truly rising to the top of Lord Masque's ranks, but he happened to prefer leaving his face the way it was and keeping his wits about him. Allowing Lord Masque to completely consume him was not something this particular Maskarran happened to have interest in.
The only acknowledgement he was gracious enough to offer the gawking duo was a brief glimpse in their direction, long enough to momentarily lock eyes with the animated amber eyed woman that had been staring at him about as subtly as a toddler splashing in a puddle across the street. Had he not been hardened by life's circumstances and the strictness of the regiment he kept, he might have even cracked a smile at the complete lack of discretion and the heat that quickly came to her cheeks for realizing she'd been caught. She certainly carried an air about herself that implicated her as bold and wild, qualities that many men were sure to find desirable, but not this particular man. Something about her seemed almost ethereal, though, despite her utter lack of grace and it ever so slightly vexed the cloaked man.
The bartender, with whom she was clearly familiar with, received the same cold gaze, a gaze that simultaneously seemed like staring into a void yet also seemed to harbour some otherworldly phantasm dancing within them, trapped and caged. The meaning of subtlety was clearly lost upon this particular neon haired individual as well. It was apparent they wished to stand out, rather than blend in. It was because of individuals like these, however, he did manage to thrive most of the time. The more they stood out and the louder they were, the more they drowned him out and helped him meld into the background provided they weren't gawking at him as they currently were. Quite an inconvenience.
It had also not gone unnoticed by the cloaked man, whom the gawking duo had chosen as their first victim to size up and discuss. Yet another patron within the bar that was also seemingly keeping to themselves, trying to, at least. The man had a strange air about him as if he didn't fully belong. Something made him seem out of place here but the Maskarran could not quite put his finger on why. His energy, his essence, it was different somehow than most who resided here. One thing about the man was readily clear: he was looking for something. His gaze was attentive and based on the stranger's physique and somewhat wary stance, the cloaked figure would be willing to bet this one knew how to make himself useful in a fight.
Last to arrive and be thoroughly noted was the pale, ebony haired woman who wasted no time in approaching and seating herself at the bar in order to draw the bartender's attention. Her gesture, unbeknownst to her, was appreciated by the cloaked man as she further assisted him in his attempt to meld into the background. She claimed she was new here, and judging by the way she astutely yet cautiously eyed her surroundings, he believed that at the very least, she had not been to this particular establishment before. Her eyes lacked recognition of the place and of the person she was speaking to but what they did not lack was intelligence and cognizance. It seemed there was possibly more to this one than she was wanting to let on, like she was trying to make herself seem perfectly harmless, a possible damsel looking for aid. The intensity behind her eyes, though, betrayed any notion that she was helpless as far as the cloaked man was concerned, though. She was competent and she knew what she was doing and she most certainly had a story to tell.
All the same, the cloaked man remained seated and simply opted to resume observing his surroundings and waiting for an opportune moment to exit so as not to draw further attention to himself and be disturbed. Perhaps once this new arrival became further invested in her conversation and drew more attention from others, he would find a reasonable opportunity to make his leave.
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Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2023 10:48 am
Kellan sat there at the tavern, his ale was a pleasant drink for the morning. It was much like many of the different things he ate in this world, good, but not quite the same as what he enjoyed in the reality he was born in. The differences were often not huge, and often this world surprised him with what he was enjoying. This particular ale was similar to the one that he enjoyed in his home city, at a tavern called Luna’s, a local place that he frequented when he wasn’t on a hunt. They made a delicious ale that had hints of citrus that were perfect in the morning. This had a similar taste, but also had a strange hint of honey. He had to wonder how to create this back home.
If he ever found a way home of course.
He took in his surroundings, others came in and set themselves up at the tavern, enjoying the morning drink. One person soon approached the barkeep about work, which caused Kellan to stand up and approach as well. “I too, was informed of an opportunity for work. If the coin’s available of course.” he said, the bow on his shoulder indicated that whatever the job, he was prepared to what was required. It wasn’t a wood from this world, carved from a tree known simply as an Ironwood. Lightweight, flexible, yet strong as metal, this wood was difficult to work with but made for impressive staves and bows. Those capable of working with Ironwood were heavily sought after for their trade.
His brother was one such craftsman, he made that bow for him after his first big hunt. He’d proved himself after taking down a chimera, and he received the Ironwood Bow from him. He missed Corso, he as the only family he had at this point, and he was literally worlds away.
“Whatever the job is, I’m happy to do it.” he reiterated.
OOC: Lemme know if I need to add s**t.{/b]
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Posted: Mon Oct 09, 2023 7:07 pm
“Enter.” Commanded the man at the ornately carved desk. Dark chestnut locks curled around his pointed ears. The shadows cast by the candlelight sought residence behind the sharp features of his face giving credence to the deadly air the man exuded.
“You rang for me, milord?" An elderly manservant spoke from the doorway, his entire upper body bent into a sharp bow, perpendicular to the ground. Though his back ached, his years of service bade him remain still.
With a graceful, pale finger the man pointed to a small stack of letters on a silver platter. “Take those and have them delivered today. Make sure they get in the right hands before this evening. I would hate to miss my extra guests for the ball.”
“Without fail, milord.” The tired frame rose once more, but his eyes remained cast to the floor. He proceeded forward with careful steps, until he reached the edge of the desk and picked up the tray with both white-gloved hands. Bowing once more and with a, “Milord,” he backed away a few steps before doing a quick ball-change and exited the room.
As the pale man at the desk heard the soft-click of the door, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. His Shadows had spoken to him about secrets on the wind. They told a tale of caution. A tale of mysterious visitors to his city. Intrigue was like a goblet of the finest blood, and he did enjoy a good vintage. What he didn’t enjoy was uncertainty, and no one came into the Vampire Lords’ City without their knowledge. If they proved dangerous, well, he could always use a good restock of drink. But perhaps they would prove…more adequate to his needs. They would receive their invitations, a mere formality, and they would join him for an evening of debauchery. Spirits and sex always loosened tongues. And well, if they chose to ignore it, their visit to the city would be short-lived indeed.
***At a bathhouse in the city***
“I have a message to deliver, and the man is in this bathhouse!” The red-faced courrier seethed with frustration at the receptionist barring his entry.
“Maybe, but this is a private bathhouse, where private business is conducted and I will not be granting you access unless you are a paid customer.” Retorted a man, equally as crimson as the courier.
“This letter is from one of the benefactors himself, and will be delivered or it’s both our heads.” The courier continued to emphatically insist, waving the fine sealed parchment in his hand.
“And your benefactor should know that this establishment is well-regarded for its privacy as I am sure they have benefited from it in the past. Not that I would tell you if they had.” The man was getting hoarse.
“Could you at least deliver this yourself?” He questioned wide-eyed.
“Then I would be revealing that the owner of that letter is here and that would be a breach of our procedure. And I will not bring down the good name of our establishment on your master's whims.” The harried man with white hair and mustache waved his hands in the air, much like the courier.
“We already know he is in there,” he sighed. “Let me through, this instant, or it’s your head, not mine.” He motioned imperiously.
“No, means no. Go before I call the city guard.” The receptionist retorted with finality.
Without a second thought, knowing his life was on the line, the courier pushed past the older man into the establishment. Despite his age, the agile older receptionist stayed on the courier’s heels, while he mouthed silent curses at his back. Finally reaching his destination after several twists and turns, the courier rounded the corner pushing a curtain to the side. As he began to take stock of the room he felt a firm grip around his elbow. In the attempt to maintain his grasp on the courier, and in the courier’s attempt to yank his arm free of the receptionist, they both forgot about the perilous wet floors. Like squawking geese and a flailing of arms and legs, both men landed on the ground.
“s**t.” The courier groaned as air whooshed out of his lungs. As the older man sat there dazed, the courier used his attempt to get the letter delivered. From the ground and with a croak he asked, “Is anybody here named Lord Richard?” And more to himself than anyone else added, ”Please tell me it is so.” (Shawn, I don’t know his full name or title and can fix this later.)
***Back at the Leaky Grape***
Caught in the act of staring at the mysterious silver-haired man, Astra felt the heat suffuse her cheeks. It’s not as if she had never stared and been caught before, this felt…different and the heat in her cheeks lingered. Perhaps it was the silent judgment she felt from them.
“Excuse me.” Astra had been so distracted she did not see the woman enter the establishment or find purchase in a tall stool nearest her.
It took several moments to realize that Astra had been staring once again. She hated to admit that she was no better than a man, but her amber eyes immediately grazed the woman’s voluptuous bosom. Like two perfect, peachy pillows - er, um, holy s**t, she’d gotten lost in awe once more. Snapping her eyes back up into a range of acceptability, she was slammed with two brilliantly cerulean eyes. And they took her breath away. She had seen those eyes before, a very long time ago. Ones that used to stare back at her in the mirror, the very same ones she had gotten from her mother.
“Um..hello.” Astra inadvertently squeaked, then cleared her throat like a prepubescent teen.
Not knowing what to do with her hands, she grabbed onto the strap of her satchel as if it would give her answers. There was something electric about this woman that threw her off. And oh boy, her spidey-senses were tingling. She hadn’t felt this way since first arriving in this city, in the body of someone else. Those first few moments, which led into weeks and months, was a sensation like a beacon in the back of her mind. Uncomfortable and unpleasant. She didn’t know what it meant then, and she didn’t know now. And she wasn’t happy the sensation was back.
“There was a sign outside advertising help was needed. I am new in town, and could use a bit of work.” The mysterious woman spoke with a sultry voice.
Looking at the sign on the post next to her and then back at Syl, she mouthed, “My sign?”
They just shrugged and moved onto drying the next glass.
Clearing her throat to gain the woman’s attention, “Do you mean that sign,” and she pointed at the post to the right of the bar. Without waiting for a response, she placed her hands on the wooden slab before her to keep them from fidgeting and said, “I mean… I am looking for help in my shop if you’re interested.”
Astra could still feel the thrum of that pulse in the back of her mind. But logistics outweighed spidey-senses and their shop needed help. If this woman knew magic and could handle a rune that would be great. If not, then having someone who looked like her, man the front of the store, would definitely bring about more street-bound customers. Details could be worked out later, if she accepted of course.
Before she could ask more questions, the mysterious man Syl and her had noticed, spoke up. “I too, was informed of an opportunity for work. If the coin’s available of course.” He pointed to the well-crafted bow over his shoulder before adding, “Whatever the job is, I’m happy to do it.”
A jack-of-all-trades, useful. The glow in Astra’s amber eyes grew brighter. “The coin is available, of course.” She looked into the verdant eyes of the man, then to the cerulean lakes of the woman, deftly avoiding her ample cleavage this time. Pulling out two business cards, she handed one to each. “I can use all the help I can get.”
As far as she could tell, they weren’t vamps. No vamp walked out into this sun without red welts immediately blossoming on their delicate and pasty skin. Her financial backer may be one, and she took that risk willingly for the money but she couldn’t trust the rest as far as she could throw them. That didn’t mean these two individuals weren’t dangerous in their own right, but this city was synonymous with treachery and guile, if one applied it correctly. The logistical part of her brain was more than willing to risk it for the biscuit.
Smiling brightly, Astra brought a hand to her hat and tipped it as she spoke once more. “I’m Astra, pleased to meet you both.”
As she placed her hands at her hips, her smile followed a distraction that had just entered the bar. The man looked haggard and well, wet. He was sporting the typical pin-stripe hat with a singular feather protruding from the top that signified him as a Silver-Courier. More eyes in the bar turned to him as he glanced at a scroll in his hands. Satisfied with whatever existed on that scroll he looked up and regarded the few figures in the establishment himself, and nodded at those who met his eyes. Regarding the scroll once more for good measure, the courier locked his sharp gaze upon his first victim, the lonesome mysterious man. The judgy man.
As he moved forward, he raised in his hand a letter Astra had not seen when he first walked in. It was a finely processed golden parchment with the blood-red seal of Lord Lucivar. Yep, she’d recognize that sealed summons anywhere. As the wet and exhausted looking courier reached his destination, he held the letter out to the silver-haired man. The courier's back was turned to us, blocking any possible conversation from being overheard. Who was that mysterious man and what dealings did he have with Lord Lucivar? Releasing the squint of her glowing amber eyes, she gently chided herself to remember this was a city of secrets, and to mind her own damn business. But her business would not be minded, as the courier had finished his conversation with the silver-haired man and was walking towards the bar.
“Ehem.” Clearing his throat once more he attempted to gain the attention of the only person not immediately staring at him. (Pix, if I need to change this I will) “Ehem, madam. This summons is for you.” He gently proffered the letter towards the lady bowing his head, deftly avoiding her ample bosom much better than Astra had been able to. Much to her surprise however, the courier turned his attention to the tall, dark-haired stranger, offering him a similar summons as well. “And for you, sir.”
What exactly was going on with these strangers that Lord Lucivar had taken an interest? Of course, she had received something similar many years ago. But this did not bode well. Either these were dangerous people he wanted to keep in line, or interesting enough to pique the curiosity of a predator. Either way, as fate would have it, her possibly newest recruits would be joining her for the same soiree she was to attend this evening. A political dance was afoot and this precipice they seemed to be perched upon, was becoming perilous. Hopefully these three people were smart enough not to dismiss this summons.
***On the docks***
As she stood on the docks, waiting for the Argent Dawn to finish docking, she thought back to the conversations at the bar. Who knew two people would be interested so quickly? Some might claim it to be fate or some other divine bull-crap. Yes, it helped that Syl was one of her closest friends, giving her access to the bar, but Astra had strategically chosen the Leaky Grape for its proximity to the docks. The docks meant new people that often came looking to strike it lucky in the city that never slept. Some came to disappear. Although nothing stayed off the vamps radars for long. She learned that the hard way, but turned it around to benefit her own needs in the end. As long as she remained useful. With this help at the store, she could spend more time inventing and producing. And that would keep the Lord off their backs.
Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by a deck-hand who hadn’t seen a bath in weeks. “Um, 'scuse me, ma'am, but yer starin' mighty intently. Is there somethin' we could 'elp you with.”
She had been dreaming off into space. The ship…yes, the goods had arrived! Now all she needed to do was procure them and get them back to the shop.
“Hey, yeah, I’m with Gadgets and Gizmos Aplenty, here to pick up my order.”
***NOTES***
First order of business, the invitation, which doth proclaim:
Welcome traveler, to our venerable city of West Gate. Surely you would be remiss to come upon my delicate city in such stealth without first introducing yourselves. Therefore, I have gallantly penned this invitation to my ball this evening. Fear not if your attire does not suffice, my estate would be more than willing to accommodate. The soiree begins nigh on two hours before the clock strikes midnight, when the fun truly commences. I will see you there this evening. I do so hope, I will not be disappointed.
Yours truly,
Lord L. Yaslana
Second order of business:
Hey guys, I did the best I could since we are all split up at the moment. If you have any issues with what I have written or think I have forgotten anything, please DM me.
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Posted: Mon Feb 05, 2024 9:44 pm
White teeth found a piece of flesh on her bottom lip as she leaned over the bar, waiting for someone to take note of her. Cloak in hand, she nearly shrank into herself in hopes of keeping a low profile. Even still, she felt eyes on her back from one of the tables blanketed in shadow. Repressing a shudder so as to not give away that she was keenly aware of the scrutiny, Natalia cleared her throat and waved down the barkeep.
The sound of her voice ripped an amber-eyed woman from her thoughts, but the deep cut of Natalia’s crimson dress left the woman distracted once more. An elegantly sculpted eyebrow climbed toward her hairline and the barest glimmer of amusement at the unabashed gawking pulled at one corner of her lips. Well aware of the effect that her shapely top and trim waist had on many a wandering eye, she did not balk at the attention.
When the woman found the use of her vocal chords again, she squeaked out a greeting that sounded more like a rodent caught between the claws of a predator than it did a human.
A smile shone in Natalia’s features, masking any manipulative machinations she intended to use to earn coin. “Hello,” the dark-haired woman repeated, before going on to explain her want for employment.
The woman seemed confused by that, turning to have some sort of silent exchange with someone else behind the bar. When she spun back around to face her, she pointed at a sign posted next to the bar.
With a stiff nod, her cerulean pools danced in the dim lighting. “The very same, if the sign in the window reflects the same job posting. I am not overly particular about what work I take while I get my footing here.” Thankfully, it seemed that the woman needed help in her shop rather than some sort of manual labor in mines or whatever. Opening her mouth to list qualifications for working in a store, she was not able to finish before an unceremonious interruption that she couldn’t help but believe was meant to cut her short of ascertaining gainful employment. “I am skilled in -”
A boisterous man took a stance next to her and made himself competition for the job posting. Casting a sidelong gaze at him from behind a curtain of ebony curls, her blood-red lips fell into a pout at his announcement. Informed of work, rather than having seen the posting. Illiterate maybe? He held some sort of bow as though it were a qualification in and of itself, but if it was something special, she had no inkling of what that was. Perhaps instead of reading, he could shoot arrows at the letters instead.
If she was caught off-kilter by the interruption, it did not show in the serenity of her features. “If you can use both of us, then it sounds as though we will be working together,” she said sweetly to the man next to her, her smile brilliant as she took the card from the woman. “I’m sure it is a pleasure to meet you both. What sort of work is needed in the shop, did you say?” The query posed, she did not yet offer up her name.
She felt less inclined to do so when a feather-hatted man stepped into the Leaky Grape. He did a quick assessment of the scroll in his hand and then stalked over to the man lurking in the shadowed portion of the tavern. He handed the man an envelope and then went about the bar, but her eyes stayed on the summoned instead of the courier, trying to gauge his expression. So intent on reading him, she missed the pinstripes standing so close to her. Shaking her head, her curls fell like a satin sheet around her face. “I don’t understand.”
Who would have even known her - let alone know she had arrived to send her any sort of mail? Her new coworker also received one, but Natalia focused less on that as the color drained from her face. “There must have been some sort of mistake. I only just arrived and I know no one in town beyond Astra here, and that is by your name only,” she said, turning the envelope over with a shaking hand.
Surely Captain O’Rourke would not have sold out her name so quickly. Her knees threatened to buckle from underneath her, and she found a hair across from the cloaked man who had also received a letter. “Do you know what this is about?” To her credit, her voice held no quivering. But the man looked as though he had been intentionally avoiding people - only to receive some sort of fancy letter.
Her crimson-tipped nail hesitantly opened the envelope, and she wet her now dry lips. Setting it down on the table, stormy blue eyes digested the words, paranoid that she would have to leave so soon after coming to West Gate. Her heart leaped to her throat at the description of her arrival. “Stealthily?” The word tumbled from her lips as though she were truly incredulous. “I paid well for my safe passage here.”
For now, she would play the fool - the confused damsel. “Is there some sort of formality that travelers must meet with this -” she glanced down to the tail end of the invitation. “Lord Yaslana? I meant no offense, and I only drew my hood because the captain had said this city was dangerous for women to travel alone…”
Flicking her gaze between the stranger, her new coworker, and her potential new boss, she tucked a thread of glossy raven hair behind her ear. “I had no idea that someone watched a city as large as this for incoming strays.”
__________________________________
I hate intros.
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Posted: Tue Feb 06, 2024 2:15 pm
𝕮ahir The cloaked man had been in the middle of plotting his exit from the establishment he was currently haunting while simultaneously eavesdropping on the conversation happening between the group at the bar when he was suddenly accosted by a soaking wet courier's approach. The silent observer was not at all impressed with his hosts’ decision to send this courier directly to him, plain for all to see, when he had undergone the effort to discretely and respectfully inform them of his arrival. Had they entirely forgotten who it was they were dealing with? This entire gesture marred lord Masque’s strict code of discretion and subtlety. Perhaps these otherworldly hosts were not as aligned with Masque in perspective as they had been hoping, or perhaps they hadn’t bothered to research Masque's ways as intently as The Lord of Shadows had these predators that ruled Westgate by night. Preparedness was practically one of the Lord of Shadow's tenants, one that the cloaked representative very much took to heart and had been hoping his hosts would as well despite Lord Masque's confirmation that theirs had ceased beating long ago.
While their error, intended or not, could very much be perceived as a slight to both him and his lord, the cloaked man remained perfectly expressionless as he fastidiously accepted the frazzled courier’s letter. The man’s calm, collected demeanor and lack of expression was yet another component of the art he’d spent his life attempting to perfect over the years. To be unreadable was to assure no enemies knew when or where you would strike from, or that you were even planning to in the first place. That same air of mystery could also be used to draw the attention of those one did require things from if wielded with proper form. Unfortunately, in this case, it had drawn someone with complete lack of regard pertaining to subtlety, much to the cloaked figure’s disappointment, not that any seeped through in his features or gestures in any way.
It was not his place to judge this man, he would leave it up to The Lord of Shadows himself to instruct him on how he was to proceed from this point forward. Of course, that would require the cloaked delegate to commune with the shadows themselves, a feat not many were capable of, and also something he most definitely wasn’t going to undertake in the presence of anyone else. Lord Masque was ever patient and ever vigilant and had placed his faith in the cloaked individual to play his part accordingly due to the favour the cloaked individual had worked tirelessly toward. And just as the courier had arrived in ignorance, he had also departed in it, none the wiser to the grave blunder he'd just committed in front of the Lord of Shadows, no less. The cloaked man internally smiled at the irony of the situation while outwardly he remained an entirely blank canvas.
Yet again he'd been preparing to take his leave when he was accosted a second time by the approach of the mysterious cerulean eyed beauty. Up close her eyes possessed a depth to them far more intriguing than that of the very ocean itself, eyes that attempted to hide their intent beneath that depth and whatever it was that haunted her there. He was very much drawn in by them, meeting her expansive gaze with his own frigid one. Many claimed eyes were the windows to the soul but for those that gazed upon this mysterious man's eyes, they would be hard pressed to tell whether he was in possession of one at all. The light that typically danced within one's eyes was devoured entirely within his pupils, like staring into the very void of nothingness itself. No warmth dwelled there and no reflections could be seen within them.
It had not escaped his vigilant notice that she too had received an invitation from the very same courier, and that she had been visibly shaken by the ordeal. Now it was time for him to dawn the mask of benevolence and concern, assure her that she would be alright, that he intended to get to the bottom of this for both their sakes, lull her into a false sense of security and ensure she remained unaware of who the true predator in this situation was. He bowed his head formally to her as he addressed her while removing his hood, “Milady, I’m afraid I am just as lost in the dark as you are when it comes to what this entire matter is all about.” The lie did not run from his lips as they tended to when people were nervous, rather, it danced from them with utterly perfected aloofness. He even offered her a puzzled expression to aid in convincing her that he was being genuine.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, milady, but I cannot help but notice this entire ordeal has you visibly shaking. Do you need to take a seat for a moment? Perhaps a glass of water I could grab for you? I’m afraid there is not much I can offer you in the way of comfort aside from a proposal to help get to the bottom of all this, that is, if you were wishing for assistance in the matter. I do happen to be a scholar that is reasonably proficient in acquiring information when I need to be.” He methodically grasped a chair, pulling it closer in order to offer it to her so she could have a moment to sit, breathe, and process everything that had just happened in this very brief period of time. His other hand gestured toward the chair as he did so, offering her a quaint smile and bow as he took a step away so as not to occupy her space and seem overly imposing if she chose to take up the offer. “I don’t believe I caught your name, milady, I’m Cahir.”
His gaze, colder than the very tundra itself, passed between all the other individuals present as he introduced himself, nodding to each of them in turn as he expected they too were going to remain in attempts to uncover the mystery behind their summons as well. He offered a soft smile to each of them in turn as he nodded to them. The smile, at least, possessed the illusion of warmth, unlike his eyes.
When the ebony haired beauty went on to say that she had paid well for her safe passage to this place, the Masquerran made a small note of her particular phrasing in the back of his mind. She’d gone out of her way to specify safe passage. He wasn’t sure whether that was due to assuming the sea could be a generally treacherous place or if, perhaps, she was running from something. It was a question he was definitely curious enough to ask her if he ended up lucky enough to have a moment alone with her to inquire. If he were to base his guess off listening to her eyes rather than her words, however, he was willing to wager she was attempting to leave something or perhaps someone behind by coming here.
When the mysterious maiden referred to herself as a stray, it elicited a soft chuckle from the fair, platinum haired, elven man. “Again, excuse me if I am being too bold but you’re far too beguiling to be referring to yourself as a stray in my evidently not so humble opinion.” He offered the ebony haired beauty a smile in turn and waited to see how the remainder of the letter recipients would react to their new offering.
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