Antediluvixen

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

@MrDidact

Could I say he's just a minor noble or should I make up an actual house?

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

And a new application from a new person!

Mirren

Name: Mirren Sand
Age: 24
Affiliation: Gold and silver, silver and gold
Appearance: Mirren is both beautiful and terrible, standing at a solid five feet seven inches, with a well muscled physique - while still clearly that of a woman. She has clearly never wanted for food - her body is well rounded and healthy, with clearly visible abs and muscle in her limbs - she does not however comport herself strictly enough to eliminate any feminine curve, even if it is slighter than the ideal docile woman. Her skin is smooth and of an olive hue, showing the product of years under the Dornish sun; however, it is marred by scarring in many places - most notably an ugly looking cut on her neck narrowly passing by her jugular - she survived, but barely, and her gear now includes a chain coif of the highest quality to prevent a repeat event. She has piercing amber eyes and wavy dark hair that usually stays tied up but is occasionally let down to hang around her shoulders.

Pikatures

Profession: Bodyguard and consort.
Equipment:
Heavy Lamellar Armor, Helmet, and Shield (As seen in appearance section): What it looks like on the tin, a heavy duty set of sturdy lamellar armor consisting of tough layered steel plates riveted to each other and to a sturdy backing of hardened leather - essentially forming a cuirass, albeit far cheaper and easier to create. The armor is incredibly durable, having saved her hide on more than one occasion from axe, sword, and mace blows that surely would’ve been her undoing otherwise. The armor is worn over mail and a padded gambeson.

Recurve Bow: A lethal weapon, with a draw weight at a grueling 130 pounds, fully capable of impaling a man with a cruelly barbed tip from a great distance.

Straight Shamshir: A long sword, slightly curved and about three and a half feet long, with a wicked keen edge and a tip fully capable of impaling a man or laying him open from end to end.

Rondel Dagger: A weapon of last resort for armored fighting, when grappling with a knight, a quick thrust through his visor with the dagger is a surefire way of spilling his blue blood.

Skills: Mirren is an excellent swordswoman, having trained to use the sword since she was young, as well as being a half decent markswoman - though average overall. She has solid speaking skills and is adept at haggling with merchants, a byproduct of her upbringing in Sunspear. In addition, in her years as a bodyguard and consort for a nobleman, she has learned of many of the intricacies and finer points of the real dirty work of politics - the making and breaking of alliances and the subtle knife in the back while shaking a hand. In her time as a consort, she has picked up the intimacies of the bedroom, and how to seduce a man, be it for her own pleasure or to tease the secrets he may hide.

Biography:
Born the bastard child of a Lyseni bedslave and the minor noble captain of the guard of Sunspear. Beginning life as a swaddled baby presented to a chagrined captain, her father held no fondness for the feminine institutions of much of the world, and Mirren has held a blade in her hand since the day she could walk. Trained in swordplay, archery, and the use of a spear for her whole life, her father harshly forbade anything that was not conducive to being a fighter. She was never taught to sew a dress, nor has she worn one; never learned to curtsey or to sip tea; nor any other practices the people of Westeros would expect of a lady of relatively respectable station.

This did not mean, however, that there was no time for anything but swordplay, and she would entertain herself with books of battles of old, the tactics and strategies of great conquerers, and more closely - the history of the attempts at subjugation of Dorne by the Targaryens, how their dragons were held at bay and great armies pushed from the peninsula. Her father not only permitted, but encouraged this. A soldier - for that was what he intended her to be - must know more than how to kill their enemy, but how to organize and administer a force, to command troops, to spot the weaknesses in a foe and exploit them. While she never recieved formal instruction from others, she nonetheless scoured the libraries she was permitted entry to in her pursuit of knowledge. However, she just as frequently immersed herself in other books - some careless Maester having left a book in the wrong shelf that caught her eye, or the nonmilitary histories and writings of the people of Dorne and Lys, as well as other less… scholastic tomes.

Her life continued as such until her eighteenth birthday - by which time she was an adept swordswoman and acceptable archer, having always favored the former over the latter. She could compete with most men in contests of strength, and easily best them in feats of arms. However, her father was not nearly as dead as either of them had expected, and in fact hale and hearty even at 45 years old. So, instead of taking over his position - which despite initial objections she had proven herself capable of, she cast the net out, seeking employment as a sellsword, bodyguard, or anything else.

Eventually, a bastard of a minor noble house, surprisingly wealthy for his station, threw her an offer she could hardly refuse. Heavy sacks of gold and excellent accomodations in exchange for accompanying him on his travels as his bodyguard and consort. While initially she balked at the latter part, she grew to accept it and eagerly signed the contract, joining the young noble on exploits throughout the Free Cities of Essos, defending him against many attempted assassinations as the young man wove his way through the intricacies of noble intrigue, seeking to establish himself and secure even more gold. Eventually, however, after five years of mayhem in Essos, she came across the noble’s body rigid on his bed, a cask of wine and half filled glass offering the only explanation for his death. No fool, she immediately booked passage back to Westeros, bringing what little of his wealth with her that she could - enough to live rather comfortably for some time.

But she wanted more. All men and women want more, and it was this thirst for more wealth and power that drove her to King’s Landing. She herself had little interest in attaining a prominent position - too many eyes on figures of power, too many enemies seeking their demise. But a right hand, a bodyguard, the force behind the individual - that carried plenty of power and wealth itself, more than enough for her tastes.

Notes: She speaks with a harsh rasp to her voice from damage to her vocal cords, as well as a strong Dornish accent.
A decidedly irreverent woman, she holds little but contempt and disparagement for the Faith of the Seven and its more devoted adherents - though she is careful to hide her true feelings if present company is capable of defeating her.

Mass Effect: Borealis

@Dervish

But

Does it have Spess Cthulhus

I THINK NOT

0/10 worse than the E.T. game

(It does actually look p. good tho I'm just salty over the fact that apparently it's got more NVIDIA support over AMD though I'll probably buy it at some point anyway)

Mass Effect: Borealis

@Fallenreaper

Muahahahahahahahah

Mass Effect: Borealis

@Fallenreaper

I shall be here however

Not playing it and looking sad

Ianus Congreatio: Secret societies, horror, and mystery in the shadows of Prague.

@Astarael42

I shall stick around as well - I'm enjoying it personally and I can deal with slow posting.

Also yes I can view it too.

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

@HeySeuss

Ah, sorry to hear that.

Foreign Legion [First Contact/Uplift/Military Sci-Fi]

This looks fun!

I've got an old character I think would be quite fun repurposed - room for a grumpy Russian Spetsnaz GRU operative?

Mass Effect: Borealis

Shopping Trip

Starring:
Firuzeh
A bunch of salespeople

Firuzeh sighed, pushing her chair out from the desk in the medbay. The entire system was a mess, and it would take her days to properly format it and sort it out into a language she could understand - or at the very least was human in origin. But that would be something for another day, already she could feel the pinch of boredom and irritability from sitting there for five hours already trying to sort it out. She would probably have to do a complete wipe of the system, but for now, she had a ship to explore.

After a moment’s hesitation she decided to save the bridge for later and, with some trepidation, inspect the kitchen of the ship.

The sight that greeted her as she inspected freezers and refrigerators was… disheartening to say the least. Barely anything but frozen chunks of meat, inedible looking vegetables, and some salt for flavor. Making a face, she began emptying them out, inspecting each one and replacing anything that looked palatable - by the end she had a stack of frozen food and a sinking feeling in her gut - she had the distinct impression that her trip to resupply the crew would be an expensive one.

Dumping the unmentionable frozen food-like objects into a bag, she set out with a purpose back into Illyria with a sense of purpose. She doubted her medical knowledge would be overly necessary for some time - a regular cut could be repaired with medi gel, and any long term conditions were far out of her realm of expertise, but food on the other hand, was something they would immediately benefit from.

She thought back to her Quarian friend, Foru'Meell nar Faevis had been her name, and the… mostly voluntary cooking experiments with her. It had taken her some time, but she had eventually gotten the hang of cooking with dextro ingredients, but the thought of how much those would cost her was one she did not want to consider. But still, there were Turians on board, and she could hardly let them starve - or see the rest of the crew enjoying actual food and stuck with those unnameable frozen meat chunks.

She found a dumpster sitting forlorn in an alley and hurriedly walked over to it, dumping the severely freezer burned and probably years old food like a shameful secret best kept in the darkness. Which - to her eyes, it was.

Now with disposal out of the way, she neatly folded the bag, stopping a moment to orient herself before setting off in the direction of the market.

It was underwhelming, to say the least. For the most part she had avoided the market in the months following the Skyllian Blitz, with nowhere to call home she had taken to looking for odd jobs and wandering off into the wilderness to fire aimlessly at pests and trees before sleeping in one of the shelters set up by the Alliance. With no kitchen to use she had never had cause to visit the market.

It hardly came as a surprise to her - while the market in Illyria had hardly ever compared to Isfahan, it was even smaller now as a result of the Blitz, most stalls were empty or craters, but signs of life had bloomed there again, and even though it was small, vendors hawking their wares could be seen even from her position.

With a determined glare, she began her quest, scanning the meager selection of goods available for proper meat and produce. Levo goods were easy to find, and after fifteen minutes of very aggressive haggling, she had secured a full supply of frozen meat and vegetables, allegedly grown locally, to be delivered to the Jalopy - at the cost of a sizeable dent in her personal finances. She winced, giving her account a once-over before pressing further, asking if the man had any dextro foods on hand.

“Do I look like I have meat for those dinosaurs, lady?”

She pursed her lips, walking away. Normally she might have gotten into an argument with him, but right now she was on a mission to acquire supplies, and now was not the time to get into pointless arguments with racists. Instead, she needed to get into pointless arguments with stingy merchants.

The next store over, conveniently enough, proudly boasted of its stock of dextro meat, vegetables, and spices, though she had her doubts.

Several shouting matches later, complete with a competition for who had the more impressive war story to boast of, an arm wrestling match, and numerous threats of taking her business elsewhere, Firuzeh had managed to secure a sizeable stock of dextro ingredients as well, even if it was making her wallet weep bloody tears.

Now… her face took on a steely look and she scanned the market. She had to find some spices. She wondered if some of them, saffron mainly, would even be available in this pitiful excuse for a market, and prospects looked bleak, mostly general stores and other miscellaneous goods for sale, with the odd grocer here and there.

Then she spotted it, a small, out of the way stall off to the left - boasting of spices and other “rare and exotic ingredients”.

Despite herself, she approached it hopefully, gingerly fingering the much depleted credit chit in her pocket.

_____

“The fuck is this shit, you thrice damned pale imitation of a spice merchant?!” She shouted into the face of a stout, portly man who stood across from her. “You call this real authentic saffron!? Are you blind, or just a crook?” She slammed her right hand down on the counter, cybernetic fingers clenched tightly in frustration.

The source of her outrage lay before her - a cluster of dark red fibers in a neat little plastic baggie labeled “authentic saffron”. Her uncle had taught her many things, but chief among those lessons had been identifying fake spices, saffron in particular due to its cost.

“You charge me real prices for this shit!” She hissed at the man, hurling the offending bag of what was probably marigold petals into his face, “I don’t even want to see what you’re passing off as other spices. Sawdust as granulated onion and leaves from a shrub as basil?”

The man glared back at her with equal intensity, shouting back with a volume to match her own in a thick Italian accent. “I pay exorbitant prices to bring these spices all the way from earth! And what do I get? Some ignorant woman barging into my shop and accusing me of being a fraud! The nerve I say, the nerve!” He levelled an accusatory finger at her, “My selection is the finest in Elysium, grown on my family’s farm in Italy! I pay huge fees to bring it here for you ignorant barbarians to have a taste of proper cooking!”

Firuzeh grinned savagely, poking the man in the chest, “And yet, I’m from earth too! Funny thing that, I had a friend who farmed saffron in Iran, guess what?” She snarled at the man, holding up a few loose strands and throwing them to the floor, “Those are not real saffron!”

The spice merchant puffed up, looking mildly afraid and extremely infuriated. “Get out! Out! Out of my shop before I call the authorities, you slanderous whore!”

Firuzeh beat a hasty retreat, hurling insults at the man the whole way. Once outside she grinned broadly to herself - the man had been right, he did have real saffron, but not at a price she was willing to pay. She had been careful to avoid telling an outright lie, only been… selective with her definition of “real saffron” - she was not a particularly pious person, but it weighed on her mind all the same. Contentedly patting the now decidedly not-empty bag that she had taken the liberty of filling with some of his more expensive stock while arguing with him. By her estimate she had saved herself several thousand credits’ worth of bank breaking and now had the spices to cook for the crew ad infinitum.

Uncle Amir had taught her a few more things than cooking and spice identification.

Mass Effect: Borealis

@DearTrickster

Firu needs to make a shopping trip - so lemme get that written if ye don't mind.