Drinky

Blood Runs Over Westeros | A Song of Ice & Fire Interest Check

Not being into the books or televised series is not required; we have several players who have limited knowledge, so the GM team can help you get adjusted. The more the merrier!

@Inkarnate

Sounds great. Looking forward to doing up a character.

Blood Runs Over Westeros | A Song of Ice & Fire Interest Check

I've been looking through the interest checks from time to time for a while now and this one stood out enough to prompt me to sign into my old account and show my interest.

I need to be a bit forthcoming however.

I'm not very familiar with the Song of Ice and Fire world and lore. Blasphemous as it may sound I don't watch Game of Thrones or very much TV at all for that matter, and I havn't read the books. From what a gather it's a Fantasy setting revolving around politics, war, alliances, and betrayal. (Feel free to correct me on any of those assumptions.)

What I do love is Fantasy settings in general which is what drew me to express interest. If I was to take part I'd definitely try to take the role of an average schlub that gets caught up in the conflict between the houses rather than be a major player if that's a possibly.

Also I'll just put it out there that if the GM or anyone else for that matter feels it would be better if I stopped at the door due to my lack of knowledge on the setting that's fine too, I won't take it personally.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

The name LaCroix stood out to me. I'm disappointed the was no 'Officer Chunk' in that list.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Been a long time since I actually read a book, as sad as that sounds.

Been listening to some audiobooks though. An assortment of H.P. Lovecraft stories, namely The Lurking Fear, read by Wayne June. Who has a voice so Gothic I just love it.

youtu.be/mtjV4vd4Jok?t=6m4s

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@DJAtomika

All the dialogue better sound like this. youtu.be/yOMDmEP5QE0?t=30s

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Gish breathed a sigh of relief when the small tunnel he had been scampering down finally opened up, though upon reflection he wish he hadn't. Even if one does get used to the smell down there, that still doesn't make it at all pleasant.

Gish peered at one of the access signs in the larger tunnel. One of them read 67A. That put him in the heart of downtown, just as he was hoping. He began ascending the rebar ladder up to street level, feeling a squish between his fingertips on every rung on the way up. As Gish reach the top, he took off his hat and pushed the cover over with his back, having his hands full with the rifle and ladder rungs.

As he emerged from the dank underground he heard a few quick shrieks from behind him. A few women, young, dressed as though they had just exited a nightclub caught him creeping out of the sewers.

"Oh my God!" "What is that!?"

Gish couldn't help but raise his hat slightly to the women as he dashed for a nearby alley. He decided to keep off the main streets as he figured a goblin running around with a large rifle shaped package would draw too much attention. He wasn't in Chinatown anymore, couldn't get away with that kind of stuff in downtown.

As he rushed around a corner he clipped a garbage can and sent bottles and other debris crashing to the ground. He cursed and shouted under his breath as he continued to haul ass to where he knew he could lay low.

Most goblins in Santa Sombara were all acquainted with one another. They often relied on each other for information and favors to aid one another in staying one step ahead of their enemies. Gish had one particular Goblin in mind to call on a favor for, and that Goblin was Grezbill.

Grezbill and Gish had been in contact many times over the years, feeding each other information on the big gangs in the city. Gish hoped he could count on Grezbill to help him out, at the very least he knew Grezbill had grown spineless and cowardly working for Nyxvira for so long and could probably be muscled into anything if pushed hard enough.

Gish rounded another corner and shouldered in the door of an apartment complex. He couldn't wait for the elevator and started winding the staircase up to the third floor. He began to wheeze and gasp having ascended only the first set.

'Damn git, must be nice to afford a 3rd floor flat.'

Once he finished with the stairs and made his way to Grezbill's door he took a moment to catch his breath, leaning on his still wrapped rifle. He glanced back down the hall and saw that his recently coated boots had left a nice trail of sewage stamped footprints down the hall. He paused for a moment thinking of the implications of his hurry from the Rat's underground highway.

'Fuck dat, I's not cleaning it up.'

With his breath half caught he proceeded to pound his fist against Grezbill's door.

"GREZBILL!!! Open up son it's me!"

"W-Who's me? Who's there?"

"It's me ya git! It's Gish!"

"N-No, don't know any Gish. G-Go away."

Gish rolled his eyes so hard he caught a glimpse of his own brain.

"It's Godric."

After a short pause the door slowly began to creak open. Gish gave it a helping heave and swung the door open, he heard a quick gasp from the other side as it obviously smacked into Grezbill. Gish closed the door behind him and started doing up the multiple locks Grezbill had installed. Grezbill stood quietly in the dining room of his small apartment that connected to the front door. Slouched with his hands at his chest the Goblin looked frightened as to the reason for Gish's surprise visit. With the locks engaged Gish moved over to the dining room table and lay his rifle on it. He turned to Grezbill with arms outstretched. "Ow' ya been mate!" he shouted as he wrapped his arms around Grezbill's shoulders. He could feel Grezbill's arms go ramrod stiff at his sides. A part of Gish only wanted to give Grezbill a hug because he knew it made him uncomfortable, that and he knew he reeked of shit.

Pulling back from the brotherly hug Gish removed his boots and coat, revealing his bony figure and white tank top. He tossed his boots and coat in Grezbill's bathtub and started the tap to give them a quick clean. Returning to the dining room Grezbill hadn't moved. Gish had a seat at the dining table facing Grezbill.

"Mate, I need a favor or two." he began

"Me place just been raided by some barmy Rats son. I need a place tah lay low for a bit till I find out if dese benders is still out for me."

"Um. O-Ok."

"Course it's ok son. Now, wot I be needin' from you is I need ta' have a chat with your boss Nyxvira. I wanna know for sure that I av' the all clear before I goes setting up shop again."

Grezbill bit his lip and looked towards the floor as he scratched his head. "I dunno Godric, I-I-" Gish rolled his eyes again, he hated it when Grezbill called him by his real name.

He cut Grezbill off before he got caught in an endless loop "Listen son I need to count on you for this, and I don't expect you to go to bat for me without a fine jersey now do I?"

He began unwrapping his rifle. As he held it in his hands he gave it one more look over. Despite Gish's reputation for intentionally shoddy work, gunsmithing was his passion and when he so desired he was an artist in the craft. He felt his special variety of firearms were too good for the common street rabble. He wanted the weapons to be appreciated for what they were, fine and elegant works of craftsmanship. He couldn't bear the though of this rifle being used to hold up a liquor store, he preferred to see it used either in a fancy gold-leaf display case, or in the company of a high-priced assassin who would take care of it. Although Grezbill didn't flaunt it, he knew the Goblin appreciated a well made gun, and would take care of and admire it.

Gish opened the action of the rifle with a loud *clank*. Plates shifted out and over to reveal the chamber. Gish extended the rifle out to Grezbill and saw his eyes widen as he reached out and gripped the rifle from Gish.

Grezbill looked over the gun for a few moments before finally speaking. "There's a big club event happening tomorrow night at the Diamond Den. I'll arrange an a-audience for you."

"Thank you son" Gish uttered slowly.

"Now, got any bleach?"

----------------------------------------------------------

Gish paced around in a dark stairwell as he waited for Grezbill to finish up on the phone. He could hear the sound of music and people penetrate the walls. He never cared much for the club life, Goblins often got squashed pretty quick by Ogre bouncers should they ever get any aspirations that they'd be welcome in such a place. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand as Grezbill finished up on the phone.

"I s-s-still think this would go a lot s-smoother if you wore some of my clothes to an event like this."

Gish stopped his pacing and widened his eyes.

"Mate. This is my best suit! You know I only dress in the finest attire." he said as he waved his hands up and down his old coat.

Now came Grezbill's turn to roll his eyes.

"Wait here for a bit, I'm g-going to go up and I'll t-text you when Nyxvira is ready to see you."

As Grezbill ascended the stairs Gish called out to him. "They bettah' have some fancy cigars waiting for me son."

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Gish couldn't help but crack a small smile as Sander tossed him his wallet and doubled back down the alley.

"Cheers son." he hissed

As he stared at the black leather wallet clutched in his hands, a manhole cover caught his eye in the alley they had been standing in. With the sound of sirens growing ever louder Gish didn't like his chances of standing curbside for a cab. They probably wouldn't stop for him anyways, the racists. He pocketed the wallet all the same though, as was his nature.

He scurried to the edge of the manhole and produced a thin bar from his coat for prying it off. Gish was no stranger to the sewers, he knew the rats frequented them for moving goods, but he also knew what tunnels they frequented most. If he could get inside and find an access point sign, he could likely pinpoint his location and steer clear of the major tunnels. Lucky for him he could fit into the smaller connecting pipes over the large main tunnels.

With the cover off he ducked his down into the tunnel. The air had a disgusting warmth to it, not to mention the putrid smell. But one gets used to it over time. The coast was clear, he descended down into the muck, pulling to cover back over to cover his escape. He spotted a marking sign on the tunnel wall. Access point 33B. From his knowledge of the system that would place him vaguely a few blocks south of his workshop. His old workshop.

He knew he wouldn't be going back there ever again. Place was probably surround by cops or had been half torched from his bombs going off. No matter, he was out of the thug's grasp and alive. This would be the first time he'd have to start totally fresh, but as his surrounding became more familiar to him his mind began to clear and his old plans began to play through his mind.

He crept slowly through the tunnel, listening for any sound of commotion. The rats were never stealthy when the used the sewers, always made a lot of noise and thought they were immune down there. May as well have been true, most people wouldn't be caught dead dragging their feet through sewage to disrupt some small time contraband smuggling ring.

Gish got low and crouched through a small connecting tunnel that branched off from the main one he had been creeping through. He remembered stashing one of his specialty weapons in the area years ago. Gish never kept his most expensive items at the workshop. On top of him not wanting people to ask about buying them, he knew better than to trust they would be safe should anyone kick his door down and raid the place while he was out.

As he sucked a few more drags from his cigar the dark tunnel glowed a hint of red. He could make out a glossy texture further down the tunnel. As he inched closer he could almost feel the walls of the tunnel collapsing in on his shoulders.

'Gotta be her' he thought.

He reached out at the glossy object and felt the texture of plastic. He knew he had found it, a long rifle of his own design wrapped in layers of garbage bags to protect it from rust and all the other foreign materials that lurked down there. He had a few others stashed throughout the sewers but his idea was he could use this one as a bartering tool. He needed a place to lay low and plan his next move.

Gish's Custom Rifle

The cramped tunnel came to a T junction. Gish peered down the right tunnel which led to the heart of downtown. It seemed almost endless.

"Fack." he muttered to himself.

Anything was better than Chinatown at this point. Gish hunkered down and began the long slog of shimmying down the tiny tunnel, dragging his prized rifle behind him.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Well I'm all caught up. Must say well done by everyone. All excellent and interesting posts.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Fuck me I have some reading to do.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Collab With RedDusk

After Valorie’s departure, Sander found himself back in his room, lying on the bed while his legs dangled from the edge. A small part of his barely functioning rational mind nagged at him about the mess in the basement, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t sure he could stand to be in that place right now. Not when his thoughts were all tangled up into one great mess, and he began to wonder if a gunshot would fix that. Probably not. It would just end the day with brain leaking out of a hole on his head. It was not a desirable outcome.

He groaned into his hands, finally came to the realization that he had come up here to mope. It would not do. So he closed his eyes and decided to take a nap instead. Oblivion would be welcomed, at least, for now. This mess could be dealt with later.

Coward, said his thoughts.

“Coward.”- He found himself echoing.

Later that evening, Sander woke to his darkened office. Groggy from his untimely nap, he sat up, vaguely realizing he was in his chair, instead of his bed. It set off a few alarms in his head, but he brushed it off. Sleepwalking. He used to do that. Maybe the habit was just returning. A trip to the basement later, Sander had already finished tidying things up with Mr John Doe, but the man’s final words still haunted him. The deceased man mentioned Nichole in a manner that suggested they were lovers in life. Sander would have preferred to contact the next-of-kin, but in situations like these, this Nichole would do. He just had to find out who she was first, before sending the body bag over, since it sometimes conveyed the wrong message.

Time to go digging through Marco’s contact list.

It didn’t take long. Information brokers were quite common in this city, but not many of them managed to stay long in the business. At least, not that he knew of. They were all forced to retire one way or another. Hopefully, this guy hadn’t. He wrote the address on the back of his hand in thin, scratchy letters, grabbed his keys and wallet from a nearby bowl before leaving. The thought of calling in first crossed his mind, but he dropped it. He needed the fresh air anyway, might as well get out while he still could.

It didn’t take long for him to find his way over to Gish’s place. Macro took him here a few times in the past, but he had never entered. The old man always told him to wait outside. The goblin was probably not a very nice person. Then again, what would he know? He had never met a goblin that was actually moving. The building loomed over him as he approached the door, but in truth, it was just your standard dump. After all, the people of Santa Somabra didn’t care much for architectural aesthetics.

He knocked the door exactly three times, then stood back.

-------

Gish sat at his workbench tinkering as he often did. Experimenting with different gun parts and cartridge loads just to see how much he could get away with without having the firearm become a small grenade. Different chambers, different barrels, different calibers, whatever happened to be scattered across his counters at the time would make for a new prototype.

Today's creation was a small 12 gauge pistol. Gish had taken the barrel and trigger mechanism off an old shotgun, sawed it down so short that the shotgun shell poked out the end of the barrel and attached a small pistol grip. He thought it would make a nice last resort concealed weapon.

The weapon seemed like an interesting concept, though some critical mistakes had been made. Gish decided to test his new creation and fire it dry with a spent casing in order to make sure the trigger mechanism was functioning. Only problem was Gish grabbed a loaded shell for his test.

He slid the shell into the chamber and snapped the break action closed. Not expecting any recoil, he gripped the weapon loosely and tested it.

*BANG*

The weapon went off, peppering one of his kitchen cabinets and sending the weapon flying out of his hand. Outside dogs could be heard barking as Gish went into a fury shouting and cursing, his fingers stung from the lit powder that had been blasted all over his hands.

As far as his neighbors were concerned he was a metal fabricator, he hoped they would be accustomed to loud noises here and there from his suite. That being said the sound of a gunshot was about as common as a barking dog in this part of the city. People usually only became concerned when yelling and screaming followed the sound of gunfire.

Once his flesh and jacket stopped sizzling Gish had himself a discarded cigar. He often took to ashtray mining during his walk through the city. He much preferred cigars to cigarettes, packed more of punch for him and had more taste to them. It was his lucky day too, as this cigar had only been half finished.

After a few drags he heard 3 deliberate knocks from the back door of the kitchen that went out into the alley. That was the usual entrance for people who wanted to conduct "business" but he wasn't expecting anyone. It couldn't be the cops or neighbors, they would have used the front door.

Gish stood up straight on his stool and gripped his workbench with both hands, ready to duck at a moments notice.

"Entah!" He groaned, cigar pinched between his knife like teeth.

------

The gruff voice was muffed somewhat by the door, but it beckoned him inside, or so he believed. The door was indeed not locked, and he closed it behind him after entering. A few more steps and he was standing before Gish, the proprietor of this little ‘shop’.

“Good evening, Mr Gish.”- He said evenly, all while eyeing the work table behind the goblin, gaze lingered on the modified weapon. He brought his handgun, of course. Walking around unarmed in this city was akin to going in public without pants on: both socially inappropriate and likely to land you in trouble. After a short pause, he continued, choosing to skip straight to business. He didn’t want to stay here for longer than strictly necessary. Something here rubbed him the wrong way; for a moment there, he thought he saw black smoke again.-“I believe you can help me find a friend?”

-----

Gish had one quick look at the guy standing in his kitchen and let out a quite sigh of relief. The kid didn't look like a heavy hitter there to cave his head in, hardly even fit the part of a wannabe gang-banger type. As odd as Gish's first impressions of the man were, the 'direct to business' tone in his voice were money to his ears.

"Mistah Gish eh?" he hissed

"Now I haven't been addressed like that since my time in the homeland."

He took a drag from his ash stained cigar and relaxed a bit

"Ooh is this friend you're looking for then son?"

------

“Her name is Nichole.”- Sander said, his shoulders slightly lifted in a shrug. After a moment, he added his own speculation-“Also might have a boyfriend, tall guy, about six feet, caucasian. But before you tell me, how much?”

This felt like a long shot to him; however Sander decided to take it anyway. Poking around was not a healthy hobby in Santa Somabra, but as long as he didn’t do it for too long, he would be fine. After all, he couldn’t let John Doe rot in his basement. Might as well find an address to send him to. If all else failed, there were always the acid vats.

-----

Gish's eyes narrowed and teeth clamped down so hard on his cigar that he nearly shredded it. Only one person comes to his mind when he hears the name Nichole, and every time he thought of her he got a little more disgusted with every recollection.

Gish gave a hard glare at Sander and sized him up. He could see neither ire nor vengeance in his eyes. Could this guy be curious about her? Sander didn't look eager or nervous enough for that. All the more reason to question why he would seek her out. His bargaining tone left much to be desired so he couldn't be any sort of professional hired out on a contract to kill her. Gish simply couldn't plant a motive as to why he would seek Nichole.

Gish took a long drag from his cigar and spoke in a low, serious voice.

"Alright son. I'm betting you're not here to find some mate that went missing from a stomp out at a pub. You'd not come in ere' and ask me bout' someone less they'd be known in the underground."

He flicked the end of his cigar and felt himself die a little inside thinking about the next few sentences he would utter.

"I'll give this one to ya on the house son, cos' there's only one Nichole to know about in the underground and that's Nichole Vielsiti."

Gish took another look at Sander. He could tell all this was news to him, all the more reason to ask questions as to the why. However, Gish knew he didn't need to know why, it wouldn't change anything and there was no coin to be made shaking him down as to why he wanted her.

"She's a vampire, a damn sick one at that. People tell stories about her, and how she lures men and women into a sense of trust with her only to kill em', rob em', and worst of all eat em'. Apparently some nobs say she's part of a cult called the Mieamangeur, an independent group of vampires that eat people. I used to ask around if she was in with the Nyctari or Nyte Kings but from what I hear the cult is sovereign from em'. Nasty bit of work she is, can't say I know where to find her sadly."

Gish tapped out the reminder of his cigar of the workbench and gave a small grin to Sander.

"I heard she's not fond of the way Goblins taste lucky for me."

He let out a quick laugh and smacked his hand on the workbench. Metal parts and pieces chimed with the impact.