Kingfisher — Roleplayer Guild

Name: 

Jezebel 

Age:

19 

Physical Appearance: 

Jezebel is a small, fairly unassuming young woman, with rough yet pleasant features. She has a sort of pixie-like look to her, with long threads of coarse red hair, and an elfin face. Her spine has a slight curve to it, and her stomach is more pronounced than she’d like, which she tends to cover up with a corset. 

She is as well-dressed as one can be in the wastes of Koraha, and carries herself gracefully.

Bio:

Jezebel hails from the lands East of Koraha, in a kingdom known as Nozaloth. The Morning Star Caliphate held dominion over the Eastern Provinces, which they used enforce barbaric and inhumane laws upon all those who fell beneath their jurisdiction. As the third born daughter of a small family, Jezebel was taken into the custody of the Sweet Graces, one of the Caliphate’s many orders, under Nozalothian laws. 

Jezebel was brought up to be well-spoken and complicit, as the Sweet Graces mentored her in the ways of the courtesan. Despite this, Jezebel’s rebellious nature often put her at odds with the matrons and the other girls, branding her as an outsider. 

When she turned fifteen, Jezebel escaped from the Graces’ Monastery, and slipped away into the night. She spent the next few years heading westwards, teaching herself the skills she needed to get by in this post-apocalyptic world. 

After spending some time as a bandit in the infamous Steeltongue Clan, Jezebel has found her way to Koraha, with no ambition other than to survive.

The Red Windmill Cafe overlooked a small stretch of corner stores, coffee shops, and barbers, all of which failed to match the cafe’s quaint and homely feel. It did the best dark chocolate mochas in all of Santa Somabra, and served the most authentic full english breakfast that could be found in the US of A.  At least that’s what some guy, who was infact the owner’s husband, on Resteraunt Reviwer .com claimed. To Nyxvira Bloodbloom, the Red Windmill was a just another place to kill time until she heard back from Edmund Jankovics. 

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Ted West, one of the syndicate’s newest Grey Suits, spoke up “Eldaera Summerwind; fuck, marry, or kill?”

“Who the fuck is Eldaera Summerwind?” Razorhallow, a grey-suited Orc who looked like he could kill a fully grown man with a gentle tap, asked with a slight glower, scrunching up his face.

“Where've you been living, old man?” West laughed with a bit too much enthusiasm, making him look more than a little unhinged “She was Sports Illustrated’s hottest light elf of the year two years in the row!” 

“What the fuck is a Sports Illustrated?” Razorhallow asked in confusion. 

“She’s famous because she has big boobs and someone leaked naked pictures of her on the internet.” Nyxie said with a faint air of disinterest, gazing down at the devastated remains of the full english breakfast which sat in front of her. Most authentic full english breakfast my arse.

“Oh,” said Razorhallow “I dunno? Fuck.” 

“Alright, next up…” Ted West gave a flamboyant little wave of his hand“ Riley Russell; fuck, marry, or kill?” 

“Who the fuck is Riley Russell?” Razorhallow asked.

“She’s famous because she has a big bum and she put a video of herself sucking someone’s dick on the internet.” Nyxvira explained helpfully. 

“Oh,” said Razorhallow. “Marry. I’m an ass-man.” 

“The sex tape thing doesn't put you off?” West asked the Orc, giving him a queer look. 

Razorhallow shrugged “My first wife was in porn ‘un she was lovely.” 

The Orc took a small sip of his coffee, rubbing a dark brown stain off of his lips.

“Alright, my turn,” He grinned “Kaylee Kent; fuck, marry, kill?”

Ted West stared at him blankly. 

“I swear you just made that name up.” 

“Oh, fuck off, grasshopper,” He grumbled.

“Excuse me, miss?” 

Nyxie turned, as the owner slipped into view, with her prissy blonde pigtails bobbing behind her. 

“Has everything been to your satisfaction?” 

Does she talk to all her customers like this, or does she know who I am?

“It was nice,” Nyxie managed a smile “Thank you.” 

With that, the owner retreated back behind the counter.

“I’d fuck her.” West said with a grin, as he watched the woman’s pert behind sway from side to side. 

 “Okay, here’s one you’ll know…” Said Razorhallow, once the woman was out of earshot “Taffy Li; fuck, marry, kill?” 

“She’s the chinky bird in Seven-Dollar Shake, right? The only thing I’d bang that with is a shovel!” West snickered to himself “She’s a right porker! Fucking fat bitch-” 

Both pairs of eyes fell upon the enormous fairy next to them, who was easily three times the weight of Taffy Li. 

“Ehrmm...no offense meant, madam.” The human spluttered awkwardly. 

Nyxie’s eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Why would that offend me?” 

“Oh, I just thought that…” West trailed off. 

A long silence fell over the table, with the faerie looking about ready to bash West’s head in. Then, both Nyxie and Razorhallow burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“I do own a mirror, kid!” Nyxie said once she was done laughing, as she struggled to catch her breath “I know I’m no Cara Delevingne.” 

“Oh, speaking of Cara,” Razorhallow chirped up, as he watched Ted West wipe sweat off of his forehead “Fuck, Mary, ki-” 

 BANG! 

The blast of a shotgun ripped through the air, leaving the Red Windmill’s glass windows in pieces on the floor. The two-shot round slammed into Ted West’s chest, blowing his torso into bloody red pulp, and sending him flying off of his chair. He was dead before he hit the floor. 

“Mother fucker!” Razorhallow roared, as he made a grab for his hand-cannon. 

 BANG! 

A second shotgun blast blew off the side of the Orc’s head, painting the restaurant walls with the inside of his skull. 

When the owner tried to run she got gunned down as well.

“Ladies and gentleman! The moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Nyxie’s frantic gaze flickered away from the corpses of her fallen bodyguards, fixing firmly on the voice which was booming through the cafe’s doorway. 

“In this corner: weighing 175 Pounds, with a record of 17 rapes, 400 assaults, and fuck-knows how many murders, the undisputed, most diabolical villain in the world…” 

The Faerie’s heart fell as she saw a suit-clad figured come striding into the cafe. 

“Concetto Nyctari!” 

The Vampire was flanked by two shotgun wielding vampire goons, and had the decapitated head of Edmund Jankovics clutched loosely in one hand. 

Great job solving all my problems for me, shithead.

Although… 

It was a small, almost unnoticeable detail, but Nyxie could see that Concetto was walking with a slight limp. 

I guess Jankovics wasn’t completely useless. The fact Concetto was still limping meant that his healing factor hadn’t managed to fully fix the wound yet, which left him ever-so-slightly vulnerable. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Nyxie, old gal!” The Vampire grinned “I didn’t know we frequented the same restaurants.” 

“I don’t think I’ll be eating here again.” She said dryly. 

“I don’t think you’ll be eating at all, after this, you chubby cunt,” even with all his giddy showmanship, the acid in Concetto’s voice burned through “the fast food industry might never recover.” 

The Vampire made his way slowly through the Red Windmill, taking the time to savour the moment. He pushed what remained of Razorhallow’s corpse out of its chair, and sat down just to the side of Nyxvira. With his limping leg plainly in her view. 

His two cronies were quick to close the distance between them and their bloodmaster, striding up behind him whilst he took his seat. 

“Little gift for ya.” Concetto grinned, plonking the Vampire Slayer’s head firmly down on the table, so that his dull eyes were staring straight up at her. 

“Did you keep the receipt?” Nyx wondered aloud. 

There was a small twitch at the edge of Concetto’s monstrous grin. 

“Nice joke,” he sneered “just like your organisation.” 

“And your fashion sense.” She shot back. 

“You can’t get out of this with snarky comments, Nyxvira.” Concetto hissed “I’m going to let my men have their fun with you, and then I’m going to slit your fat ,fucking, throat.” 

The Faerie kept her demeanor calm, stopping a single inch of the roaring terror she felt inside her from slipping onto her features. 

“I assumed you’d want in on the fun, Concetto.” She said flatly. 

“You’re not my type, cow.” He leered. 

“Right, sorry. I forgot I don’t have a penis.” 

“How a child like you managed to take over this city is beyond me.” 

“If I was a child, then would you want to fuck me?” 

Concetto let out a guttural snarl like a rabid dog, as he leapt onto his feet and gave the table an almighty shove, sending plates, cutlery, and Edmund’s severed head clattering to the floor.

“YOU. WILL. FEAR ME.” He bellowed, his long fingernails digging into his skin as his fists clenched. 

Nyxvira remained composed whilst she got up from her chair and squared up to the Vampire. 

The Faerie stared down at Concetto, her face a cold, hard mask. 

“You aren’t worthy to lick the dirt from my boots, Vampire. Do what you will. You won’t get my respect, you won’t get my disdain, and you won’t get my fear. You’re no better than the Rats in their holes, and the zombies in their sewers, and nothing you can do to me, or anyone, else will ever change what you are; a frightened, miserable, little casualty.”

Concetto quivered. 

Now. 

Nyxvira brought her foot, and all her immeasurable weight bearing down on the crooked dip of the Vampire’s wounded leg. Not even his healing factor could save him from such a burden. 

Crunch.

 “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” 

Concetto screamed, clutching manically at his now twisted leg, his face screwed up in a warped mess of pain. 

His goons darted forwards with the immense speed only vampires could muster, but that didn’t change the fact that they couldn’t reach Nyxvira without gunning down their bloodmaster. 

A sharp shove sent the wailing vampire lord tumbling into his thugs, and gave Nyxie the opportunity to lurch forwards and pry a shotgun free from one of the stunned bodyguard’s hands. 

BOOM!

The Roar of the shotgun was music to the Faerie’s ears, as a thunderous blast of ammunition sent the Vampire who still had a shotgun flying back across the cafe, and tumbling over the counter. 

She didn’t know how many shells the shotgun had, but she knew it wasn’t enough to kill a vampire. 

But I can hurt one.

She aimed the shotgun down at Concetto’s leg. 

BOOM!

Suddenly, the vampires were less concerned with Nyxvira, and more concerned with Concetto as he thrashed about on the floor. 

Nyxie was no sprinter, but she managed to get herself out of the Red Windmill at a decent pace, and was soon off down the street. She’d just slipped into a back alley when her phone started ringing. 

It was Narcissa.

“Milady, I know something is going on. You’ve been having me do reconnaissance on major Nyctari businesses for almost a week now. An explanation might help me know what it is you want me to find.” 

“We’re going to war.” Nyxie huffed, more than a little out-of-breath “Meet me at the Imperius and I’ll explain everything. Now get off the bloody line and let me call a car.”

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