Yeah, I've just been slammed. Sorry for the long delay. I'll get something up by this weekend!
No need to apologies! Just want to know what everyone's situation is.
Kingfisher
Member
Observing or participating?
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Kingfisher
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 1867 (0.47 / day)
- VMs: 5
-
Username history
- Kingfisher 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
NoriWasHere,
Morden Man,
Fading Memory,
Ruby,
Tlaloc
Status
Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Happy 10th Anniversary, RolePlayer Guild! Its been one hell of a ride (Definitely didn't misspell that as "help" the first time, and have to re-post it)
4
likes
8 yrs ago
Thank the lord for the Roleplay Guild. Otherwise I might actually have to pay attention in lectures
3
likes
8 yrs ago
"Remember the times you could have pressed quit - but you hit continue" Hope everyone's having an alright day. If not, I hope things pick up for you
3
likes
8 yrs ago
You shot Church, you team killing fucktard!
3
likes
8 yrs ago
My sister saw me watching the Co-Optional Podcast and thought I was skyping my friends. How ridiculous! I don't have friends.
4
likes
Bio
The Dyslexia is strong with this one.
Most Recent Posts
No need to apologies! Just want to know what everyone's situation is.
How's everything going, cats and dogs? Posts coming along okay?
...mmm...I shouldn't, I really shouldn't. The temptation of playing Narcissa during her SSPD days is intriguing, though, especially since the Great Fire of 1985 hasn't happened yet. I shall ponder this and read over what's already been posted. Also, my computer is fixed!
Aaawwwwwwwww yiiiissssss! You're a big old ray of sunshine, Lexicon!
And glad to hear your computer's working again!
Our doors are still open, if anyone out there is interested!
@KingfisherI'll just tell you right now.
If there is a Warcraft thread, especially one during Warcraft 2 and Warcraft 3 era, I'mma clear my schedule and make sure I'm in.
I concur. T'was a fun thread.
I mean, I can always do another Warcraft RP, but if folks just stop posting its kind've a waste.
Contráth’s brothel was one of the more flashy looking establishments in the Red Light District, which was probably why the Nyctari family wanted it so badly. Nyxvira was making her way towards the regal stone arches at the front of the building, when a mob of wandering pissheads shouting over at her.
“Hey, darlin’! There’s nothing they can give you in there that I can’t give you out here!” One of them jeered.
“I’d be flattered if you weren’t such a miserable waste of sperm.” Nyxie called back, not bothering to look his way as she walked quickly up the steps to the brothel.
A small murmur of laughter rippled through the group, and the catcaller yelled something about her being a fat bitch who should be grateful that any man would ever go near her, which got drowned out by the door swinging shut behind her.
The brothel interior kept to the same style of decor as its exterior, with lush red curtains draping across smooth stone walls, and cut-crystal renaissance chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
“Welcome to Contráth’s, Mademoiselle,” An overly-dressed moustached man in a suit welcomed Nyxie as she step inside, idley slipping his white gloved fingers through each other “would you like to take a look at what we have on offer, or do you know what you’re here for?”
“My name is Jacqueline Rousseau,” Nyxvira said with a soft smile, more for courtesy's sake than any attempt at being friendly “I have an appointment with Mister Contráth.”
“Ah, a thousand apologies, Mademoiselle Rousseau,” the doorman said with a slight bow of his head “Monsieur Contráth had mentioned an appointment. You’ll find him in his office, at the top of the establishment. Take the first two flights of stairs, then turn left and follow the corridor to its end. Monsieur Contráth is in the room with the silverbirch door.”
Nyxie nodded her thanks, and followed the man’s instructions up to the white wooden door. She wrapped her knuckles against it, and heard a smooth voice call out from beyond.
“Come in.”
Nyxie opened the door, and slipped inside.
A broad-shouldered man sat in a black leather chair, with a great glass window behind him that ran across the entire wall, giving a clear view of the bustling midnight streets below. The man himself was cleanly shaven, and had neatly combed black hair.
“A pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Rousseau,” He said with a smile, rising out of his seat and gently kissing her pale hand “it brings me much happiness to have you in my humble establishment.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mister Contráth,” she replied with a flutter of her eyelashes “and I’m not sure ‘humble’ is a fitting description.”
“A fair observation,” Contráth said, laughing gently “me and my associates have built the bordello into quite the marvel since the war.”
“That hasn't gone unnoticed by the world around you, Mister Contráth,” Nyxie grinned “the people I represent included.”
“Down to buisness, I suppose,” Contráth gave a little nod “could I get you anything from the wine bar, before we begin?”
“I don’t suppose you have any Grawsholan red?” Nyxie asked, a sweet laugh dancing off of her words.”
Contráth wandered over to the wooden shelves which lined one wall of his office, fishing out a black bottle with a bright red cork.
“It appears I do.”
He poured them both a glass, then they sat down in two lush leather chairs and began to talk business.
“The shipment you mentioned over the phone,” Contráth took a sip from his glass as he spoke “it was from Denmark, yes?”
“Fourteen Danish girls,” Nyxie said with a wide grin, sampling the bitter red Grawsholan wine “from Adrian Soreskal’s pleasure house.”
“I know of the Soreskal family through reputation, alone,” Contráth confessed with an element of uncertainty “but I’ve never had dealings with them directly. To be perfectly honest, I thought they were a different caliber of businessmen, all together. If you’ll allow me to be blunt, I’m curious as to what they could gain from investing in some whorehouse in Santa Somabra.”
“The Soreskal family cultivates a very specific image, Mister Contráth “Nyxie as Jacqueline Rousseau said in her most business-savvy tone “Mister Adrian is looking to expand into Santa Somabra, and thinks that your establishment would best fit the particular social circles he wishes to attract.”
“He means rich people.” Contráth chuckled.
“Quite,” Jacqueline/Nyxie smirked, gulping down some more wine “and -for a price- Mister Soreskal would like to help you expand both yours, and his own, business opportunities.”
“I’d be mad not to want Adrian Soreskal as an ally,” Contráth said plainly “but the price he’s asking for...it's a huge investment on my part. If, for whatever reason, the girls weren’t up to scratch, or didn’t draw in enough new clients...I’d be ruined.”
“The girls are trained in-”
Contráth waved her away with one hand.
“I’m well aware of their training, Miss Rousseau, you were very clear about that in our previous conversation, but if no one pays to spend the night with them, then their training isn’t going to reimburse me for everything I lose. I’m not a gambling man, Miss Rousseau, and I don’t like to take wild business ventures without assurances.”
“If I might speak plainly, Mister Contráth?” Nyxvira asked.
“Of course.”
“The Soreskal family has hands in practically every major business in Sweden and Denmark. They are heads of industry, not fair ground swindlers. Partnering with Adrian Soreskal comes with several, unspoken assurances.”
“Yes, but-”
“And should the worst come to the worst,” Nyxie quickly cut him off “the Soreskal family would compensate your for your losses.”
“But, how do I -KNOW- that for sure?” Contráth asked.
“Mister Soreskal wants to establish permanent links in Santa Somabra,” the Faerie explained, downing the rest of her wine, before placing the glass carefully on a nearby table “he can’t do that by making enemies and turning the locals against him. He needs to be seen as reliable, as someone you can do business with.”
“You make a fair point, Miss Rousseau…” Contráth trailed off, pausing to consider his options.
A cold silence swept over the room.
“Very well,” he said at last, offering Nyxie his hand “I do believe we can come to some form of agreement.”
“You’re making the right choice, Mister Contráth.” Nyxie said with a smile.
He wasn’t.
Nyxie had never met Adrian Soreskal, and the whores she was selling to Contráth definitely weren’t from any Scandinavian pleasure house. They were Norwegian sex slaves with the clap. Contráth had sunken too much money in this blind investment, and it would certainly blow up in his face when all of his high society clients started getting Gonorrhea. By that point, Contráth would have no option but to sell to Elkanah Nyctari, assuming that some angry socialite hadn’t paid someone to off him already.
Concetto, Elkanah’s nephew, would probably have been suspicious of his uncle's involvement, but when word got around that a Faerie had conned Contráth into buying damaged goods, his hatred for Nyxvira Bloodbloom would make him blind to logic.
Nyxie’s part of her deal with Elkanah was done.
Now I just need to worry about Concetto.
“Boiled rat! Get ya boiled rat, right ‘ere!”
“Coppa’ bands! We’re sellin’ tha’ finnest coppa’ bands in all of Tzieania!”
”Swords, ‘un axes, ‘un spears! All the best metal for stickin’ ya foes with!”
For a people who supposedly despised order so zealously, the Chainless were very good at imposing their own primitive laws upon little pockets of Tzieania; with the Free Man’s Bazaar being a prime example.
The marketplace itself was hollowed out of a cavern in the side of a crumbling cliff-face, with stalls and stores assembled from pieces of old boats, or fallen watchtowers. Faded bedsheets and old world flags had been recoloured with homemade dyes in order to bring a bit more colour to the bazaar; hanging from flagpoles, or draping over one of the larger emporiums of scavenged junk.
The armoured thugs that served as so called soldiers in the Chainless “army” were dotted about the place, their eyes fixed to wherever the largest cluster of shoppers was. There was no established uniform for these guardsmen, so they garbed themselves in whatever rusted scrap was on offer; wielding makeshift polearms, or old rapiers that were mottled with fat blotches of rust.
Louise Couriere moved cautiously through the buzzing rabble of Tzieanian, a dark blue bandana pulled over her head, in order to hide her tell-tail red hair. She was dressed in tattered scraps of linen, with a sword belt that held a modest-looking saber strapped around her waist.
“Next time, feel free to take Vincent on whatever deadly suicide mission into enemy territory you have planned,” Laurent hissed from over her shoulder, as the two undercover Sentinels tried their best to navigate through the bustling crowd without incident “as much as I want Tzieania back in the hands of the right people, I’d quite like to be alive long enough to see it, if that’s all the same to you, madame general.”
“Getting cold feet, Laurent?” The general asked with a wry smile “You seemed a lot more keen a few hours ago.”
“Yeah, well I couldn’t let Vincent show me up in front of Elodie…” he grumbled, going slightly red in the face.
Louise laughed inwardly. She’d learned long ago that a pair of teats was the perfect motivator for most of the male Sentinels (and a few of the lady Sentinels, too).
“If we make it out of this deadly suicide mission mission into enemy territory unscathed, then I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Elodie, for you.”
“You said that last time!”
“Eh. she’s great bait.”
The pair slipped out of the horde of browsers, and over to a small wooden den that sat away from the central hustle and bustle of the Free Man’s Bazar. The den itself looked to be made from bits of an old sail boat, with a curved roof that resembled the ship’s bow, and a motley curtain strung together from hole-ridden bits of the mainsail.
A well-built man with a hard jaw guarded the entrance, dressed from head-to-toe in scale mail armour, with a curved sword dangling from his leather belt.
“You get lost, lil’ girl?” The guard stared down at at Louise, mocking her in his gruff drawl.
“The land of ash is sinking, drowning like my heart.” Louise said calmly.
“But a fire inside is blazing, to wash away the blackest of arts,” The guard said slowly, raising one eyebrow.
“The broken chain shall be mended, and the usurpers kingdom struck down.” Louise continued.
“The line of old shall be restored, and the pureheart shall claim the crown.” The guard mumbled.
He paused, considering Louise for a moment.
“You go inside,” her grunted “the boy stays out here.”
“Will you be alright, my lady?” Laurent shot her a look of concern.
“I’ll be fine, Laurent.” She said with a warm smile, before brushing her way past the mainsail curtain, and wandering into the dark room which lay beyond.
“Coppa’ bands! We’re sellin’ tha’ finnest coppa’ bands in all of Tzieania!”
”Swords, ‘un axes, ‘un spears! All the best metal for stickin’ ya foes with!”
For a people who supposedly despised order so zealously, the Chainless were very good at imposing their own primitive laws upon little pockets of Tzieania; with the Free Man’s Bazaar being a prime example.
The marketplace itself was hollowed out of a cavern in the side of a crumbling cliff-face, with stalls and stores assembled from pieces of old boats, or fallen watchtowers. Faded bedsheets and old world flags had been recoloured with homemade dyes in order to bring a bit more colour to the bazaar; hanging from flagpoles, or draping over one of the larger emporiums of scavenged junk.
The armoured thugs that served as so called soldiers in the Chainless “army” were dotted about the place, their eyes fixed to wherever the largest cluster of shoppers was. There was no established uniform for these guardsmen, so they garbed themselves in whatever rusted scrap was on offer; wielding makeshift polearms, or old rapiers that were mottled with fat blotches of rust.
Louise Couriere moved cautiously through the buzzing rabble of Tzieanian, a dark blue bandana pulled over her head, in order to hide her tell-tail red hair. She was dressed in tattered scraps of linen, with a sword belt that held a modest-looking saber strapped around her waist.
“Next time, feel free to take Vincent on whatever deadly suicide mission into enemy territory you have planned,” Laurent hissed from over her shoulder, as the two undercover Sentinels tried their best to navigate through the bustling crowd without incident “as much as I want Tzieania back in the hands of the right people, I’d quite like to be alive long enough to see it, if that’s all the same to you, madame general.”
“Getting cold feet, Laurent?” The general asked with a wry smile “You seemed a lot more keen a few hours ago.”
“Yeah, well I couldn’t let Vincent show me up in front of Elodie…” he grumbled, going slightly red in the face.
Louise laughed inwardly. She’d learned long ago that a pair of teats was the perfect motivator for most of the male Sentinels (and a few of the lady Sentinels, too).
“If we make it out of this deadly suicide mission mission into enemy territory unscathed, then I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Elodie, for you.”
“You said that last time!”
“Eh. she’s great bait.”
The pair slipped out of the horde of browsers, and over to a small wooden den that sat away from the central hustle and bustle of the Free Man’s Bazar. The den itself looked to be made from bits of an old sail boat, with a curved roof that resembled the ship’s bow, and a motley curtain strung together from hole-ridden bits of the mainsail.
A well-built man with a hard jaw guarded the entrance, dressed from head-to-toe in scale mail armour, with a curved sword dangling from his leather belt.
“You get lost, lil’ girl?” The guard stared down at at Louise, mocking her in his gruff drawl.
“The land of ash is sinking, drowning like my heart.” Louise said calmly.
“But a fire inside is blazing, to wash away the blackest of arts,” The guard said slowly, raising one eyebrow.
“The broken chain shall be mended, and the usurpers kingdom struck down.” Louise continued.
“The line of old shall be restored, and the pureheart shall claim the crown.” The guard mumbled.
He paused, considering Louise for a moment.
“You go inside,” her grunted “the boy stays out here.”
“Will you be alright, my lady?” Laurent shot her a look of concern.
“I’ll be fine, Laurent.” She said with a warm smile, before brushing her way past the mainsail curtain, and wandering into the dark room which lay beyond.
Hi Guys, posted my first IC last night. I just finished reading through the story so far and I love the cast. I actually can't decide who I like more. Nyxvira seems to be playing this game from every angle and I'm looking forward to seeing what she has up her sleeves.
This guy is my new favourite.
Any advice on where to take my character I am more than happy to take.
Its entirely up to you, but I really liked the angle you were playing when you wrapped up that first post. Be interesting to see if Murph has more loyalty to the force, or doing the right thing.
Also
“Didn’t Eddie Martovanni die recently?” Samuel asked.
“Don’t bring that up when you meet Sammy kid.”
That genuinely made me laugh aloud to myself.
Chipping away at my post. Should have something up within the next few days.
© 2007-2024