nightmare medx

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

“Well, certainly, if we actually had something going on, I probably could,” Char said as she slipped off her leggings, revealing the obsidian skin underneath. It was almost unbearably warm to have them on inside. She would boil with them on seated by the fire. They weren’t even particularly warm they were outside, but stacking everything together would only make misery.

Everything she had shed was carefully arranged before she went to settle in across from Amal. She took a drink from her own bottle.

“A moonblade. All right. And later… I… will tell you… all about the bookworms of the Underdark.”

She watched as he wove his story, nodding, gasping, frowning as was appropriate. He was good at entertaining- it was probably good for thieving, she supposed. It seemed the biggest part of thieving was in the distraction.

As he spoke, she was undoing her hair, combing through it with her fingers. She had not been able to be so into it since before the castle. Nothing terrible had happened to it, and she wound it back into a simple braid by the end of his story.

“You… felt to memnom?” She paused. “What does that mean, you felt to memnom? Does that mean something in your mother tongue? Or are you just very drunk? Or perhaps I am very drunk and that is not what you said at all?”

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Char tried a little bit of everything. She was not impolite. She was partial to the stew and ate most of it, not that Amal seemed to mind- he seemed happy they were fed at all. Which made sense; they had just come from eating next-to-nothing. It was not a thing she had experienced until she had come to the surface; she was of the nobility, and they were always fed.

The fruit pottage Char had been uncertain about turned out to be absolutely divine. She downed the last of her mead, feeling pleasantly vibrant even before Amal’s suggestion of drinking in the room. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

They were led up some stairs to their room, ushered to the last door on the left. There were two beds and while they were not the pinnacle of luxury, they looked like they would be comfortable.

But first things first. Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them, the cloak came off, hung on a stand in the corner. Char stretched her arms high and wide above her head. The spider web that adorned her back, peeking out from under her tunic, shifted as she did. “Oh, this is so much better,” she said, glancing over to Amal as she pulled off her armour.

“Tell me something.”

unconventional, and possibly taboo, idea

I’ve never done it myself, but I’ve seen it done a few times on another site. I think the organization of the other site makes it more conducive to finding a new partner for a dead thread; here you’d first have to draw someone in to your interest check, then hope they have an interest in your proposal, whereas everything is a little more centralized over there. It was by no means common, and people wanting to restart a thread was definitely more common than a thread actually ending up restarted (probably most for the reasons BrokenPromise mentioned).

I personally don’t see an issue with it. I can see why people might find it invasive or distasteful, but I don’t see it as any different than playing canon characters from a fandom you like- it’s not for everyone, but there are people out there who would be down.

If you were to share an RP run in a PM thread, I would find that a little more iffy, because to me private messages do come with some expectation of, well, privacy.

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Charynrae could work with her hands well enough, if the braids weaving through her hair were any indication, but not so well to pull off such sleight-of-hand. She supposed there were benefits to being companion to a thief; she was not quite sure she wanted to call him a friend, and in fact the concept was still strange and foreign to her. There had been people she had tolerated more than others in the Underdark, spent more time with, but friendship was not a concept that existed in the dank caverns buried in the earth. Everyone was equally likely to betray you.

That was not true. Family was the worst- although from what she had heard, that was not necessarily much different than surface families. Surface dwellers were marginally less likely to end up dead in such a situation.

“Well, that sounds far better than sleeping in brush again,” she said in approval. “Although I suppose there are worse places we could have had to camp out.

She murmured something akin to a thank you at the appearance of the tankard full of golden liquid in front of her. “Ironspur it is then,” she said before taking a sip, the sweet liquid welcomingly refreshing, especially after days out of civilization. “Do you know much about this Ironspur?”

The chatter around them was exactly as one would expect from a busy tavern- mostly loud talk from people who had had far too much to drink and showed no sign of stopping. No one was too rowdy, at least, although it wouldn’t have been unexpected. It wasn’t long before the waitress was back, carrying a tray piled with dishes and those dishes with food that smelled positively divine after days scrounging for whatever was available. There was plenty of variety- bread, pickled vegetables, cuts of meat, a hearty stew, cakes, and some kind of fruit pottage that Char eyed with suspicion.

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

There was nothing audible or visible, but the waitress felt a buzzing sensation from Char’s hand that travelled up her arm to her core. Just like that she looked a little less tired. “You should be able to get through the evening a little easier,” Char said, keeping her voice at a low, masculine rasp to keep up appearances.

“And yes, we would like food. For me, whatever is filling and costs the least. I’m not particularly picky.”

“Well, sirs, I’m happy to put your meals on the house tonight,” said the waitress. “A thank you for whatever magic that was.”

Char turned her attention back to Amal. "You look like you have something to say."

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

“I suppose it is just surprising to me because I have no interest in returning to… my home,” Charynrae said. She did not dare speak the word Underdark out loud. It felt like a bad omen. "In fact, I have a vested interest in not returning."

She looked in Amal’s eyes- they were pretty. He was... not so bad. He was a sturdy man. Dependable, and kind, too. Kindness was not something valued in the Underdark. She valued kindness, of a sort, hence her taking leave of the Underdark.

“I had no plans. I do like you, so you have a travelling companion.”

She sipped at the glass of mead that had been left by the waitress. "I suppose that while we are travelling, we can offer our services to anyone in need.” What services they could provide was a matter of discussion.

The waitress came over. "Would you like food, or are you just drinking tonight?" She looked exhausted, and yet she was on her feet. Char grabbed her wrist when she went to clear out the empty glasses. "Will you take some of my energy? You look like you need some."

"Uh, if you are offering, then, yes," said the waitress.

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

“Okay. So we’re not looking at something particularly deliberate in that sense. Is that how he was stabbed?” she asked, mimicking Jocasta’s movements. “Perpetrator is more likely to be a male if it is… well, assuming they’re human. It might hold for humanoid non-human species as well, but I don’t know if there’s really a data set for that.” Though her eyes were in the direction of the body, she wasn’t really looking at it anymore; the gears were turning in her head, sorting the information they had and trying to figure out what the next point on the map was.

The hand on the specimen fridge had been rather casually making its way back to the floor, but paused for a moment at Adri’s musings, and then turned back. It pulled at the magnet with her name on it, silently questioning if her name was to be moved back down, but left it be after a wave from Jocasta. It did seem a little… huffy as it bustled back off.

“A… what or a what?”She blinked hard, momentarily looking a little less far away. “Um… I’m not personally into ink… we did some handwriting analysis workshops, those were interesting, person who ran them was actually super into it, but more pertinently, I know from being to Turkey that a lot of the mosques collected and used their own soot for ink making, you’d probably like the architectural aspect, but anyways… carbon based could have indicated some kind of holy place or other spiritual aspect. Not that this rules out its involvement entirely.”

Jocasta squinted her eyes in a disbelieving manner. “Whatever you say, Ink Skink.”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out, vaguely wondering what the problem was with squids and ink. “Suheila Ahmad… John Johnston… and Warner… Znamierowski,” she pronounced slowly. “I’ll get more info when I call my contact, but along with Gretchen Colter those are some key persons of interest with ties to Faisal in the area, so if you hear anything…”

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

Adri had taken a moment to clean up upon arriving at the Sunday Group’s base of operations. After scrubbing her hand raw (maybe not entirely necessary, but you never knew with demon crows) it was carefully wrapped, and she changed into clothes that hadn’t been spattered with her blood today.

She remembered her first visit to the morgue here. She had been warned that she might find the personnel particularly peculiar and not to be alarmed at what she might see, only to be severely underwhelmed. Jocasta would have fit right in with many of the forensic techs she had met working for the police. You had to be a little weird to work that closely with dead bodies- funeral home workers in particular were something else.

She clicked on a voice recorder as she walked in, tucking it down her shirt. It was mainly so she could talk to herself and remember what she had said later, but it was also great to listen back to everyone else’s thoughts while trying to come up with ideas.

For the most part, she listened quietly, occasionally muttering something to herself. The crow was still looking at her, its beady eyes glaring, but it had apparently given up trying to escape for now. She didn’t know why Blythe still had it and didn’t care- at least she didn’t have to deal with it.

“So, you said stab wound to the chest, incision to the anterior portal vein. Do you mean it looks deliberate, or is it just more shallow?” She came over to the body finally, frowning as her eyes swept the body. He was old but not ancient old- maybe in his forties, give or take a bit. He still would have had a decent number of years ahead of him.

“Fazel Ibrahim al-Jalasi,” she muttered under her breath as she typed it into her phone, sending it off to a friend on the force. “I’ll see if he has any other known associates around or if he was being investigated for anything in the area. No guarantee I’ll be able to get much, but it’ll give us a starting point.”

After a pause, she added, “so far, this feels personal and targeted, not random. First we have the wounds, then we have the ink. 16th century Turkey would have been a part of the Ottoman Empire, which definitely included part of the Arab world, so it could be related to where he was born and lived. Or work he did in the area. Is the ink carbon-based or iron-based?”

“Phosphine could also mean meth lab,” she pointed out. “Fazel doesn’t seem like the type, but it’s too early to rule anything out.”

The Sunday Group - Seeds and Harvests

Adri handed Al his camera back, figuring he was more likely to need it, before turning to follow Blythe, walking quietly by her. She was concerned, sure, about her and Teajay, but there would be time to dwell on everything later once they had finished their work. Besides, if there was one thing she had learned it was that filling the silence was sometimes the least helpful thing you could do for someone.

It was habit to assess and analyze, and it was no different with their witness: she noted the spider veins faintly spreading across his cheeks, which, combined with the distinct sickly scent underneath his general malodour, told her that he probably had an alcohol problem. His jacket was too big and unlikely to be warm enough for the weather, but at least it looked like he had layers. That was probably a steel bar tucked in an inner pocket, but he was unlikely to be able to move fast enough for it to be a problem.

He also, apparently, had a pet crow. A pet crow that was talking directly to her.

Well, if any animal was going to correctly identify a police officer without a uniform, it was going to be a crow. Adri looked around, on the off chance a patrol unit had magically appeared, but no, the crow was talking to her. Once upon a time she might have asked herself if she was losing it- way back before she became a cop, maybe.

“I am indeed a cop. Or I was one, I guess. Either way, you’re not in trouble, we just need some help.”

She put one hand on her knees, stooping just low enough to be around eye level with the crow, resting her clipboard flat against her thighs. She could see the man’s mouth moving in her peripheral vision, but she did not directly focus on him. No, she was having a conversation with a crow like she did this on the regular.

It took a moment for her brain to parse what the crow was saying. “You want… blood. My blood?”

“Cawwwp blaaaaad,” it repeated, seemingly happy that its words had been understood. It trotted back up the man’s arm, claws digging into the jacket for purchase, digging its beak into the pocket on the front of the beige jacket several sizes too big for its wearer. The crow emerged with a cooker, stained from far too many uses, flapping its wings to land gracefully at Adri’s feet. It set the metal down on the ground and stared up at her, its head cocked to the side.

The crow seemed to be the one in charge, she decided.

“I get it, you want blood. I- motherfffff-!” She bit down sharply on her lower lip as pain briefly seared through the back of her hand.

In a flash of feathers, the crow had swiped a claw across the back of her hand before retreating to its perch on their witness’ shoulder. She shot it a glare; it merely stared back with its beady eyes, looking from her to the container it had set out on the ground.

“What do you want cop blood for, anyways?” she asked, idly making conversation as the metal cup quickly filled up. The crow was nosing around the man’s jacket again and ignored her, not that she was really looking for an answer. The man’s mouth was moving still; she could hear a faint shhh, a fff, but she wasn’t entirely sure the man even had the capacity to speak.

Once that was done, she pulled her injured hand inside her sleeve and pressed the fabric down to stem the remaining blood flow. “Okay, so, about the auction house-“

The crow resurfaced with a bottle cap this time, dropping it right next to the filled receptacle. She took one look at it and shook her head. “No. That’s not how this is going to work. You got what you wanted, now-“

“CAWWWP BLAAAD!”

This time, at least, she was expecting it to come at her, and all it managed to do was scratch at her clipboard. She sighed, turning her head to look at Blythe as the bird took to the air and swooped down at them. “As entertaining as it would be to arrest a bird, I think it’s your turn.”