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2 mos ago
Current i hear dies irae bells ringing in my ossicles every time i claw from the dirt and peer wistfully through the rpg tomb doors thinking, "one last job..." another bony finger of the monkey's paw curls up
3 yrs ago
i can't believe it's already christmas today
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4 yrs ago
*skeletal hand emerges from an unmarked grave* the drive thru forgot my side order
2 likes
4 yrs ago
Imagine having an opinion on rpg dot com
4 yrs ago
Let’s play a game where you try to sext me and I call the police
1 like

Bio

Maybe the real plot was the friends we made along the way. [Last Updated: April 3, 2022]


I'm 26 years old and I have learned not to share too much of my personal life on the internet. I work as an English and writing tutor at a local college.

I love literature and poetry, and I also enjoy writing, and I like to think I'm not half bad at it. I first started writing as a hobby with online roleplay at the start of 2010, and I've slowly drifted away from it in recent years. I enjoy most genres, but if I had to pick a couple of favorites, they would be sci-fi and high fantasy—heavy emphasis on the high fantasy. Some of my favorite characters have come from Elder Scrolls roleplays, since it appeals to the D&D nerd in me.

I have a tendency to get carried away with making my character sheets. I like telling their stories in the sheet sometimes even more than the roleplay itself, which depends on the roleplay itself of course. I want my readers to know how their background influences them as a person, how their personality bleeds into their appearance, and I love watching characters overcome their personal tragedies and finding their true selves as their identities shatter and reform like kintsugi. I've always been a fan of characters overcoming their weaknesses and obstacles and I try to make that show in many of my characters. Therefore, many of the narratives I explore come from a place of vulnerability, but I try to balance the heavy themes with light whimsy.

I also try to research whatever it is I'm writing about so that I'm not just spitting into the wind - unless that's what my character is doing, in which case I try to make sure that's made clear in my writing. It’s kind of hard to define my style, as I’m influenced by all sorts of literary movements and schools of criticism; dark romanticism, modernism, post-modernism, Marxism, feminism, post-structuralism—I have a lot of isms in my pocket. Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of my favorite dark romantic authors, Dickinson is one of my favorite naturalist poets, Judith Ortiz Cofer, Langston Hughes, and Robert Frost—they’ve all in some ways informed my writing, as well as many others. I even tend to look to some of my fellow guild mates for inspiration or analyze what I like about their writing and see what I can do to improve my own through their example.




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The raging inferno enveloped the environment around him, with Arastoph's cover being the only thing that prevented him from being swallowed by the the flames. The heat was intense, and the trader curled into his own body to hide his face from the flames and to keep his ammunition from going off in his hands. When the flames of died, he gasped and swallowed for a lung-full of air. Did he not kill the pyromancer? No matter, he had to reload quickly. He undid the bow-tie to his blunderbuss and poured the ammunition down the barrels. He made another quick breath in order to calm his hand. Arastoph was about ready to jump up and take another shot when he heard the conversation being had after his assassination attempt.

"If he's one of yours call him off, if not our deal still stands and we'll continue our battle after we deal with this one." Said the swordsman.

To Arastoph's surprise, the knight agreed. "I know him not. Let's talk to him, and then get back to killing each other like civilized people."

He heard the sarcasm in the knight's voice, but was all the same annoyed by the knight's chivalry. He did not take advantage of the moment? What a fool! He doubted that the looters were eager to talk through this encounter after taking a potshot at one of their men. Damn! Still, there may be a chance to ferret his way out of this hole. All he had to do was flex the silver tongue.

"Talk?" Arastoph called out from behind his cover in inquiry. His voice sounded deceptively innocent. "Ah! Forgive me! I am a survivor of the raid, I feared you lot were among the remaining attackers."

Arastoph gripped the pouch of ammunition in his hand, attempting to make his ruse as believable as he could. He just hoped he could convince them of it.

"I was only trying to survive, you see! Have mercy!"

He didn't budge an inch from his hiding place, though. He doubted that the looters would actually have mercy, and would shoot him with the crossbows at a moment's notice. While his pleas sounded remorseful and desperate, Arastoph said them with but a look of annoyance on his face, and was fingering the ammunition pouch in his hands. If anything, perhaps he could play the knight's code of chivalry into his hands and receive protection under him. If the knight decided to take responsibility for the actions of a "frightened and desperate survivor", then he had an opportunity. To either escape or stay alive long enough.

But there was no guaranteeing that. Neither was there any guaranteeing that the knight could defeat the swordsman. If worst comes to best - in that the knight fails to defeat the swordsman after agreeing to protect Arastoph - than he could toss this pouch of ammunition among their ranks. If he could shoot it in mid-air, the explosion and pellet spread would undoubtedly be destructive. If he missed, well... there were still the pellets in his gun that could potentially hit the swordsman or his allies.

At this point, all Arastoph could do was account for every variable that he could.
Oh, don't undermine my sagacity just yet. I am prudent as I am Machiavellian.
Carver is forever guilty by association and will never be able to clean his hands of this. He must his renounce his role as a paladin.
Alternatively, my idea is to ruin the whole duel and defeat the swordsman by killing his friends via ambush. Who's up for that? Eh? Eh?
Another stream of sand fell from the ceiling, grainy and pattering as it settled onto the dirty floor. The room of a tavern cellar dimly lit by one or two small candles, whereas the rest were snuffed, and it is this light that barely illumes the suffocating, humid cellar. Howe'er the humidity betrays the nature of the cellar; it is dry, devoid of water. A layer of sand or a film of dust and cobwebs lay over everything; between the cracks of the limestone bricks, the barrels and crates, and collapsed supports and beams and floorboards from the floor above. The air is, in addition to the humidity, musty.

A young man sits sprawled out in a far corner, away from what little heat those tiny candles could provide, but also away from the unstable dam that made up the destroyed tavern. It was the innkeeper of this tavern that he was to meet and establish negotiations with, to put him under Arastoph's thumb, strong-arm him into joining his cartel – the Xylem Cartel; Arastoph himself, after whom it was named. Alas, there came the raid of goblins and orcs and ettins and bandits. A peculiar mix, to be sure, but there was barely time to question the logistics when the town in which the trader was residing burned to the ground. Arastoph locked himself in the cellar in his attempt to flee. While pursued, he was only so fortunate there was a group of adventurers conveniently passing through town and willing to defend against the raid.

Only so fortunate, of course, as the ettin they had fought was toppled over the tavern and crushed most of it. Arastoph himself had narrowly escaped the debris. Assuming he got out of this alive, there was still the matter of surviving the rest of his travels. In the chaos that had ensued, his coin purse had been lost. The coin purse that was to cover all expenses of his excursion. He would have to scavenge some loot from the ruined town, such as perhaps the two wine kegs in this very cellar – but with no employable work and no horses (and his carriage had likely been destroyed in this mess, too), there was no question that there was no easy way out of this scenario.

Still, giving up now would be a tremendous waste of all the years he spent getting to this point.

Arastoph pushed himself to his feet and paced over to the collapsed mess of beams and boards. There was the chance he could loosen some of the debris and force a way out and–

“What's that, I wonder...” Arastoph muttered to himself. He crawled further up into the mess and pulled out what looked to be a piece of fabric. Upon touching it, he found it to be courser than regular cloth. It was wool. Brushing aside debris, he was able to pull whatever it was from the wreckage; the dirty wool ripped free from whatever it was caught on, and taking another look, Arastoph found a hand, sticking out limply from beneath the pile. He left it alone, not batting an eye. But there was something else near the body. Shifting aside a large, heavy beam, the pile of debris suddenly shifted.

Arastoph kept very still, listening for any creaking in the pile. It was silent.

The merchant continued looking. Further in, he found... a hat? A wide brimmed hat. Its color was dark, and the shape reminded him of a sun hat. Whoever this belong to must have had some kind of money, as not just any peasant owned one. Upon looking at it, he found it was nothing exceptionally valuable, but it is at least a good start to make some money once he got out of here. Forty or fifty gold. Nothing extraordinary. With his stiletto, he poked little inconspicuous holes in the sides of the hat and threaded the long strip of wool and tied a knot on the other side. He did the same for the other end of the rim. He stuck his head through the loop and let the hat hang around his neck. 'That'll have to do for now...'

Sounds of metal rhythmically clashing penetrated the wood tomb. Were there still raiders above? Were there still people defending the ruins? What purpose did those fools have for remaining? Surely there are no other survivors of this raid aside from he. Arastoph was just modest enough to admit he was lucky. He doubted that same luck extended to the villagers of Ravenwood; clearly they weren't so lucky as to be spared from this disaster.

But the clanging metal continued. He noticed something peculiar about it: it was easily heard. It penetrated the confines of the cellar with ease. This meant there had to have been an opening somewhere. He looked around the pile of collapsed wood, and then up, where he beheld a wondrous sight! A hole, not very large, but just enough for him to fit through. The black night sky melded with shades of gray from the dust and smoke-filled atmosphere. But should he leave now? There was danger out there, for certain. He listened carefully as the clashes of metal temporarily subsided.

“... Noble offer, one generously accepted … against mine … among us worthy of victory.”

“Good, glad to see … die by my blades instead … fires of war ….”

There were two different people. At least, two different parties. The first sounded more honorable and good-intentioned than the latter. While the former sounded something of a stick in the mud in comparison to the latter, it seemed that the latter was the more violent of the two, and was likely the one Arastoph should be looking out for. If the first man was one of the adventurers that had been attempting to defend the village during all this time, it might be better for Arastoph to align himself with the knight – even if it is just to preserve his own life.

He'll evacuate slowly and carefully, in that case. Help the knight out, perhaps, if it was just the one raider alone.

Arastoph stood atop the rubble, steeling his nerves as he heard the creaking beneath his boots. He grabbed onto the edge of the floorboards above and test its strength by gently pulling on the edges. Once he found an adequately secure ledge, he hung from it and hoisted himself up, swinging his feet around to make the best of the inertia and to lift his chest over the edge and planting it down on the floor above, before brining his legs up and crawling to safety. He sat in a corner of the building, where the walls around it and even the ceiling was destroyed.

The moon was unusually bright tonight.

He turned his head around the corner, taking advantage of the darkness that had concealed him, and observed the event taking place in the center of the ruined town. The knight and a swordsman were locked in combat. Four other people stood off to one side, and two off to another.

'So it would seem the raiders have gone,' thought Arastoph, 'but it would also seem that looters have taken their place.

Quick inspection.

The man fighting the knight wielded two swords. Taking him out would remove much offensive presence and perhaps save the knight from a potential defeat. Another warrior, but this one had one weapon, a flail. Ultimately a non-threatening weapon. Difficult to use effectively, heavy, and was mostly used for disarming opponents. Two people wielding crossbows. The knight can defend against them, but are easily the biggest threat to himself. But take out one, the other will take cover, and there's still a problem. The other... it was difficult to tell. A magi or wizard, perhaps. A practitioner, judging by the robes and staff. Could even be a priest, in that case, healing magic was able to be implemented. Whatever the case, torrents of fire or healing the wounds of his allies can turn the tide of a battle. In a general sense, the robed individual was the greatest threat. If he took that person out, then perhaps they'd all be alarmed. Distracted. If the knight was smart, he'd take advantage of that opportunity and slay the swordsman. Arastoph had no intentions of dying today.

He drew back into the safety of the darkness concealed corner and looked into his cloak. He had five handfuls of pellets. Five shots.

“Is that all you got? Stop hiding behind the shield and fight me blade to blade.”

From the sounds of it, there was little time to debate the decision. His only chance at survival is in a bad position.

Arastoph reached into his cloak, and out of the pockets, grabbed a small pouch of pellets and gunpowder and easily poured the contents into the lipped barrel. He threw the pouch on the ground next to him. Another pouch in his left hand. Carrying one pouch in his teeth. Three shots. He'd have to execute his maneuvers wisely. Hopefully the knight's companions weren't stupid, either. He peered around the corner to glance at the pyromancer carefully once more. He took a deep breathe and stood up behind his barrier.

Quickly, he side-stepped out from his hiding place with his pistol drawn and aimed at the unarmored pyromancer. A loud explosion vibrated through the air as he pulled the trigger, and dozens of lead pellets whistled as they cut through the air. He took cover behind the corner just after the shot was made, focused on reloading.
Carver's only true love is justice.
>Meanwhile the merchant, whose only real asset is gold, has none


Name: Arastoph Xylem
Gender: Male, AMAB
Race: Human (supposedly)
Age: 25
Class: Merchant (trades, invests, entrepreneurs; also sort of cross-trained as a rogue)

Appearance: Arastoph is a tall, lanky man who stands at 6'3” and weighs at 143 lbs. His body isn't particularly toned or muscled, and he doesn't possess much fat. You would expect a little more fitness from him by the way he carries himself with his upright posture and proper poise. With this posture, he also holds his head high and chin up, as though taking a glance at anyone was beneath him, or that his status was something too great to behold amongst the like of commoners. His skin is pale and lacks much of a hue to it. There isn't a whole lot of visible scarring on his body, although you would see it upon close inspection of his hands, knees, and feet from his childhood days. He walks patiently as though he were pacing and taking his time, mulling over whatever thoughts he has in quiet contemplation.

His gaunt face reflects his body's long and thin demeanor. Along with it, there is a various number of sharp features. His cheekbones are high and pronounced, and the cheeks themselves somewhat sunken in comparison. A long, sharp nose bridge comes down to form a beak-shaped nose, and beneath that are laugh lines which surrounds his thin-lipped mouth. His chin is sharp and angular, and is rather big all things considered. Above his nose are intense steel-gray eyes (which is little more than a dull blue) constantly following you, and the eyes themselves are sunken with the bottom side of his sockets forming what appears to be bags beneath his eyes, but are actually the outline of the bone in his face. This is bordered by long, thin eyebrows that curve gently over his eyes. On the sides of his head, his ears possess attached ear lobes and are left unpierced.

Arastoph has a pretty big forehead, it would seem, but seems to do more in highlighting his hairline; a sharp widow's peak is formed in the center of his head. Long, black, and silky hair falls down around his shoulder blades and is always kept nice and neat – free of oil and is carefully combed so that it drapes gently over his shoulders. His hair is not often frizzy and manages weather well. Usually during intense activity can you see his hair bunching up and getting out of place and messy. On his chin he has a soul patch, long enough that it barely comes a half-inch off his face.

His clothes are fancily made and tailored to fit his body. He often wears long-sleeved undershirts, of which there is no particular color that he chooses over the other, but in the case of where we will start the roleplay, it will be defaulted to a plum color – a rich, dark purple. Over this, Arastoph wears a padded black doublet. The chest of which is puffed out, making him appear as though he is a bigger man than he really is, and has buttons crawling from the bottom to the top, just below his chin, and conceals any and all parts of his neck. There is also an insignia embroidered into the doublet, resemblant to a Rub el Hizb, or two overlapping squares with a circle in the middle (۞ ).

With his doublet, there are what's essentially shoulder pads, largely resembling armor pauldrons in a way, and is made with a tough, hardened cloth, but no leather or metal is in the stitching of it. Along it are two grooves and, closer to the neck, it is bordered off by a length of smooth rope; apparently more for the decoration of the clothing article than anything. The doublet ends at his biceps and isn't particularly fancy or decorated, and has simply two gray stripes on opposite sides. Over his waist is a brown leather belt, with a number of buckles and contraptions meant for carrying any number of devices, such as his holster for a dragoon. On the other side is his stiletto sheath. The buckle that it attaches it to his belt is a special little thing that when you press a little button to the side, it unlocks and is able to spin, and locks again when it rotates 180 degrees. This allows the stiletto handle to point either upward or downward, and can be situationally useful, assuming the situation calls for subtlety.

His pants doesn't have the same kind of elaborate setup like the rest of his attire does. They are a pair of unassuming black wool jodhpurs, hand spun and knitted. They have all that he requires: comfort, practicality, fashion, and deep pockets. The bottom cuffs are tucked into knee-high black leather boots where laces and conchos go from the ankles up to the top of his boots. However, much of his appearance is hidden by a hooded gray cloak. Buttons crawl on either side of the cape to keep it from billowing and revealing his body, and has a number of pockets inside to store a lovely amount of whatever he needs. He also possesses a wooden mask, which he mostly uses when interacting in underworld business or wants to keep his identity secret. It is unimpressive for the most part, if not slightly unnerving, and has two eye holes carved into it and a space for his nose to fit. Black horse hair has been sewn into the top of the mask.

Personality: Cunning, intelligent, conniving, deceiving, charming; there is a number of ways to describe the merchant, and it is difficult to pinpoint exactly what is truth and what is a guise. At Arastoph's core, he is unscrupulous and not necessarily bound by any moral constraints. He doesn't take up issue doing what he can to get what he wants and to survive, but has the foresight and wisdom to not do anything rash if it is too risky. Neither does he break the laws of the land for the sake of breaking them. He prefers to work within the legalities, but if the legalities come to be too restricting to obtain a particular necessity, he would bend or break it without hesitating. It almost seems as if he has come to believe as if the rules do not apply to him; given the potential he possess to become powerful, that may very well be the case.

His money isn't the most powerful virtue he possesses, though; cunning and wit supplies him the know-how to properly utilized his tools to his greatest advantage. In a world of people going off adventuring, farmers, miners, peasants; a number of people living their lives without formal education, Arastoph stands out in the crowd by having taken the bull by the horns and taking his education for himself. A formal, top-of-the-line education without noble blood. So he knows a great deal about the general maths and sciences, history, literacy, politics, some religion, and of course mercantilism. He possesses a brain made for thinking things through and thinking outside the box. He can quickly process what goes on around him, but prefers to take it slowly. So his cunning and witty demeanor is derived from this, allowing him to formulate plots and machinations that'd be out of the realm of a typical peasant.

Arastoph is a very ambitious and self-driven man. However, his motivation isn't benevolent or malicious, if just uninspiring. Half of it is just the curiosity of how far can he get, if the mountain is endless or eventually plateaus off. The other half is to convince himself and the world of his worth. He has his own personal secret that he attempts to hide, even from himself. He sees it as a crutch that holds him back, and is the aspect of himself that he hates – and self-loathing is a very painful experience for a man as selfish and self-absorbed as he – but at the same time, attempts to embrace. He tries to take it and use it as his reason for his superiority and his success. After a period of time, he has come to succeed in convincing himself of this. As a result, he has come to view most – if not all – other people with inferiority, treating the rest of mankind with contempt and revulsion.

You wouldn't know it by looking upon him, though. Arastoph is still a trader, and a sly one at that. He can put on a front that can leave you wondering which man is the real man. His front his charming, polite, and hospitable, which betrays the sense of danger and unease most people receive from him. This sophistication augments his skills of persuasion and negotiation, sensitively picking the right words to change your mind on a dime, or perhaps using his articulate nature for more insidious means such as intimidation; selectively applying the right words to get crawling under your skin and playing off of your fears. If there is one thing we have to hand to him, however, is that he is efficient. While not all of his contracts are necessarily “fair” he doesn't cheat. At least, not if the other party doesn't have it coming to them. He feels that, if you're good at what you do, it is easier to be honest than to cheat. While not an emotional guy, he does form bonds with what is “his”. If you threaten his business, or his associates, or whatever he considers “his”, he takes it as a threat and wouldn't waste a second in removing you. It is because of this trait of his that many traders and workers and smugglers seek his protection.

Main-Hand Weapon: A dragoon, or blunderbuss pistol decorated with brass. The butt has a brass cap designed so that it appears to be a man with curly hair and a beard, and resembles Greek artwork.
Off-hand Weapon: A stiletto.
Secondary Weapon: A wide array of poisons and drugs hidden amongst his person. Some of them are probably illegal.
Armor: Cloth, albeit his clothes are padded and thick, and provides some additional protection - negligible though it is.
Powers: The power of money, my friend!

Skills:
Persuade: A skilled trader knows how persuade, or even manipulate all but the toughest of customers! Howe'er, dare not deceive thyself by thinking this falls solely within trade negotiation; oh no, his skills of persuasion falls under even typical social environments! He has the silver tongue of a snake.

Diplomacy: More appropriately: “negotiation”, or at least that is how traders put it. Regardless, the differences are void, and Arastoph can negotiate the terms of a trade agreement swimmingly or play ambassador for politicians. Having learned charming and tactful behavior back in his years of education has lent to him to turn deals for his own favor.

Strategy: Any good trader knows to look into the future to determine when the proper time to make their move is. A cunning trader of Arastoph's caliber can plan the movements of his whole cartel while determining the movements of his competition. This carries over even in tactical circumstances in the midst of a battle – though his specialty clearly lies in psychological warfare.

Appraisal: General merchants have to learn a few tricks to keep themselves from receiving a raw trade or bad deal. They don't specialize in any one product, and instead, take it upon themselves to learn and recognize the value of all sorts of items. Upon inspection, Arastoph can determine the worth of an item.

Weaknesses:
Non-combat: Some martial training from a lord, but neither of them are really suited for fighting battles. The most he can do is to utilize some effective tools to do all the work and get the job done, but his actual prowess is laughable.

Reliant: Even though he grew up with a rough childhood, he was hardly in tune with his survival instincts. He has lived most his life relying on his resources and wealth to provide for him. Without protection and his resources, he doesn't possess the necessary skills that allows him to survive on his own for a long time.

History: To be upfront about an excluded detail, Arastoph was born half-tiefling. Regular tieflings are rumored to be half-demon, which would mean that the merchant's blood is 25% demonic. Naturally, this would call for a rough, bumpy upbringing. Arastoph was the product of a violent raping of a women in a small village inflicted by a runaway criminal tiefling who had followingly fled the scene and retreated off into the wilderness, never to be seen again. A broken woman was left feeling violated and powerless behind her own shack of a home. Unexpectedly, she had become pregnant – an ill omen for her, who detested the idea of one of those things growing inside her womb, but too afraid of pain to take her own life or to abort the fetus.

Arastoph was born seemingly human despite the blood that ran through him, although his health as a baby was shaky. The mother, despite looking upon the child with shame at every glance, could not bring herself to kill him or abandon him. The baby had looked too human, not enough like his bastard father, for her to hate him like she did the tiefling. This did not, however, mean her shame and disappointment waned over the years as she took care of the child of dirtied blood. He was granted a name that'd mark him as an outsider, something so radically different from typical people, “Arastoph”, and he bore the surname of the tiefling, “Xylem”.

Living in a small village, not much remains secret for very long. Even as a young'n, Arastoph was subjugated to the torment of the villagers. Even mothers, who had set an example for their children, who had soon followed suit. Even at home couldn't he find refuge, for he was a shameful creation in his mother's eyes. During these years, a seed of contempt and disregard for mankind had been planted in the boy, even weak as he was.

The village's main source of income came from fishing, as they were situated next to an inlet. Along the coast docks were fisheries and warehouses. It was in one of these warehouses did a 13 year old Arastoph eavesdrop on some sailors who were smuggling goods in and out. One night, he found the illegal drug that they had been whispering about, and hurried off back home.

There, the following night, he poisoned his mother with a paralytic and hallucinatory drug by spiking the dinner bowl. Unable to move or scream for help, she again helplessly watched her son take whatever little heirlooms she had and what little savings she had and took a step out the front door. Arastoph looked back for only a cold glance at his mother's eyes and left without a word.

He ran away from the village off the roads in an effort to get to the next town over. It was a long and hard trip, especially for a boy his age and size. In the end, though, he managed. He crawled around before finding a lord – nobility. Arastoph begged the lord for education and for a home, and offered him all that he had taken from his mother. Of course, the value of the items was negligible and the amount of money offered was paltry. However, the lord took pity on the pathetic child, and praised the runaway for his foresight, and praised his understanding that things didn't come to people for free. The lord agreed to take Arastoph under his wing.

He was taught that the most valuable thing in the world was wealth. The greatest power, money. With money, any power can be bought for you. A far easier and better turn-out profit than becoming a sorcerer or warrior – those people can be hired to work under your name. Arastoph received the education that would be received by nobles and pages; reading and writing, maths, the sciences, history, politics – and most importantly, mercantilism. Although the lord was not much of a martial combatant himself, most lords did receive some kind of martial training, and fencing and dueling was his. Arastoph sought out this education every single day, driven by his urge to become something worth more than the blood in his veins.

With help of the lord's debt investment, Arastoph started his own stall at age 17. It was the first of its kind in the town he was in: a general store. Where everyone else had a trade specialty, Arastoph's own specialty was trade itself. Because he wasn't spending time hunting, farming, or making weapons and whatnot, he had more time to focus on trade itself. He bought a variety of items from other sources, and sold them all at one stall at a higher price than when he bought them. It was a risky idea at first, but it payed off when people realized that the new kid on the block – while the prices were a little higher, likely had what they needed. With local reputation, even adventurers who went treasure hunting came into town and heard that the best and easiest way to sell their loot was to the general stall. He could convince the treasure hunter to sell it for a few increments lower than the item's actual value (of which the adventurers likely did not know about). It was only a matter of time before he was able to accumulate enough money to upgrade into a full-blown shop and become a bona-fide merchant.

Howe'er, there was the... minor issue of the lord, under whom Arastoph had trained. Even with the years under his tutelage, the lord seemed to have little issue with bleeding his pupil's shop of a substantial sum of money with his investment. Arastoph payed it off immediately, and asserted that he no longer needed his support, much to the chagrin of his teacher. The merchant was hounded and harassed, insisted to that his business would crumble without the lord's protection. Instead of arguing, Arastoph cut the prices of the produce in his shop. The lord's claim to fortune was his farm, and with Arastoph undercutting him to ridiculous degrees to the point where he was actually losing money with each sale, the tactic eventually managed to forcibly drive the lord and old teacher out of the region in search of a new market, albeit with a grudge. This also meant that with some competition out of the way (and a headache, for that matter), he was able to set his produce at a higher price than he used to (benefiting both him and his suppliers) and was free of the debt that had been bleeding him.

It taught him one lesson, for sure: that it was a pretty easy way for a person to make money off income investments. Having earned enough money, he was able to hire his own employee and walk around without having to work and still make a profit. However, not in his nature to be lazy, he started doing the same thing that had made him tired of his teacher, and offered investments to small or starting shops so to support them and give them an opportunity make business. Not only did this stimulate the town's economy, it also provided to Arastoph a small percentage of their shares, and was able to make money off of other shops. If the shop in which he put the investment in failed or wasn't terribly active, Arastoph was capable of bleeding them dry or buying out their shop entirely and making it his own. As a talented merchant, he was able to redesign the fundamentals of the shops and turn them back around to be more successful, and then put in charge the previous owner of the shop and allow them to manage it and behave as though nothing ever happened. For all intents and purposes, nothing has changed, except that the business is actually under Arastoph's name.

This little slice of heaven off in some corner of the land came to be known as the Xylem Cartel. Even with the youth that Arastoph had, his cunning and the opportunities he took advantage of allowed his career to evolve alarmingly quickly. It has happened more than once, for that matter. Arastoph wrested control a fair portion of the town's small businesses and stalls. His shady practices did grab the attention from some connections from the underworld economy, inquiring the prospect of business opportunity. Naturally, Arastoph obliged.

Now, Arastoph travels the continent with payed protection in search of spreading his influence and gaining connections all over the land as to gain a foothold in the underworld. Whether it be putting people unto his service through debt or buying out small companies, or entering trade agreements, he does seek to turn his new cartel into something deserving of awe and respect, and to monopolize various markets. He brings with him a fungus from the swamp next to his adoptive hometown. It was a highly controversial piece of contraband that instilled euphoria and hallucinations in those who ingested them. With it, he intends to introduce its value to potential connections and see if he can get them on his side with this new product, to farm and harvest it, and then sell it under Arastoph's name.

However, there are some roadblocks; rumor has it that Arastoph's old teacher – the lord – is back and is looking for some revenge. Word also has it that the dilapidated old dog has his own set of connections. If the rumors are true, then it might just mean there's the smell of war on the wind. In addition, on Arastoph's excursion to establish his connections, the village which he had met one of his contacts was overcome with goblins and ettins, and a group of foolish adventurers handled it sloppily. His contact was killed beneath a toppled ettin. Arastoph intends to make them either pay or be indebted to him for the damages they committed that resulted in his losses.



Moosic:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLWYuJe7LdA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFNeSWNjPyQ
Okay, I made the appropriate edits.




Moosic:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLWYuJe7LdA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFNeSWNjPyQ
@Spoopy Scary"Kelvin, while not really renowned for anything"

The truth hurts. ;-;


bby don't cri i lov u

@Kronshi@Spoopy Scary
what if he lost all his progress due to nearby raids. contacts dead. deliveries don't show up due to plundered trade routed. Middleman knows that the first person who figures out what the source of the economical problems is, gets opportunities to make some big money.

Either by trading with riaders or selling info on the raiders etc.

Motivation right there


I was starting to think this too, and while it is a good idea, part of Kronshi's issue wasn't just all his resources, but all the experience he had as well.
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