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the universe is grand, but life is grander

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In ... 7 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I'll likely need to edit and add a fair bit once a bit more is decided about the story (such as location). But you get the idea.

Prepare yourselves for 'lending hand' puns.


In ... 7 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I have a character I'd really like to use for this, if its still open?



Anne’s father came alone to meet her at the Ivory inn. Only a handful of the merchant’s she’d traveled with remained, most had dispersed to less reputable locations, none sat with her. She was grateful he was alone, the journey had been long and the idea of her mother fretting over the appearance for the final leg of it was especially unappealing.

“Anne!” He was a short man, rather unimposing, and had to force his way through the crowd. There were no awkward greetings or forced physical displays of affection. They understood each other in that way. He offered to take her bag, and she accepted and they left the inn to a street filled quite entirely by a single, large black carriage.

“Your mother insisted. For the festival.” Anne only nodded in reply before stepping it. A stupid waste of money they didn’t have, but her father knew such already.

“I’m not here for the festival” She spoke only after he clambered in beside her. It was his turn to nod in understanding. Fellow victims to the will of Abigail Gress for the time being.

“I ought to tell you before we arrive… The body’s been burned, we tried to keep it for you, but two weeks is…”

“I understand” Anne cut him off, not particularly caring to hear how the smell of her brother’s rotting corpse forced the family to action. They lapsed back into a familiar silence that lasted until they arrived at the house.

It was smaller than she remembered, and seemed darker, but she attributed that to her reason for returning. Her mother was waiting in the entryway, and her sister Lydia came to loom in the doorway at the former’s first cry of joy.

“Oh Anne, it’s so good to see you! You look pale, are you well? Was the carriage ride alright? Come sit I’ve just made some tea, we have so much to discuss.” Anne stiffly allowed herself to be embraced, but kept her eyes on Lydia. Expressionless against her sister’s glare.

“I want to see Charles first.” That was enough to dislodge Abigail.

“Well, all right. We left his room just as. But do come down again quickly, I’m making you a dress appointment. That black makes you look so pale, and your hair…”

Anne began on the stairs before her mother could go on much more. Pointing out that they should all still be in mourning would be futile against her mother’s vanity, and she hardly wanted an argument in the first hour of their reunion. Of course, she could only be pushed so far, and it was obvious some disagreement was going to happen as a set of footsteps followed her own to her brother’s room. The bed was cleanly made, papers and books all neatly aligned on his desk. The only sign Charles Gress was anything more than out for the day was the unpolished, inexpensive urn resting between too still-new prayer candles and a box of matches on the flat chest at the foot of the bed. Anne entered to look closer, Lydia took up her place in the new door-frame, and wasted not time to begin her attacks.

“He wouldn’t have died if you’d been here.”

“I don’t know how to heal people.” Anne reached out and laid a hand on the urn. He’d been a full grown man when she’d left, but she still couldn’t envision him as anything but a spiteful twelve year old knotting her hair the bedpost alongside his twin.

“Yes, yes, spent all your time learning flashy parlor tricks instead. Then off across the world to study equally useless things.” Something in Anne’s chest swelled. It was an old hurt, turned bitter with time, and foreign with the distance from family. Her mother was an empty-headed fool, but Lydia was only contemptuous and stubborn in her envious hatred, and Anne never had the patience or compassion to soothe it.

“My being away is what has kept you all here and fed. You should have taken him to the temple.” Where Anne’s anger was cold, Lydia’s ran red hot, waiting for an excuse to strike out.

“It was paying for your damned education that got us all into this mess, and you want gratitude?”

“Yes.” Lydia moved, and for a moment Anne anticipate a strike. It was a tactless thing to say, Charles had been Anne’s brother, but Lydia’s twin. They’d been co-conspirators, mostly in torment of their younger sister, but it was a bond, and loss, Anne could never understand.

“Mother will be waiting.” There was acid in her voice, a warning. Anne would have to go to her mother’s dress fitting, or do anything but stay inside the house and rest as she’d planned. Lydia turned from the door to her own room. Anne sat down at the desk, staring at the urn.

It was nearly half an hour later when her mother came to check on her. In two steps she was beside Anne, pulling the pins from her hair until it fell to her shoulders.

“We really need to make you more presentable for the festival. So many families will be there…” Anne opted to ignore her mother rather than mention her appearance wouldn’t matter; she’d find her destined or not. There would be no choosing.

“Turquoise would look lovely on you, with long angled sleeves I think, and a high neck. My pearls…”

“I’m in mourning.” The hands fell away from her hair, and Anne had a clear mental image of her mother’s disdainful look without even turning.

“I’m going to find those pearls. We leave in an hour.” No sooner did she leave the room then Anne moved to light the two candles. She wasn’t much one for prayer, but it was her brother, and the only sign of respect she knew how to give.





“There are too many people watching.”

“Everything’s better with an audience.” Rhea could feel Jovan’s disapproval radiating two feet behind her. She continued to ignore him, casually swinging her legs from a perch atop one of the three shipping crate still on the ship’s deck. It was wrong not to listen to Jovan’s advice, he was right too often. But Rhea’s breakfast of nothing but wine, and the excitement of unloading goods put her in too good of spirits for his negativity, no matter how warranted it was. There were people staring. Such was the risk when unloading in civilian towns, especially one as small as Solstied.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Rhea sighed and pivoted to face her crewman expectantly.

“We can unload the spices and silks to any merchant heading to Royal City, already above normal price. We shouldn’t have brought the opium near Orewyn at all, get rid of it on the Salahar coast as fast as we can.” She listened patiently but Rhea’s eyes drifted out of focus as he spoke. The wind was picking up again, it would make a good day for sailing, and she was more than slightly tempted to agree with Jovan if only not to trap herself on land for weeks. She turned her gaze back to the docks, littered with a eight crates all topped with rolls of rugs and fabrics. It had taken over six months to accumulate it all, and she was risking it and more on a single stupid venture.

“We’ll take it a bit at a time, you, Tull, Connor come with me to the city first were we’ll get things settled. Half the crew take the ship down to Vagrant’s Rest, the rest take the goods halfway and wait for us to line up buyers.”

“We’re going to use nearly all the coin we have in the process. Why bother the risk?” Rhea didn’t want to answer that question, even to herself.

“The payoff will let me retire to a nice house in the country, gardens filled with clovers.” That eased the tension a bit, Jovan even grunted out something that could almost have been a laugh.

“Clovers are weeds.” Rhea shrugged in dismissal and hopped down from the crate as three other men came to carry it down the ramp.

“Roses then. You can plant them if you know so much.” Jovan only shook his head, but a tight smile pulled at his face as they left the ship.

----

Three days of travel on solid ground was a sure way to ruin Rhea's mood. The three men of her crew she’d brought along did nothing to help either. No one was ever quite as miserable as a sober sailor. But they had gotten into the Royal City, no one had tried to stop them, and The Libertine was safely tucked away somewhere in the Shimmering Sea. Traveling from the south had been worth it, if only for that.

Rhea didn’t get to the Royal City much; too far inland, too many trade laws to bother risking. But the quality and size of their goods were too good to waste on the usual coastal towns, or at least that was the excuse she’d told her crew. They’d be staying longer and would have to plan their deliveries carefully, an annoyance to all, but when it payed off they’d be more than satisfied. If she managed to find the damn merchant’s shop. They reached a dusty building with a faded sign dubbing it ‘The North Inn’, creatively named after the street it was located on, and she dismissed her men along with all of the coin she carried. It shut up their complaining, and her money would be coming from Donnelly, if she needed any.

The shop was closer to the river than she remembered, windows filled with more luxurious clothing than anyone living in such a place would ever be able to afford. A bell chimed when she entered the shop, empty of people except for the shape of a short man behind the counter.

“With you in a moment.”

Rhea ran her hands over every fabric she passed before reaching the counter, where she leaned on her elbows.

“Never good to keep your only customer waiting.” The man stopped, and whirled on her, face flushed with surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here? Get out.” Rhea only moved to fold one leg behind the other.

“My but your manners have suffered haven’t they? Relax Donnelly, I come with gifts.” Her empty arms proved otherwise, but words were enough to turn his attention.

“You stole my guard last time you came.” Rhea waved away the complaint.

“The man could navigate with the stars and draw maps. Wasted dragging you around the continent.”

“Took me two months to replace him.” Already the small man’s wrath had turned to sulking. The greatest virtue of the greedy was their lack of pride when they smelled coin.

“I have silks.” His eyes narrowed, and Rhea rolled her own. “Not here obviously. I wouldn’t have gotten past the guard looking like this and carrying goods. Which brings me to my first favour…” She gestured to her clothing, never in the best condition, it looked especially ragged from travel. Only her jewelry gave any hint to her being more than a peasant.

“I need clothes. For me and at least three of my men.” Three to pose as merchants bringing goods into the city, the rest would be bodyguards.

“For nothing? On your word? These goods may not even exist.” Rhea sighed, he was only drawing this out. Donnelly was too weak-willed and greedy to say no. She pulled off three gold bangles and a necklace, inlayed with emeralds, and dropped them all on the counter. Immediately he reached for them only for Rhea to stab a knife between his hand and the gold.

“Insurance. Until you get your cut, you can hold onto these for me. Worth twice as much as I should let you have, but I’ll be taking clothes and coin for myself now.” Donnelly was barely listening, staring as he was at the gold, eyes sparkling.

“What is it you need?”

“Contacts. I’ve been away from the city for too long and don’t know who the viable buyers are anymore. But you’ve always had sticky fingers in everyone’s business.” He was too distracted by her offer to notice the insult, if he would even take it as such.

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.” She said with finality, with full intention to not give him a cent more than ten. He made no further argument and reached for the jewelry in a sign of acceptance. Rhea replaced her knife in her belt, stood straight, and smiled at him.“Wonderful, the coin I’ll take now, the clothes you can send to the inn on North Street.”

--

“Here for the festival?” For a moment Rhea’s hand hovered over the innkeepers, heavy with coins for her room and bath. She’d forgotten about the mark, clear as day with her bracelets gone.

“No, I just came for all the jilted lovers left over.” The girl’s cheery smile only slightly wavered but she shook her head.

“Marked visitors aren’t meant to pay.” Rhea looked at the decrepit surrounding and dropped two coins on the counter anyways.

Clean bath water.” She intoned before turning to find her ensemble. Two were sitting at a table already covered with bottles.

“Enjoying yourselves? Where’s Tull?”

“Got in an argument and tossed out.” The words came with a strong smell of alcohol and unwashed sailor. Rhea swiped one of the bottles on the table. Passing them off as merchants was going to be near impossible; keeping them sober for more than a few hours on solid land was already more than a challenge. They may work for her, and on a ship, they would do exactly as she asked without question, but shore-time meant leisure time. Jovan was always the exception, but she’d need to get more men to stand in. She sighed and took a long drag from the bottle. Vile bottom shelf rat piss, but strong.

“Get him back in here when you can. I need you to start looking for old distributors.” Jovan nodded, suddenly returning to his usual sullen mood.

There was a bath waiting in her room, not much more than luke-warm and with a distinct lack of drying towels but Rhea had the coin and drink to compensate whatever else was lacking. She had finished washing and was drying herself when a knock came to the door. On the other side was a young boy carrying a crate. He showed no discomfort at the sight of her wearing no more than the blanket pulled from the bed; modestly wasn’t a common trait in this district. She thanked him and took the crate of clothing back to the bed.

Donnelly wasn’t half as stupid as he let on. The clothes where designed for the dessert. Plain trousers, much less faded then her own, and a thin cloth that when folded and belted at the waist made a sort of tunic that reached well past her knees, while plunging her neckline much further than any Orewyn woman would allow. For a Salahar merchant however, it was more than appropriate. She donned the clothes, using her own belt with its lockpicks and sheathed knife before making her way back downstairs. Jovan was alone waiting for her, and still drinking.

“Other two sobering up a bit, then looking for some old friends.” He answered her question before she could even ask, so she only nodded. “Might want to keep an eye out yourself. Worked with a man named Howell last time we were here, ‘least that’s what he called himself then.” There was a pause he poured two drinks from a clear bottle.

“And?”She took the offered glass and downed it without hesitation; he’d actually spent decent coin on that drink. Jovan mirrored her movement before continuing.

“He’s marked. With the festival going on, and the city being as it is, you can get placed we might not be able too”

“Oh? And if I happen to land myself a prince while searching?” Jovan let out one of his almost-a-laugh grunts.

“We’ll hold you ransom and rob ‘em blind.” Rhea lowered her glass to the table, placed a hand on her heart, and swooned dramatically as the sailor poured a second round.

“Who needs soulmates when I have darlings like you?”

<Snipped quote by Tackytaff>

Yeah I'm getting the feeling this RP might not be getting off the ground, which is disappointing.


I hope not, but yeah a week of stagnance doesn't bode well. Especially with such a large cast.

But I'll keep my fingers crossed and keep checking up for a few more days.
My internet is limited these days, but I'm more or less here.
12 for 12, does that mean we can start nagging now?
@Snagglepuss89
Uh, oops? I mean he is an ex-pirate hunter, and kind of resource-less. Would he care about smuggling?
@Not Fishing Rhea would have tried to get him involved.

@Juno And now that you've said it I want medieval CSI to happen and am going to find a way to make it happen.
Added ship name for Rhea's sheet.

@Juno I'm guessing pirate hunting wouldn't be a big concern for the city guard, as inland as it is?
@deyinger Could I bother you to put a small settlement in one of the Shimmering Sea's bays? Vagrant's Rest or something. Just a small hidden spot for smugglers to lay low.
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