Very interested, Fat Boy. This appears to have strong influence from A Song of Ice and Fire, which raises my interest even more. I can play any type of character, although I am leaning toward either a spy from the Kingdom of Dawn or an assassin-type hired by a crime lord within the Crossroads.
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Threw something into our Titan, Zephy. We can collaborate more on where we would like the plot to go. I'm limited to a mobile device for the remainder of tonight so... STRUGGLE=REAL.
Apologies for the absence/delay. I'm working on a double post as we speak which MAY be finished tonight. Please bare with me, I have yet to fully open up our antagonist, or introduce much of Koil.
I am here..lurking.
Woot.
Apologies for the short post. I am running on no sleep, back to work after a 2 week holiday vacation. The next will be worth something.
Icarai's ass found a chair in the far back of The Elm. The lighting was dim to his liking, despite the intensity of the hearth. The place looked rather run down but appeared to have possibly been something of worth in the pre-Hail days. A dark skinned woman, curvy and exotic scrambled from table to table, serving potatoes, carrots, even a few salted pieces of meat to patrons. Tall glasses of amber rotgut were the favored beverage it appeared.
He placed his forearms on the table, (which was warped with age), and leaned forward as the dark skinned woman approached. His dark, sunken eyes alerted her to his burden, and she dropped her gaze from him momentarily. Perhaps she was afraid, or disgusted. Nevertheless, the woman raised her gaze once more to the burdened man, still shivering from the cold.
"We only got limited veggies and even less salted meats. Our brew is cheap, but it'll getcha where ya need to go. What'll it be mista?" questioned the woman.
He thought momentarily, but his stomach growled, interrupting his thought.
"How's about a veggie stew. Hearty potatoes, carrots, and celery. Poor man's stew I believe it's called. A few pieces of dried meat and a slice of bread will do just fine. Some water too if it's clean," Icarai replied.
The waitress winced slightly and nodded, shuffling off toward the kitchen as Icarai lit a cigarette with a match. He stared intently at her backside as she swayed to and fro. What was such a pretty little flower doing in a mud heap like Asylum?
Icarai took a long drag from his cigarette, inhaling slowly, deep in thought. He paid the noisy patrons of The Elm no heed, but was still quite aware. It was a natural instinct for him due to his profession; and he was in total control of it. His peripherals, in those pools of black, caught glimpse of all within the room. Their actions were of common variety, but Icarai knew how to look past this. He exhaled, forming tiny circular puffs in rapid succession. His thoughts were clouded as of late. Mixed emotions of excitement and fear constricted his mind nearly as bad as the weight of the Hail, a burden that haunted his dreams.
Over the past year, on four separate occasions, Icarai was followed. The individuals were eliminated with ease, suggesting they were mere pawns of someone who wanted him dead. At first, he believed them to be minions of his employer, to keep check on his progress. All four offered no chance for his interrogation. He had grown sloppy, caring more for seeing his current job through than his own life. A younger Icarai would have kept one alive, and divulged information. All the murder had finally caught up with him. Or perhaps it was the Hail.
Icarai decided there would be more, as four were already sent. The next he would keep alive, until he learned of whom held such interest in such an infamous man. A man that was dubbed infamous for his deeds, not his name. Infamous men, such as Trotter, the Winterling, or the juggernaut Koil were known and identified. Then there was Icarai, a man who couldn't be named because of the magnitude of his atrocities; and he walked among society freely. But now, that sense of security was damaged, and he wanted to lurk until he could discover who had made him. Who knew his identity and how he moved?
Alas, Icarai Buchinsky, bound by contract, always saw the job through. He had a lead, from a harlot, and he was prepared to act on it. A blizzard slowed, but didn't stop his progression. He had time, he always found whom he was looking for.
"We know these cuts," declared Koil, the seven foot tall behemoth. "We know whom is responsible." Koil raised a callused hand to his face, which was horribly scarred, revealing a tooth from a missing chunk of lip.
"Who? Damn it!" questioned John Wetty, whom held an arm over his face, to block the stench of death that surfaced.
"We do not speak his name, but it is known to us," replied Koil.
Wetty threw his arm to his side. Anger boiled within him, and although he was a powerful man, he had grown to trust and fear Koil. The trivial responses from the behemoth always infuriated Wetty, but the grim tone in his voice suggested he listen.
"He is a weapon, he is the first to cut us. His blade his sharp, but his wit sharper. He is the shadow that eats the light." explained Koil. "But, we suspect he grows careless, this is sloppy for him. If one could bring him into the light, he could not flee and could be brought down or overwhelmed."
"It's a fucking blizzard out there, that prick couldn't have gotten far! Search the settlement, twenty blues to the first who drags him in. I want him alive! Goy, let the others know I want this place opened! Wetty's is open for business! And Koil, you and five head out and find that murderin' bastard! This is MY town!" roared Wetty.
"We suggest ten." Koil confidently replied.
John Wetty nearly had a mild stroke.
He placed his forearms on the table, (which was warped with age), and leaned forward as the dark skinned woman approached. His dark, sunken eyes alerted her to his burden, and she dropped her gaze from him momentarily. Perhaps she was afraid, or disgusted. Nevertheless, the woman raised her gaze once more to the burdened man, still shivering from the cold.
"We only got limited veggies and even less salted meats. Our brew is cheap, but it'll getcha where ya need to go. What'll it be mista?" questioned the woman.
He thought momentarily, but his stomach growled, interrupting his thought.
"How's about a veggie stew. Hearty potatoes, carrots, and celery. Poor man's stew I believe it's called. A few pieces of dried meat and a slice of bread will do just fine. Some water too if it's clean," Icarai replied.
The waitress winced slightly and nodded, shuffling off toward the kitchen as Icarai lit a cigarette with a match. He stared intently at her backside as she swayed to and fro. What was such a pretty little flower doing in a mud heap like Asylum?
Icarai took a long drag from his cigarette, inhaling slowly, deep in thought. He paid the noisy patrons of The Elm no heed, but was still quite aware. It was a natural instinct for him due to his profession; and he was in total control of it. His peripherals, in those pools of black, caught glimpse of all within the room. Their actions were of common variety, but Icarai knew how to look past this. He exhaled, forming tiny circular puffs in rapid succession. His thoughts were clouded as of late. Mixed emotions of excitement and fear constricted his mind nearly as bad as the weight of the Hail, a burden that haunted his dreams.
Over the past year, on four separate occasions, Icarai was followed. The individuals were eliminated with ease, suggesting they were mere pawns of someone who wanted him dead. At first, he believed them to be minions of his employer, to keep check on his progress. All four offered no chance for his interrogation. He had grown sloppy, caring more for seeing his current job through than his own life. A younger Icarai would have kept one alive, and divulged information. All the murder had finally caught up with him. Or perhaps it was the Hail.
Icarai decided there would be more, as four were already sent. The next he would keep alive, until he learned of whom held such interest in such an infamous man. A man that was dubbed infamous for his deeds, not his name. Infamous men, such as Trotter, the Winterling, or the juggernaut Koil were known and identified. Then there was Icarai, a man who couldn't be named because of the magnitude of his atrocities; and he walked among society freely. But now, that sense of security was damaged, and he wanted to lurk until he could discover who had made him. Who knew his identity and how he moved?
Alas, Icarai Buchinsky, bound by contract, always saw the job through. He had a lead, from a harlot, and he was prepared to act on it. A blizzard slowed, but didn't stop his progression. He had time, he always found whom he was looking for.
"We know these cuts," declared Koil, the seven foot tall behemoth. "We know whom is responsible." Koil raised a callused hand to his face, which was horribly scarred, revealing a tooth from a missing chunk of lip.
"Who? Damn it!" questioned John Wetty, whom held an arm over his face, to block the stench of death that surfaced.
"We do not speak his name, but it is known to us," replied Koil.
Wetty threw his arm to his side. Anger boiled within him, and although he was a powerful man, he had grown to trust and fear Koil. The trivial responses from the behemoth always infuriated Wetty, but the grim tone in his voice suggested he listen.
"He is a weapon, he is the first to cut us. His blade his sharp, but his wit sharper. He is the shadow that eats the light." explained Koil. "But, we suspect he grows careless, this is sloppy for him. If one could bring him into the light, he could not flee and could be brought down or overwhelmed."
"It's a fucking blizzard out there, that prick couldn't have gotten far! Search the settlement, twenty blues to the first who drags him in. I want him alive! Goy, let the others know I want this place opened! Wetty's is open for business! And Koil, you and five head out and find that murderin' bastard! This is MY town!" roared Wetty.
"We suggest ten." Koil confidently replied.
John Wetty nearly had a mild stroke.
Yay!
I'd rather not veer away from RPG, although the decline in reliability is rather annoying. I hear Iwaku is all the rage as of late, but I will not abandon ship until the water touches my toes. I say we call a vote on it.
Splendid! I am perfectly fine with Lucius being sent after Icarai. Also, if I may, I'd like to possibly take on the role of a second character. Perhaps, Koil.
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