Of course he would avoid her recently stolen knives, of course he couldn't just expedite his demise. A scowl crept up on her lips as assistance came in the form of a crewmate, to which she simply nodded before responding over the oncoming rabble.
"Of course additional company is preferred!" The Merchant Princess nonchalantly statedas she ducked beneath an oncoming sword and grabbed the offending Pirate's arm before impaling it with a knife. Her discontent however could be heard over everything as she stated something else. "Though if someone would let me loose, this would be over already!"
Grabbing the newly disarmed sword, she practically bisected it's former owner with it before turning her focus to a second Pirate. Always careful of course to keep her adversary between herself and the distant gunman. Turning towards the second Pirate of four, a flash of steel rendered him agonizingly wounded as with a deft piroutte on heel, she kicked him and sent him flying towards the most dangerous opponent.
As he flew, she would be swiftly behind him. Clising the range with the reloading pirate officer with blinding speed as she surged towards his flank. Putting him between her and the sniper that had struck down what would have been a fifth opponent with dangeruous accuracy.
Her objective was simple, as her blades seemed to howl through the air.
She needn't kill him, all she needed to do was keep him busy enough to not see the rifle round heading for his spine through all the chaos from the Dagger. So she continued on her ruthless assault, striking points that were open, and digging for abway to strike him down. After all, ifnshe managed such, accurate kill shots could be used elsewhere.
(On the Stinger!)
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 13 August 2016 - 05:43 AM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
The battle was going well for the Dagger and her crew. As expected, the men aboard the Stinger were not well trained, and with swift action from the Doctor injuries and casualties were kept to a minimum. But the identity of the enemy ringleaders still nagged at Amelia; unlike their underlings, these two were adept at combat and battlefield coordination, even against multiple opponents. If that were the case, why not assemble a crew that was better at boarding? Surely that would afford more wealth and infamy than the tactics they'd been employing. It was almost as if they did not wish to be known, like they were in hiding. A spark was lit in the Captain's mind; but it surely couldn't be them, that was an impossibility. And yet, it all fit so well... but how? And moreover, why? She debated saying something to her Officers on the matter, a warning or advisory for caution. But another glance at the fights told her that would be unwise. Her revelation would hardly inform them in regards to their opponent's capabilities, and might even prove a disastrous distraction at a crucial moment.
Moreover, it would only press Annaveya to throw her weaving around even more. "Honestly, that woman," Amelia said quietly to herself, "Of course it would be over already, but there'd be no point if you just kept leaning on your runes. By the Grand Ones, what a handful..."
The Stinger, vs Diego
Diego grimaced as the body of one of his crew hurtled toward him. He'd looked for a shot on one of the women while they'd been distracted, but the one with long hair had ruined that by blocking him off with a cadaver. And, of course, there was that sniper to worry about as well. What a mess he'd gotten himself into. A swipe of his hand knocked the flying body away, and then he was dancing with the woman who'd dashed in behind it. Swords flashed and pistols erupted as they stepped, ducked, and hopped around one another. Annaveya could never seem to hit Diego, and Diego found getting a clean shot impossible. Meanwhile, the short-haired girl had turned her attention to holding off any further reinforcements. "Damned desperation..." he muttered to himself.
His pistol flashed again, this time aimed in a haphazard direction. It wasn't intended to hit anything, but to distract and potentially dull Anna's senses while Diego reached for his belt and pulled a grenado from it! A strike against his belt lit the fuse, and as he stepped backwards and away from her the spherical explosive floated up into Annaveya's face!
The Dagger, vs Red John
As the ball came hurtling in, Fifi stepped forward to intercept it. She raised the flat of her blade to absorb the brunt of it, and while the blow stunned her briefly she was unharmed. Not one to waste the opportunity, Krystal rushed forward and engaged John with a flurry of stabs and slashes. The hook rose to meet each of them, but she kept up her assault nonetheless. And when Lindo came down, it paid off. Red John reacted as fast as he could, releasing his hold on the ball and raising his arm to protect his neck. The sword bit into his arm and his back, and in the wake of the damage he staggered backward slightly... but the giant remained standing.
"Oy, now that's a sharp sword!" he yelled as he wiped some of his own blood on his shirt, "Careful with that, you could 'urt someone! But then, so can I!"
As he spoke, John reached to his belt and pulled a flail from it. The chain was significantly shorter than his earlier weapon, but the ball was studded with sharp spikes and could be swung much faster. With a great war bellow, he hurled himself toward Lindo with speed a man of his size normally didn't possess, flail swinging rapidly as the spiked ball came on a collision course with the 1st Lieutenant's head!
OOC
Spoiler
Diego Squad:
Annaveya has a grenade about to go off in front of her! You have a couple seconds before it detonates though, so you can react. And, if you really want, you can use her weaving to get rid of it as a knee-jerk reaction, since that would make sense. Don't say I'm never nice to you <__<
Jinxy is currently engaged with adds. Feel free to maim and kill a few and jump back in if you like.
Red John Squad:
Lindo's hit landed, but John's a tank. And now he's charging at you with a more close range weapon.
Fifi is stunned but not hurt, feel free to jump back in the fight.
Hook Deflection is still a thing, so keep that in mind.
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
Rapidly, the conflict between her and the gunman evolved into a contest of one's ability to react in time. Each successive attack, parry, and counter attack seeming to cause more desperation in his eyes, and a cunning grin to spread on her lips. This was all rather good sport, but in turn it also was drawing on a bit longer than she would like.
Really honestly, this man should allow her to stick him betwixt a rib or two and let her knock the air out of him; so that naturally she could stick him in the side of his neck, severing his jugular. It'd be quick and relatively painless if he let her do that. Barring of course the horrifying feeling of drowning in one's own blood as one bleeds out rapidly from a mortal wound.
But no, of course not. This man was not one to expedite his predetermined demise it seemed. He instead had to make a desparate shot over her head and jump away, pulling a pin and bouncing a Grenade at her feet.
Five...
Four...
A quick two second glance afforded her the knowledge that it was a once commonly used stick grenade with a five second fuse. Rolling her eyes, she threw her other dagger at the Gunman to keep him busy whilst she slipped her toe beneath the long portion of the grenade.
Three...
Two...
Taking her stolen sword into both hands, Annaveya deftly flicked the grenade upward with her foot so that it jumped into the air. And then with a swing that would have made Babe Ruth proud, a sharp clang announced the flat of her sword meeting the handheld bomb and sending it forth with one purpose: it was improperly addressed, and needed to be returned to sender.
One...
Just as the clock would hit zero, the Grenade would be right in front of the face of the Gunman to wherever he might have retreated. Erupting into a deafening blast of concussive pressure, heat, and scorching shrapnel that screamed about in hisses burning through the air, searching for his flesh and blood with reckless abandon.
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 26 August 2016 - 12:40 PM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
A little jerk and a loud blow stunned Fifi for a moment, she had underestimated the opponent a little, maybe it was his garish appearance than looked like he was some sort of a caricature of the mainstream depiction of pirates or maybe he was really unlucky in loosing his extremities but however goofy he appeared, his skill with the ball and chain was commendable. She licked her lips to taste her blood, the mask hid her face well.
Meanwhile, the first lieutenant had joined them and intended to snuff this quarrel early. As he went for a flashy move that aimed for the jugular, Red John easily dropped his weapon and instead took out another from his belt. This one, a smaller and more varied one. A flail would be much difficult to predict and dodge against, Fifi moved instinctively for the attempted block. Aiming at his hand while her free hand picked a stray rapier and intended to pierce his guts.
She made sure that she stuck low so that Lindo had uninhibited shot at the pirate captain's torso. Now all that was needed was Krystal to finish things off.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
The burly pirate's flail crashed down on Fifi's sword. The Arvkan woman grunted as the force of the impact forced her to one knee, but her fast actions removed the threat of direct damage. From her lowered position, she reached down to the deck and found a discarded weapon with her opposite hand, and before Red John could strike again she brought it to bear against him. John swung his hook to try to deflect it, but the thrusting attack pressed forward all the same and lanced into the man's large belly! As he reeled in pain from the counterattack, Krystal appeared behind him and lacerated his back with her own sword. This time it was John's turn to drop to his knees, and as he fell Fifi stood with sword in hand. A deft slash followed, and the bearded man's head soon rolled across the deck.
Vs Diego
Diego frowned as Annaveya bounced the grenade up and swung her sword at it, pitching the explosive back toward him. With no time to rest, he coiled his legs to leap away from it and toward a more advantageous position... but was blinded by pain as a bullet lanced through his thigh from above! The damage to his leg was severe, and there was no way he could jump away on one leg as slowed down as he was. The grenade flew close, and he was able to watch the fuse burn down to its last as the flame met the powder. The explosion rocked the deck, and when the dust cleared what little remained of Diego was slumped against the wall, charred and discarded.
The rest of the battle quickly cleaned up. The Sand Scrops, deprived of their leaders, buckled and folded in on themselves. Casualties were few, and what pirates survived to surrender had already been escorted to the brig and secured. The Stinger was inspected for reclamations and items of importance or value, and when it had been gutted the Dagger's cannons sent it into the mountains. The navigator made note of their position, and Amelia recorded it to hand off to a salvage company for later. The Tradesman was soon moving again, its escort right behind it, toward Berylen. The primary and immediate danger dealt with, Amelia expected no further problems. Once there, she'd turned most of her Officers loose on the Trade Level; more than likely they'd convene at the Desert Hog, their long preferred watering hole. Meanwhile, she would head directly for the Regal Level; she had urgent matters to discuss with King Ardelesca, now that she'd been able to confirm her suspicions.
A call from outside her cabin pulled her away from the papers scattered about her desk, and as she walked away she left two tattered bits of parchment atop it- Wanted Posters for the criminals "Red John" Worvak and Deigo "Deadeye" Sanchez, both of whom had been captured half a year previously... and their death sentences reported to be carried out not long afterwards.
OOC
Spoiler
Mission complete, good job! For now, the Dagger has made it back to the capitol with no further incidents. You're all free to peruse the town, socialize with one another, get a drink at the Hog, whatever suits your fancy. When the next update rolls in, we'll get into the meat of the story!
Point rewards will come once I launch the weapon system, which I will be doing tomorrow afternoon.
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
In a burst of fire and shrapnel, the annoying gunman was swiftly removed of his mortal coil. With a delighted smirk, the Merchant Princess dropped the daggers, dusted off her hands, and then returned to work. Killing a man was always a grim business, and as much as she disliked it, it was clearly either him or her in that situation.
She moved through the receding chaos like water, incapacitating crewmen one at a time. Knocking some of them unconscious instead of killing them, so that they might be questioned by the authorities later. Or even a swift strike to a neck here, the blade of her foot intercepting a collarbone there, and even the snapping of femur beneath the improvised weaponry of a shattered piece of wood.
All in all, nearly half a dozen men would easily be captured thanks to her efforts, leaving plenty of information to be garnered, if the opportunity was sound enough.
For what it was worth, it was simply all in a day's work for the Lieutenant.
At long last, the business was done, and stolen goods reclaimed, leaving her back onto the bridge. Where she dusted off her uniform, only to look disdainfully at a sleeve when she found a bullet hole in it. A near miss, thankfully.
It was then that a realization dawned a brilliant smile on her face. The uniform as it were, was unserviceable. Covered in holes, dirt, dust, and sweat. Which meant one thing: it needed to be laundered and repaired once they returned to shore. Which ALSO meant she could change out of the godawfully uncomfortable garb into her family's traditional clothing.
Never before had she ever returned to her quarters so quickly.
In a hurried pace, she tossed the worn and ragged uniform aside and practically dove into her shower. With soap and a little elbow grease, the dirt, grime, and blood of conflict gave away once again to an exquisite tone of tanned skin. The dirty mess of her hair once again became platinum elegance, and wrapped in a warm towel, she dug through her drawers and retrived all the necessary items to proudly wear normal clothes.
Soft silk of deep crimson came tightly wrapped separately about her chest and waist, leaving her midriff exposed, and tails of deep red fabric trailing from the mist of her back, and a long swathe of similar hue down her front. Clasps of gold came attached once more, and the resounding chime echoed as she left her quarters barefoot.
Much to Amelia's chagrin, she was sure.
Her gaze found the open sky yet again, only to see that they were beginning the docking procedures. She however, needed to do her part. So breaking into a run again, she leapt into the air and over the port side of the ship, only to sprout those infamous wings of hers and tear through the air ahead of the ship. With daunting swiftness, she arrived ahead of the ship by several minutes, and with such she handed the dockmaster a small satchel of gold.
"Payment for docking and resupply, sir." She quipped, with a sly wink that made the Master turn red, before venturing off on her own with a stride which made him stare after her for a few moments. He knew which ship she was from, so payment was easily handed over regardless.
In turn, she would head towards the Trade District, but she would toss up the long length of the tail of her chest's cover up and carefully wrap it round' her head in the form of a hooded veil. She was avoiding being recognized for a reason: her father frequented the Trade Districts of various cities. The last thing she needed on this Earth was to be harped on about settling down, accepting her inheritance in full, and then starting a family.
Hell.
No.
With a wicked smile hidden behind that veil however, she opened the door to The Desert Hog. A drinking spot to which she shared an occasional glass of wine with her crewmates. Loosing the veil and letting it fall behind her once again, the Kushrina girl waved nonchalantly to the barkeep, and raised her finger just once. It was for her usual wine, and he knew it.
Then, and only then, did she smoothly walk towards the usual table she sat at with the other officers. With soft music by a band who played a tune similar to which she would hear at home, and a glass of crisp red wine, she waited patiently, even comfortably for the others to arrive.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
She bowed to the downed body of the red bearded pirate. The dead deserved respect, that was her clan's code and something deeply engraved in Fifi. Though, he had taken up a less than commendable job, he was a brilliant fighter and was overwhelmed due to his lapse in judgement and a bit of overestimation of his capabilities. A lot of good fighters succumbed to this hidden enemy, overconfidence was usually an undoing on many.
She let the sword fall from her hands as she noticed that most of the pirates were rounded up and their counter-attack deflated. Her thirst wasn't quenched and it made her a bit irritated. The fight had been rather short and apart from the two commanders the pirates weren't even a minor challenge. She stepped to the side as she saw the incoming form of the 3rd lieutenant as she sauntered back to her quarters. The trip would be ending soon enough.
Once inside her cabin, she undressed and jumped into the shower, Captain Amelia had been kind enough to arrange for an bone-chilling shower in her room. As the super cooled water hit her naked skin, she could feel her itch subside. Her rationality carefully pulling the veneer of sanity back on. Once out, she had to choose a dress, something to breathe through this harsh summer. She shad seen some nice outfits with the 3rd lieutenant, perhaps she could ask her aide when she goes shopping next time.
In the end she just chose a pastel olive green top that left her arms and shoulders bare and multi-colored wrap over a red waist coat that left her mid-riff bare and showed a good bit of her legs, she could have gone for less but felt that decency would be a bit of an issue then. Even with this little she dreaded going out in the hot clime at the surface.
The ship docked soon and everyone was free to what they pleased, thus she left her mask at the room as she moved to her destination in the trade level. The Desert Hog it served her favorite poison to counter the sweltering heat she so hated. As she stepped in the room, she felt a few leers size her up but a cold glare settled things down. Though her skin was flawless and her features feminine, the supple muscles that were on display along with numerous scars made her give off an overwhelming aura. Add to it a face that seemed devoid of emotion and certainly she looked like the part of someone you'd regret to piss off.
She walked over to the table where the lieutenant was sitting, thinking whether she would recognize her for it was the first time they were meeting without a mask and her combat gear really revealed nothing but her emerald eye and fiery red flocks. She sat down quietly as she motioned the server. He promptly came over and took her order of half dozen of beers. An emerald then eyed the Lieutenant who sipped on her wine absent-mindedly, hoping her to say something.
Edited by Diabolical Rhapsody, 06 October 2016 - 01:40 AM.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
With a light sip of wine, the Merchant Princess' lips curled into a frown of distaste. This wine was old, stale even, nothing compared to the vineyards of home. Even still, it was the best the Hog could manage, and she'd have to grimly embrace it. Yet the reason she came here, unlike the others, was for the music.
The guitarist was an old aficionado of his art, with the melancholy strum of notes reminding her of home. A bittersweet notion, missing such an exquisite place, yet still miserable; knowing full well what lay waiting for her to return.
Why couldn't they just allow her to live the life she dreamed of, without the obligations of the company? Where she would be free to wander and behold all that the world had to offer. Absentmindedly, her fingertips had surrounded the glass, and rotated the stale wine about, as if she wished that such a motion would improve the quality of it.
To no avail, of course.
Stealing another sip and grimacing all the same, the Kushrina girl's attwntion was diverted from the musicians by the sound of a chair being drug across the roughly hewn floor. A mixed gaze of crimson and gold raised to meet dead on with those of emerald, and the Lieutenant dismissively waved her forward. It was a quiet evening, after a hard won fight where blood had been shed. Really, it was all more for the sake of decency, of humanity.
There was no need for an Officer's Table here, no division between the regulars and those who commanded them here.
"Evening Fifi," Annaveya began, as a the first quartet of her newfound comoany's beers were settled upon the table. Of course she knew who the red headed brutish woman was, it were part of her duties to review the profiles of new crew after all. "I trust the conflict from before has found you in good health and sound of mind."
Smoothly, the wine glass was settled back on the table, as luxuriously, the Lieutenant crossed and stretched her silken legs across so that they rested lazily on the first mate's chair. Even still, she cast a nonchalant gaze back to the fiery red head.
"What beings you to me in this desolate place today? Any concerns, or anything of the sort?"
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 30 September 2016 - 04:39 AM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
The lieutenant's nonchalance was rather appealing, what was more so; was her attention to details. Fifi couldn't even count the number of times when her contractors failed to recognise her out of her outfit. It was rather commendable that the Captain's squad was better than most. As she lounged and spit words her way Fifi waited for her pints to be lined up on the table, she then picked one when the set was complete and gulped it down in one go.
Damn this Berylean heat!
Before she replied the lieutenant with a half smile. "It wasn't much of a conflict, I feel like I wasn't needed at all. Hardly even a morning warmup." she paused a bit to see the merchant princess eye her through her heterochromatic eyes. Her own smile widened into a grin as she continued.
"But I am not here to discuss such trivialities.Though I am surprised you managed to recognize me, I came here seeking a favor; or two?" she said with smiling eyes, gulping down another jug as she picked her third.
Damn this heat!
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
Annaveya observed all the while when Fifi began practically inhaling the jugs of beer that were set down in front of her. It was weirdly impressive to say the least, that one's alcohol tolerance was so high, and that her stomach was attuned to receiving large amounts in a short order. Even still, she remained quiet, as her company seemed a little red in the face, and beads of sweat had formed.
While the Merchant Princess had no such issue. Probably because of her being acclimated to such temperatures from years of traveling across great dunes and wastes.
Though it did make her smirk a little.
Finally however, Fifi stated that she had a favor to ask. And a singular eyebrow lofted just slightly with curiosity. A favor? What could she do to help such a brash woman? Settling the wine down, Anna's feet slid so that they rested back upon the weary floorboards, and her hands folded neatly one over the kther as her eyes met Fifi's directly.
"Well? Out with it then." The Lieutenants quipped with a humorous tone, tilting.her head ever slightly to the side. "For what do you meed my assistance with?"
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
Red John
Aboard the ship, the battle continued as Lindo gave a swift and unexpected assist to his comrade. The itch was too much for him to scratch as a battle was the one thing he loved more than anything else. However, his opponent was full of openings and he knew 3 on one would be just too easy. So, as Red John made his counter attack, he stood back and allowed Fifi and Krystal to handle things. Well, not before he kicked another sword that was on the ground towards Fifi for a little added help. She used the sword and, with the help of Krystal, made quick work of Red John. Looks like Ms. Fimbulwinter was worth the hire. Lindo said to himself as he was proud of their work. "Let's go, this area is taken care of." The crew left to report to the captain.
The Dagger finally finished escorting the merchant ship to the desired destination. The crew was set free to do as they needed. Lindo stayed behind a bit to finish his meditation before heading out. He normally stuck to himself and this was always part his life. But today, he was going to make another attempt to bond with his crew, even if for a short while.
Heading into town, Lindo met up with Fifi who was conversing with Annaveya at the Desert Hog. Well, he wasn't sure if it was Fifi. The attire was extremely different but the hair matched and her build was similar. However he remembered his mother telling him, "Never assume anything about a woman. EVER." Usually followed by a swift strike to the head. So he politely interjected as best he could.
"Excuse me Anna, he said thinking it would seem friendlier to give Annaveya a small nickname of sorts, "I just wanted to say great job taking care of business. You are an example to everyone. Aaaannnddddd.......who would this be? I'm Lindo.". He said extending his hand.
Spoiler
Within the middle of the great city, within the loft of a tall tower, we come to one of the younger souls of our little corner, Kiddeadpool. Or as so many know him to be as KDP. Brash, impulsive, and brazen, the normally mild-mannered denizens of the corner quickly came to know him as a person who wasn't afraid at all to get into the face of others. Yet he did not do this simply for the sake of intimidation, but rather he does so in the defiance of what he believes is right. Reckless in some points, and reserved in others, I can imagine that he sits quite comfortably in the corner of his home to write. Accompanied by the tall back of a stiff, but comfortable chair draped in intricate wooden ingrains and blackened leather, some could say that he looks akin to a diabolical supervillain when he writes. With a debonair smirk, he writes his descriptive passages with a distinguishable confidence. His writing tool of choice is that of a paintbrush draped in black upon papyrus or canvas. To which every single letter is written with the same kind of passion one would find when wielding a sword.
Words from Mischeif/Trouble/Fiesty-Pants/The Hawk's Eye
She took a deep breath as the Lieutenant quipped humorously to put forth her proposal.
"Well, I really like your style and seeing how well I cope up with this wonderful heat, I needed your assistance in picking some dresses. I had seriously underestimated the place." she said with mirth, wiping her forehead off the beads of sweat that had formed.
She downed the two remaining pints almost in a single breath before wiping the froth from her lips. She certainly looked like a neanderthal even among the seedier folk that had gathered here. She motioned for the barkeep for a refill before setting her eyes square on the merchant princess.
"And, I need a tattoo artist. Thought you may know of some. Was reading a fashion book and found out why normal dudes find me intimidating. I need to soften my look." she said.
Barely, had she finished that they were joined at the table by the first lieutenant. His deep baritone acknowledging Anna and in turn asking for Fifi.
"Good evening Mr.Lindo! I had hoped that you may have read my file like the 3rd." she said eyeing Anna.
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Fifi" she introduced.
Edited by Diabolical Rhapsody, 06 October 2016 - 01:37 AM.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
With the woman introducing herself as Fifi, he was relieved that his mental assumption was correct. But as they say, better safe than sorry. He nodded in reply as his dreadlocks dropped in front of his face due to the gesture. Moving them out of the way he reached into his pocket and grabbed a hair tie to hold them in place behind his head. "Well well, it seems you don't hide behind a mask afterall." He was trying to be humorous but usually his finesse with words were lacking. It would have surprised him if he had offended her by mistake. So he quickly moved along. "Your report, I read it but I didn't need to. I was there watching you battle."
He sat down the the two women, he motioned to the bartender to come over. "Yes I would like a glass of water and bring them another round of whatever they are having." Then he sent her on her way and turned back to the girls. "Have you seen the Captain lately?"
Spoiler
Within the middle of the great city, within the loft of a tall tower, we come to one of the younger souls of our little corner, Kiddeadpool. Or as so many know him to be as KDP. Brash, impulsive, and brazen, the normally mild-mannered denizens of the corner quickly came to know him as a person who wasn't afraid at all to get into the face of others. Yet he did not do this simply for the sake of intimidation, but rather he does so in the defiance of what he believes is right. Reckless in some points, and reserved in others, I can imagine that he sits quite comfortably in the corner of his home to write. Accompanied by the tall back of a stiff, but comfortable chair draped in intricate wooden ingrains and blackened leather, some could say that he looks akin to a diabolical supervillain when he writes. With a debonair smirk, he writes his descriptive passages with a distinguishable confidence. His writing tool of choice is that of a paintbrush draped in black upon papyrus or canvas. To which every single letter is written with the same kind of passion one would find when wielding a sword.
Words from Mischeif/Trouble/Fiesty-Pants/The Hawk's Eye
Fifi's request was a rather peculiar one, the Lieutenant professed internally. Though, wanting a tattoo artist might do very little to dissuade the intimidating appearance she possessed. If anything, it might strengthen it, depending on what ink she chose. Looking up at Fifi with ah amused expression, she supposednthat she could at least do something to help her cope with the heat.
"Well, the first thing you could do to beat the heat is to cease slamming beers." Annaveya began with first, "For until your body acclimates to the desert heat, alcohol will not keep you hydrated. I would suggest some water, at least until your body adjusts to the arid atmosphere."
"If you really want to soft-..." The third lieutenant silenced herself quickly when Lindo approached the table. Not only that, but she was courteous enough to lower her feet so that they no longer rested on his chair. His compliments came swiftly, and she simply smiled and nodded in gratitude for hers, and then let him speak to Fifi for a few moments.
She doubted Fifi wanted anyone to really know about her trying to, well, soften her appearance.
Lindo ordered another glass of wine for her, and Anna raised her hand in protest. "I must decline, sorry. The wine here is terrible, and depressing compared to the vineyards of home. Thank you though."
Tapping her chin lightly in thought, the Merchant contemplated just where Fifi could go just to get a tattoo, but in truth, the little run down hovel of an airship stop left much to be desired. Nothing here would be of any decent quality, and in truth at the market near her family's estate, there were a selection of commendable ink artists. She herself might have gotten one, if it hadn't been for an overbearing mother.
That aside, the decision was easy to make.
"Well, Fifi, to answer your latter question, there really aren't any Tattoo Artists of any worth here. However, when we visit my home, perhaps I can find you a solid artist then. It would be shameful to do otherwise." A playful smile alighted yhe Lieutenant's then, right before she continued. "And we can procure finely made items for your first predicament there as well. I'll even pay for the first, is that agreeable?"
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 08 October 2016 - 06:46 AM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
Fifi looked on incredulously at the Lieutenant as she dished out advice to beat the heat.
"This swill is alcoholic!!?? My mum's breast milk has more alcohol than this." she said a bit displeased. "I had thought this was some kind of sparkling water that folk liked around here." she said as she motioned for the barkeep to get her plain water instead, by this time Lindo had settled down and there was conversation between the lieutenants about the whereabouts of the captain.
Soon the merchant princess decided to spare her attention back at her, offering a pretty neat deal. She hadn't thought her to be so forthcoming, afterall, she caught glimpse of was her battle persona which was remarkably different from her current self. The mirth in her eyes and the smirk on her lips suited the dusky damsel well and she furthered turned it up a notch with her exquisite dress sense.
"I really appreciate the offer and look forward to my first gift, Lady Kushrina." she said gleefully as it was now time to chug down glasses of water.
Damn! this heat.
"Well have you got inked? you certainly look like you'll have great taste." she said as she carried on the conversation. She was running out of things to say and felt like the time to excuse herself was creeping closer. After all she had a pretty one dimensional life and apart from killing, she wasn't much good at anything.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
Holding an amused smile as Fifi began ravenously downing glasses of water, the olive skinned Lieutenant simply nodded quietly as Fifi accepted the inevitable first gift. Yet once the gunner inquired whether or not that the Merchant had any tattoos, the smile faded just slightly.
Such a simple question had done two things; one, it had reminded her of a particularly bitter conversation with her father. Two, it also made her recall why sue had continued to serve beneath Amelia in the first place. Such deducatuon also bought her a rare commodity: Freedom.
"Sadly no., I do not." she began, rolling her eyes in disgruntlement and ordering a glass of water with a raised fingertip. "Growing up as I did afforded very little liberty. I wasn't able to do a thing without my father's permission first. After all, I am to become the face of my family's company in due time."
"Yet be that as it may, there is a Tattoo I would love to get." Her fingertips raised to trace acrost the bare olive skin of her shoulderblades. "It would start here." She continued, with the slender fingertip winding down her ribs and stopping upon the lower curve of her hip. "And it would end there." She finished, leaning back forward upon a table.
The loss of a smile widendd however, as she reminisced that which she had once seen an age ago. "It would have been of a picture I had taken as a child. During a trip to the Orient, we were brought to a temple whos ruby red gates seemed to float upon the water. All around us, as the sun set upon the edges of the water, the entire world seemed to be ablaze in the courses of autumn. It was so beautiful, and so tranquil. I could have stood there for an eternity."
In the end however, she waved her hand dismissively. "However, as you can see, I am lacking such an art. After all, with how my family dresses, there is no real way to hide it."
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 18 October 2016 - 03:11 PM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
Listening to the two women talk, he also remembered something his mother did for him. It was something passed down the Masamune line. He wasn't sure about it all because he missed most of the conversation. However, he decided it was something he could share with them just to be more relatable to the women.
Lindo stood up. He took off his shirt and turned around. Then, pulling his hair to the front, he revealed a large dragon tattoo. The tattoo had one large katana going across the background with fire around the entire picture. He thus explained, "This is a symbol of my family. The dragon tattoo is passed down from generation to generation. Each tattoo is different but the design of the dragon is always the same. The sword represents my dedication to the family's style of martial arts. While the fire is what my mother said represent represented me.". He then sat back down and continued as he put on his shirt. "I got it before I went into the military academy. I wear it with pride and it always connects me to my mother whenever I feel lonely."
Lindo sat back down and felt a bit awkward. He realized he just made himself the center of attention, though what he did was not something he would normally do. He was a bit embarrassed for sharing such a thing. So he added, "And if you say a word of this to anyone, I will have you doing deck work for the next month. That includes you Ms. Annaveya." He then picked up his cup and as he glared at the two women to enforce the warning.
Spoiler
Within the middle of the great city, within the loft of a tall tower, we come to one of the younger souls of our little corner, Kiddeadpool. Or as so many know him to be as KDP. Brash, impulsive, and brazen, the normally mild-mannered denizens of the corner quickly came to know him as a person who wasn't afraid at all to get into the face of others. Yet he did not do this simply for the sake of intimidation, but rather he does so in the defiance of what he believes is right. Reckless in some points, and reserved in others, I can imagine that he sits quite comfortably in the corner of his home to write. Accompanied by the tall back of a stiff, but comfortable chair draped in intricate wooden ingrains and blackened leather, some could say that he looks akin to a diabolical supervillain when he writes. With a debonair smirk, he writes his descriptive passages with a distinguishable confidence. His writing tool of choice is that of a paintbrush draped in black upon papyrus or canvas. To which every single letter is written with the same kind of passion one would find when wielding a sword.
Words from Mischeif/Trouble/Fiesty-Pants/The Hawk's Eye
"Sounds Beautiful" Fifi commented as Anna went on about throwing some light on her childhood and her family's way of doing things. There was a tattoo she couldn't get even if she wanted to. The sign of pride amongst the Frostwolves. Sadly, she was an outcast until she proved herself but she still had far more liberty and freedom than the merchant princess.
Before she could add anything more though however, the 1st lieutenant got up and suddenly bared his back. On it was a brilliant full scape, something to be proud about although considering the situation it seemed rather inappropriate. One's bare back was shown only to the ones dearest, that was the way of the winter tribes of Arkva . Fifi stifled a smile as the lieutenant realised his awkward ways and quickly reverted to his terse self, threatening them both with board duties about the whole situation.
Fifi eyed Anna, a grin spread across her face as she replied to the swordsman, "Now, Now, Lieutenant don't be shy. If you got it, you gotta flaunt it!" she said with a laugh.
"That dragon is pretty catchy, alas that's a one reserved after my marriage. That is, if I ever return to Arvka." she said wistfully, looking around the room for anything interesting.
She then got up with a jerk, her face red with sweat as beads danced at the edge of her eyebrows, "If you'll excuse me for a moment. Maybe a splash would make things better."
She turned from the table and walked to the restroom, all that beer and water had settled and she needed to relieve herself.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as he had warned about giving extra duty if she dared to mention anything about the tattoo, to which she scoffed internally. He was the First Officer, but only because Anna had rejected the offer of promotion ages ago. After all, her station on Amelia's ship was only a temporary one.
Inevitably, she was bound to leave. She could not continue to serve as Lindo could.
"Ah, well. I too have to be going. For, well, other purposes." Anna began with, luxuriously stretching her arms over her head before lithely rising to a stand. "To the market I go, ciao!"
With a nonchalant wave, the girl moved away with the usual sway in her stride and out the door into the desert heat. Turning towards the central part of the city, she headed to a place where her kind flourished the most: the Market. A bazaar filled with all sorts of wares, sales, and sorts. From delicate flowers, to intricate persian rugs, almost anything could be found. Even unsavory things, albeit for an extra price.
However, the darker markets were notnwhy she was there today. Whether she liked it or not. She was there to see someone, not because she wanted to. The Merchant Princess was there because she had to. Rounding the corner where she knew her family's stall would be, it took only a split moment to find he who she had to find.
"Papa!" She began brightly, lightly strutting up to the man and taking his hands warmly into hers. Rising up of course to peck both his cheeks with a kiss, as itnwere part of family tradition to do so for the Patriarch. Charmingly all the same, the tall bearded man grasped her shoulders.
"Annaveya, my flower. Still beneath the reins of Amelia, I presume." he began with first, as they walked together towards the back of the stall. Where within a torquoise tent, they would find two cushions divided by a table. "Sit, sit, please. There's some matters to discuss."
Her brightness faded the moment the flap closed. It seemed that her cheerful greeting was only an act. The moment he said matters, she knew that itnwas going to descend into an unpleasant conversation expeditiously.
"It's been years, child." Her father began, looking at her over the polished texture of table. Folding his hands together atop it, he looked at her as his forehead furrowed with the frustration of impatience. "Your suitors can only wait s-"
This time however, instead of suffering through the entirety of his tirade, she raised a defiant hand. "Papa, not today. I'm here entirely for the sake of business. A resupply for Amelia's ship. Fresh food, meat, and fruits. As well as dried goods to complement it. All for the usual price. Besides that, the suitors can wait. I've got two more years, and if they are so impatient, then more will happily take their place. Of which would be equally profitable, since that is all that arranged marriages are for anyway. Nothing further, goodbye Papa."
With such she stood and left, lifting the turquoise flap of the tent and walking easily back into the market where she could browse the wares. Soon before long, a train of mules loaded with supplies would arrive at The Dagger. Yet where she now perused through, she was truly in her element. Though she was looking for something, she hadn't a clue as to what it actually was. Whatever it would be, she would wait until it occurred to her.
So wander did, and likely would until it was time to return to the ship.
Edited by Kida Nedakh, 23 October 2016 - 03:55 PM.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
The Royal Plateau was the highest of Berylen's six tiers, firmly situated at the top of the towering city. Great lifts of stone and iron connected the Residential Level, the Merchant's Level, the High House Level, and the Docks, but the Royal and the Sacred Levels could only be reached by small elevators located in specific places in the High House. Amelia didn't take any of them, however; they were patrolled by guards chosen directly by Admiral Zaroff and his closest staff, which meant they all saw her as a traitor and a scoundrel. Using the elevators would only result in harassment and stalling, regardless of their knowledge that she was more than cleared to proceed. Not to mention, she thought to herself, they would surely report her passage to the Admiral as soon as she was through. And that was something she could not have.
Instead, she disembarked from one of the lifts at the Merchant's Level and made her way to a particular vineyard called The King's Cup. The wine made and bottled there was prohibitively expensive for most, but it was common knowledge that it was Amelia's favorite and she saved her Gems* for it, so her entrance to the vineyard was hardly noteworthy. Which was convenient, since it made for an excellent cover on her true intentions. "I'm here to see Mister Barrovich," she calmly told the clerk at the front desk.
"Of course, I'll get him for you. Please wait here," she replied as she turned and went into the back.
Not long after, Nicholas Barrovich emerged and greeted her with a smile. He was an older man, his back bent and his skin wrinkled to show for it, but his hands were hard and his eyes as sharp as ever. He'd come to Azuria from Arvka, and had brought with him his family secret of making wine with cold applied to the grapes. The reception of the process had spoken for itself, and with the aid of particularly strong ice runes business had boomed for him. He had also quickly tied himself to the King and his family, but not many were aware of that.
"Miss Garnet," he said, his accent thick and heavy, "it is a pleasure to receive you, as always!"
"The pleasure is all mine, Nicholas. You're looking fit as a fiddle, I must say."
"But of course! Mother always say, there is no better exercise than to make wine. Now, what can I do for you? A bottle of True Blue, I presume?"
"Of course," Amelia replied as she removed several Gems from her money pouch and placed them on the table, "But I was also hoping I could get some 1067 Noir today."
"1067 Noir, you say?" Barrovich replied with raised eyebrows, "Must be hard day. Come with me, I will show you the stock. Take your time, True Blue will be waiting when you have your choice."
"Much obliged Nicholas."
With a nod, she followed the elder winemaker past the counter and into the back of the storeroom. The thought was that she was being taken into the back to personally select her bottle of an exceptionally rare and potent wine. In actuality, she was making her way to a hidden door in the storeroom, behind which was a secret elevator to the Royal Level that would entirely avoid the eyes of the Admiralty. The shelf of empty bottles that concealed it pushed aside easily, and a stone pressed into the wall caused part of it to slide open and reveal the elevator. Barrovich closed the wall and shelf behind her, and for a few minutes Amelia stood in silence as the one-man lift carried her upwards.
When it stopped, she stepped out and exited through another hidden wall deep in an alley. After making sure the panel closed, Amelia stretched and walked out into the sunlight. The Royal Plateau was covered by a crystalline skylight that spanned the entirety of the roof, allowing the sun to stream in through the top of the level. The streets were sparsely populated, mostly filled by various employees of the Azurian government on some errand or other. While it was quiet, it also made lingering a poor choice; Amelia hurried along her way, checking behind her every so often to make sure she was not being followed.
Mercifully, the guards of the palace were not Naval, so they allowed her into the interior with no issues. If anything, the more senior among them seemed to brighten at the sight of her, no doubt remembering the days of her coming over to meet with Prince Aryn for joint studies. She had to smile herself when she thought back to those times...
"Amelia!" rang a voice as she passed into the entryway. A tall, blonde young man dressed in incredibly fine clothes was jogging toward her.
"Your Highness," she said as she nodded her head, careful to maintain as much decorum as she remembered.
"Oh come now, there's no need to be so formal," he said with a shake of his head as he stopped just in front of her.
"Considering our positions, there is every need to be formal, my lord. You are the crown prince, whereas I am-"
"The most capable Captain in the world, a valued agent of the crown, and one of my dearest friends. If anybody has earned the right to speak comfortably within these halls, it's you."
"There are many who would disagree, and they all have ears installed in these walls. The last thing I want is to have your name dragged down because of me."
"Let me assure you nothing of the sort will happen. Now, are you going to dispense with the awkward formality, or do I need to order you to do so as your prince?"
Amelia sighed. Sometimes there was just no winning with this boy. "There's no need to go that far, Aryn. You haven't changed a bit, have you?"
"Of course not! I'm perfect as-is!"
The two held their composure for a moment, then broke down into a bout of laughter. "So," Aryn began again, "What brings you here on such a fine day?"
"I've things I need to discuss with your father, is he in?"
"Couped up in his study, like always. Nobody else is seeing him though, so you should be able to go right in."
"Thank you. We'll have to catch up some time, it's been far too long."
"Of course. Adieu, my flying flower!" the prince exclaimed with deliberately overblown theatrics as he turned and left. With a shake of her head, Amelia smiled and continued toward the King's study. She stood before the large oak doors and took a moment to recompose herself, then knocked twice.
"Come in," came a voice from inside, prompting Amelia to push open the doors.
"Your Majesty," she said in greeting to the grey-haired man seated behind the large wooden table in the center of the room. King Antonio Ardelesca was not a physically large man, but his presence and willpower often proved more than enough to dominate a room with ease. Even standing over him from just across a room, Amelia felt that she was the one at a positional disadvantage.
"Ah, my dear Amelia!" the lord of Azuria exclaimed as she closed the doors behind her, "Please, come closer! This is a pleasant surprise, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm afraid I don't come with good tidings, your Majesty," she replied as she stepped to the desk, "You've asked me to report to you with any ill findings I uncover in my work, and I fear I've found some."
"Oh dear. Please, sit, and share with me what you've seen."
She told him, in great detail, of the occurrences over the Southern Orebors that morning. She thoroughly explained her examinations of the pirates's activities, her suspicions of their motivations, and of the uncanny resemblance held by the leaders to the two death row inmates.
"Hmm. That is troubling indeed. And you're certain it was the two of them?"
"I am. And based on the actions they had undertaken prior to our engaging them, it seems to me their goal was not monetary, but for the sake of spreading discord and fear."
"You have a theory. Tell me."
"It is my belief that somebody not only saw to the salvation of these men from the hangman, but financed their resurgence in operations. Even the most bloodthirsty pirates take some prisoners or plunder from their targets before they blow them out of the sky, these men simply murdered and ran. I think they were being paid to cause fear and confusion. And based on what I've heard in some of the outer ports, they may not be the only ones."
"These are disturbing implications. Have you any suspicions for who could be behind it?"
Amelia paused for a moment, carefully considering her words. "None that I dare voice without solid proof."
"But you do have some. I would hear them, if you please."
"That may not be wise, your Majesty. I do not wish to influence your decisions with what could be my own prejudices."
"Your doubt of them only convinces me further that they are worth consideration. I trust your judgement, Amelia, and I would hear your instincts speak."
She paused again. It was no simple thing the King was asking of her, yet... "Very well. I believe someone within the Sky Navy may be responsible for this; they were charged with the executions, and they reported them as successful with no issues. Either something happened and they were desperate to save face..."
"Or it was all orchestrated from within."
"Precisely, your Majesty."
"I see. It is no wonder that you hesitated to give voice to these ideas. But I will give them their due. If somebody is trying to upset my realm by bringing suffering on my people, it is only right that I leave no stone unturned. Even the ones beneath my very feet, as it were. And... what of your other assignment? How does it fare?"
"Quite nicely, as a matter of fact. The crew has accepted the assignment easy as breathing, and I don't see any troubles arising if I need to put any part of it into practice."
"That is excellent news indeed. Now then, I trust you have other matters to attend to, as do I, so I shall leave you to them. Unless there is something else...?"
"Nothing I can think of, your Majesty. I'll take my leave then. May the winds be at your back, your Majesty."
"And may the sands be far from your eyes, Captain. Farewell."
As Amelia exited the study, she began to make her way back to the entrance. As she breached the entryway where Aryn had greeted her, however, she stopped abruptly. Marching briskly from the opposite direction was a large, barrel chested man with a long faded scar across his left eye, dressed in the highest of military brass- Bartholomew Zaroff, High Admiral of Azuria... and the man ultimately responsible for her fall from grace.
"Amelia Garnet," he said without a shred of warmth or greeting in his voice.
"Zaroff." she curtly replied, her voice icy.
"Admiral Zaroff to you, little one," he said as he continued forward to see her face to face. "Respect for your betters is something you should have learned by now."
"And when you become my better, I will offer you the respect." Though he towered over her by nearly a foot, Amelia was bound and determined to stare him down as best she could and not yield an inch; Zaroff had taken enough from her, he would not have her pride.
"Bold words for a disgrace and a traitor. I am surprised you are permitted within these halls."
"I am permitted here because my actions have earned me the King's trust. A pity your mountains of words have not yet done the same, no?"
"Mind your tongue, worm," he said as he took a heavy step forward, "I will not be spoken to in this manner by a mere mercenary, a common thug!"
"Then I shall count my blessings that I am neither. If you've nothing but petty threats and false bravado to offer me, Zaroff, I've a ship and crew to attend to," She said as she walked past the man, standing tall and straight.
"I would be careful if I were you, Garnet. You may find yourself on the wrong side of a Navy-issued knife."
"You tried that just after my graduation," she called back over her shoulder, "And I still won the Rookie Officer Tournament in spite of the wound."
Once outside, Amelia made quick strides back to the hidden elevator. Re-emerging from the King's Cup with two bottles of wine, one on the house from Barrovich, she started to move through the Merchant's Level, making inquiries here and there to ensure things were well. Along the way, she happened to catch sight of Annaveya, whom she quickly came abreast of. They exchanged pleasantries, argued about the Lieutenant's footware (or lack thereof), and once she'd been assured of the resupply that was en route to the ship Amelia asked Anna to gather up any stray Officers about the Merchant Level and meet her at the Docks Level in half an hour. Not long after she encountered Fifi and Lindo at the Desert Hog and asked the same of them. "Something is rotten in the state of Berylen, I fear. I'd like the crew ready to move at a moment's notice."
*GM Note: Gems are the currency for the world. They're minted as metal coins about the size of quarters and they come in values of 1, 5, 10, and 50. Prices are comparable to US Dollars.
OOC
Spoiler
This will be a quick update, then we'll get underway.
KDP, Missy, and DR, I'd like one or two of you to work with Naifu (and Munnin once he gets involved) on having your characters gather theirs and bring them to the Docks, I'll let you guys decide it. Next update will be October 31st (SPOOKY), so if you're going to post do so quickly.
For reference, here is the arrangement of the Berylen Levels;
-Royal Plateau
-High Houses
-Docks
-Merchant
-Residential
Edited by Hero of Ishval, 25 October 2016 - 10:11 AM.
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
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