Here is the official IC thread
roleplayerguild.com/topics/126534-plag..
@thegreenleafe@Melkor@T Risket
roleplayerguild.com/topics/126534-plag..
@thegreenleafe@Melkor@T Risket
@Blop
Hey blop, I went ahead and wrote up a little sampler blurb about the potential character I had in my head-granted the post is a lil rough but givein more context of events goining on/an actual location I'm fairly confident I could polish future posts a bit better. Hope ya enjoy the brief read though.
Like most nights Mr. Delaporte had been spending this rather stormy evening holed away within his lavish mansion overlooking the French countryside; on this particular night he had been in the library absent mindidly thumbing through a rather old and weatherworn book. Twirling a rather expensive looking piece of crystal filled with amber brown liquid in his free hand he couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the thought that these days he had more in common with the ancient looking book sitting in his frail lap then he did with most real people.
The inner display of laughter was extremely brief however; cut short like usual as a wave of guilt assailed his conscience. How many moments of peace like this had he robbed from others in his youth? How many men and women never got the chance to smile again, let alone laugh? Thoughts like this were especially hard to block out on nights such as these; nights when the weather itself seemed to be manifesting in some dark way to mirror your very inner demons. Luckily the bourbon helped somewhat.
He was In the process of pouring himself yet another drink when the familiar rapping sound of hand on wood echoed through the rather quite library. To be more precise it had been three well spaced purposeful knocks-the rhythmic sound automatically allowing old man Delaporte to know just who was on the other side. Without pulling his slender frame from out of the comfy looking red lounge chair he sat in he called towards the only pair of doors in the library. “Yes, yes, come in my boy!”
The matching pair of large darkly stained oak doors opened in one fluid motion followed up with a rather shrill creaking sound. The hinges need oiling Dismas took note-he'd have to remember to tell Francis this while he was here; Francis being the rather thin but somewhat dangerous looking red headed youth now filling up the doorway. Clutched tightly beneath his right arm and the side of his chest was the evening newspaper while each of his hands tightly held a wooden tray of which contained a prim and proper looking dinner plate with all the needed silverware. Tonights menu was apparently fried chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes and a biscuit-the sight of which quickly reminded Dismas how he had off handidly been telling Francis he so desperately wanted to try American cuisine. Apparently now was his chance.
If he was being perfectly honest Dismas was somewhat fond of young Francis; not only did he take care of most of the cooking and shopping for the relic of a man but Dismas couldn't help but see a good bit of himself in the boy-a much younger, suaver, and dangerous version of himself admittedly but nonetheless whatever part it was he could still see it plain as day.
Dismas had been doing his best to keep the lad away from trouble with a steady job and genuine responsibilities. He couldn't help but wonder how he himself would have turned out had he in fact had a mentor in a similar fashion.
Laying the book he'd been examining moments ago on the same small round wooden table that now likewise held his glass of bourbon and soon to be dinner. “Throw a log on the fire would you boy? These old bones aren't what they used to be.” Dismas croaked with a toothy old grin while feigning a shiver in his maroon bathrobe. As Francis did what was asked of him he finally spoke up, his odd accent reminding Dismas that Francis was more then likely not his real name. Nonetheless Dismas listened with all the genuine attention one could muster while trying fried chicken for the first time-that is to say he asked Francis to repeat himself. Twice.
“Wut I was sayin sir is, ifn you were allright with it an all sir, is there anychance I could take jus a wee bit o leave? Just enough to go see the kid sister? You see she avent been returning my letters as of late and, well bein perfectly honest Mr. Delaporte, I'm worried. Y'see last few letters she was ramblin about monsters and odd happeninins goin on but I just wrote it all off as her bein, well, I dun rightly know what? Point is I just didn't take her serious. Now though I's thinkin-”
“-Woah, woah, woah, back up there Francis my boy. Take a seat.” Dismas gestured towards the similar chair opposite him with his old wrinkled hand that was now clutching the glass of bourbon yet again. “I think it's best you start from the top. And pour yourself a drink boy, helps calm the nerves. One way or another, we'll get to the bottom of this.”
"Alright alright alright. I'll bring something back from grandpa and grandma, I promise. I know you y'all miss it across them seas, I'll get something nice and rare alright?"
"Alright honey, but remember to say dědeček and babička. They're very traditional and may not approve of our parenting if you didn't use proper Czech." Donny or Dominik looked at his mothers aqua-green eyes, a tear was on the verge of escaping her eyelid. Donny's mother was a strong lady and in the frontier that was required, so a tear wasn't common place. Donny pulled his mother in for a tight hug. Donny's father wrapped around like a big papa bear. Donny's father was a man of emotion and joy, he worked as hard as he fooled around. Donny's easy-go-lucky and honest attitude was a direct result of admiring his Pa too much, but the again most of Donny was a directly from his father. Everything from the dark brown hair to the dark brown eyes came from the dominate traits of his father. His mother called him a "splitting image of his father, but younger and with less of a belly." As the sun went down upon the hugging family they went inside for one last dinner.
Donny reflected upon this moment while the sun sank into the restless ocean. The Atlantica's journey has been a long one and was still far from over, all around Donny was the salty, salty water. The salty water was a first for him, as this was Donny's first trip over the ocean and back into the Old World. The first trip wasn't kind to the young man it was full of trips to a bucket or to provide free food to the aquatic life below. However these harrowing initiation rites the ocean pressed upon Donny were worth it. Traveling to his parent's home will be an adventure he thought as he began the descent into the dank creaky ship.
It was the middle of the day and Royce sat behind his desk at the British embassy in Prague. His office wasn’t anything special, his walls were plain white with wooden trim. The room, itself was large, about ten by eight meters, it housed him and his staff. They had a desk clump in the middle of the room, with a telegraph while he had his own desk next to a window that overlooked a back alley. Royce’s staff sorted through reports there and decided what needed to be brought to his attention.
The two oak doors opened swiftly and a soldier snapped to attention and saluted, “Corporal Barnes reporting in sir!” While maintaining himself at rigid attention he continued, “Colonel Evans, you have new orders from the Provost Marshal’s office, sir.” The corporal made his way around the desk clump in the center of the room to Royce’s desk and handed the orders to his superior. He left after that.
Evans read the orders. Lt. Col Evans, R. is hereby ordered to conduct a covert investigation of recent disappearances in Bertramka… He understood why they would ask him to do it, he was one of the heads of investigation for the Royal Army and he was also one of the only trustworthy officials in Czech territory right now. He could tell that the brass must be getting nervous about the disappearances, otherwise they would allow Czech forces to deal with it themselves.
Roy stood, “Captain Ferris. You are in-charge until I’m back. I have orders to attend to.”
“Sir!” Captain Ferris, a heavy set man stood from his desk and saluted. “When should we expect you back?”
“A week or two.” He turned to the rest of the men in the room, “Don’t slack off while I’m gone.” Before he left the room he turned back to the others. “Before I go, give me any reports you have on the recent disappearances in Bertramka.” They were all standing while they received their orders. “That’s all.” He turned and walked out of the room, he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to wear his uniform for a while, but he was concerned with what the reasons for a covert investigation would be. He knew that his men could be trusted, they’d worked together for years at this point. But still, he had no idea why he was ordered to investigate… unless… this was viable or a Brit had disappeared. He put the thought away as he made arrangements for his travel.