Well I don't know the etiquette on this exactly, however something RL has probably cropped up on Naril. So why don't we conclude this chapter and have some filler stuff in the meantime while she sorts it out? Personal side-stories with one or more characters collaborating while Morgan recuperates? Or even a side mission with some of P&I's more mundane tasks?
Fizzy
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Priest & Hawthorne Investigations (Redux!) - Supernatural Urban Fantasy!
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Forum: Advanced Roleplay
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Priest & Hawthorne Investigations (Redux!) - Supernatural Urban Fantasy!
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
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New Orleans.
Saturday, 10.00 PM
The Nespado Hotel.
Isobel always loved the Nespado. Magic was, in her not so humble opinion, far too overrated by the magical community. It could be so coarse the way some magicians wielded it, a blunt hammer to smash through their problems. The strict adherence to avoid any offensive displays of power suited her quite well. It left someone with only their wits and charm to protect them, which Isobel had never underestimate like so many of her colleagues. Here of all places it could be used to garner much reward. Every magical corner of New Orleans in one place, every rivalry and power struggle boiling up to the surface, perfect for the enterprising mind to take advantage of. Unfortunately she was not here for that today.
She sat in the hotel lobby in a relatively undisturbed little corner. Her long legs were crossed, sheathed in black denim which contrasted with the pristine white of her sleeveless blouse. The shiny black leather of her heels glimmered in the hotel lighting which, if she were to stand, would add around six inches to her already considerable height. A glass of wine was idly being caressed by a long, pale finger as she browsed the local newspaper – a surprising goldmine of information to those with a trained eye. To the casual and discerning observer alike Isobel looked poised, relaxed even with a sort of languid grace but they would be wrong. Isobel had felt the unsettling presence for some time now grating against her mind, setting her on edge. Remi... she sighed softly, she owed a favour. Debts were more valuable than currency in the magical world and Isobel knew more than most the importance of keeping herself the black. She had to find out if she was OK, for her sake as well as the other woman’s.
Her phone rang just as she drained the last dregs of the amber liquid from her glass, placing it on the table beside her before she answered the phone. “Ah, Mhairi,” She answered, folding the paper and placing it on her lap, “Did you have a word with the gentlemen as I asked?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Came the girl’s reply, her voice quavering ever so slightly with nerves, “He said he checked out the apartment last night … no answer.”
“I see,” Isobel replied, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the back of her phone as she considered her options. The man in question was an old contact of hers and … not one to be ignored. If he couldn’t elicit a response then there was little chance that she was there in any fashion. “Thank you,” she said as she hung up, standing and sliding on a slate grey overcoat before making her way into the New Orlesian night, her heels clacking against the smooth floor as she tried to keep her face calm and mind clear of the maelstrom of possibilities that raged across her mind. “Oh Remi … what in hells have you done?”
Isobel's pale hand pushed the door open noiselessly, silently walking into the chaos of the apartment. She stared at the large, blonde man in the midst of the scholarly debris with an appraising look. She doubted he was a scavenger coming to pick the carcass of Remi’s artefacts as several items of impressive value were already on the floor apparently discarded. She continued to watch for a couple of minutes, straining to hear the man’s mutterings under his breath wondering if it would prove useful. His speech was mixed with a healthy dose of profanity but the summary of his outpourings seemed mostly concerned with Remi’s welfare. His accent was slight, she would guess Scandinavian of some extraction but anything more specific was impossible.
She raised an eyebrow at the disembodied voice that sounded across the room and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Hello,” She said as she made her way further into the room, “Whoever is lurking about I suggest you come down, evidently we’re all here for the same purpose. Besides, I make a point never to introduce myself to faceless voices.”
Her gray eyes regarded the tattooed figure before her, flicking from his head to his boots with a slow, deliberate pace. “Strange …” She said, half to herself, Isobel had long been used to the faint presence at the back of her mind of background magic. She had only been to Remi’s a handful of times yet had always noticed the concentrated, almost electric, energy that hung around the place. Now there was none it was quite disconcerting, like a clock whose tick you never noticed until it had stopped. She closed her eyes, her mind roaming across the room with a subtle presence. Like a piece of silk brushing against skin her mind probed for the faintest scrap of magic within the room and worryingly could find none. “It’s almost like we’re in some form of vacuum,” she said, “Necrotic energies from the Undying Realm perhaps?”
Saturday, 10.00 PM
The Nespado Hotel.
Isobel always loved the Nespado. Magic was, in her not so humble opinion, far too overrated by the magical community. It could be so coarse the way some magicians wielded it, a blunt hammer to smash through their problems. The strict adherence to avoid any offensive displays of power suited her quite well. It left someone with only their wits and charm to protect them, which Isobel had never underestimate like so many of her colleagues. Here of all places it could be used to garner much reward. Every magical corner of New Orleans in one place, every rivalry and power struggle boiling up to the surface, perfect for the enterprising mind to take advantage of. Unfortunately she was not here for that today.
She sat in the hotel lobby in a relatively undisturbed little corner. Her long legs were crossed, sheathed in black denim which contrasted with the pristine white of her sleeveless blouse. The shiny black leather of her heels glimmered in the hotel lighting which, if she were to stand, would add around six inches to her already considerable height. A glass of wine was idly being caressed by a long, pale finger as she browsed the local newspaper – a surprising goldmine of information to those with a trained eye. To the casual and discerning observer alike Isobel looked poised, relaxed even with a sort of languid grace but they would be wrong. Isobel had felt the unsettling presence for some time now grating against her mind, setting her on edge. Remi... she sighed softly, she owed a favour. Debts were more valuable than currency in the magical world and Isobel knew more than most the importance of keeping herself the black. She had to find out if she was OK, for her sake as well as the other woman’s.
Her phone rang just as she drained the last dregs of the amber liquid from her glass, placing it on the table beside her before she answered the phone. “Ah, Mhairi,” She answered, folding the paper and placing it on her lap, “Did you have a word with the gentlemen as I asked?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Came the girl’s reply, her voice quavering ever so slightly with nerves, “He said he checked out the apartment last night … no answer.”
“I see,” Isobel replied, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the back of her phone as she considered her options. The man in question was an old contact of hers and … not one to be ignored. If he couldn’t elicit a response then there was little chance that she was there in any fashion. “Thank you,” she said as she hung up, standing and sliding on a slate grey overcoat before making her way into the New Orlesian night, her heels clacking against the smooth floor as she tried to keep her face calm and mind clear of the maelstrom of possibilities that raged across her mind. “Oh Remi … what in hells have you done?”
~*~
Isobel's pale hand pushed the door open noiselessly, silently walking into the chaos of the apartment. She stared at the large, blonde man in the midst of the scholarly debris with an appraising look. She doubted he was a scavenger coming to pick the carcass of Remi’s artefacts as several items of impressive value were already on the floor apparently discarded. She continued to watch for a couple of minutes, straining to hear the man’s mutterings under his breath wondering if it would prove useful. His speech was mixed with a healthy dose of profanity but the summary of his outpourings seemed mostly concerned with Remi’s welfare. His accent was slight, she would guess Scandinavian of some extraction but anything more specific was impossible.
She raised an eyebrow at the disembodied voice that sounded across the room and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Hello,” She said as she made her way further into the room, “Whoever is lurking about I suggest you come down, evidently we’re all here for the same purpose. Besides, I make a point never to introduce myself to faceless voices.”
Her gray eyes regarded the tattooed figure before her, flicking from his head to his boots with a slow, deliberate pace. “Strange …” She said, half to herself, Isobel had long been used to the faint presence at the back of her mind of background magic. She had only been to Remi’s a handful of times yet had always noticed the concentrated, almost electric, energy that hung around the place. Now there was none it was quite disconcerting, like a clock whose tick you never noticed until it had stopped. She closed her eyes, her mind roaming across the room with a subtle presence. Like a piece of silk brushing against skin her mind probed for the faintest scrap of magic within the room and worryingly could find none. “It’s almost like we’re in some form of vacuum,” she said, “Necrotic energies from the Undying Realm perhaps?”
Hello! Still looking for new players? I would love to throw my hat into the ring!
Isobel Cambell ◆ The Mistress of Whispers ◆ Arienh Rìgain
Name:
- True Name: Arienh Rìgain
- Taken Name: The Mistress of Whispers
- Given Name: Isobel Campbell
Age: 32
Appearance: Isobel believes that her appearance should best suit her needs at that time, one does not wear a little black dress and a killer smile when you need to blend into the crowd. However, that being said, her vanity has left its mark and she almost always dresses to the best of her ability. Hair, makeup and accessories all must be perfect.
She walks with a slow, deliberate gate as it most of her actions. Isobel is not one to gesture superfluously and her face is usually a blank slate – unless she feels revealing an emotion could be advantageous for her.
Personality:
Everybody has a past. An old shame hidden away, a burden that plagued their soul – or lack thereof. Gods and demons more so than anybody. With nothing but a whisper of secrets long laid to rest even the mightiest foe’s complexion turns white. Therefore Isobel has made a lifetime of acquiring them and fiercely guarding her own. Walking the precarious path of the shadows is a dangerous game and never more so than in the world of magic. Yet to a skilled player, the rewards are immense – Isobel has made contacts before with entities but never before she had leverage, that little fact that awoke unease.
As subtlety and secrecy are the very core of her nature she regards displays of outright brute strength disdainfully. Faced with confrontation she would almost always prefer to sidestep and only when the time is perfect strike with ruthless precision in one terrible blow. Unsurprisingly this makes her somewhat uneasy to trust as no-one knows her true motive or allegiance. As Elder to her Coven she shows strong aptitudes for leadership, there is little second guessing – hesitation too often means death.
In conversation she has a dry, understated tone that often flirts with humour bolstered by a rock-solid self-confidence. Too confident many would say as she often displays her vices of pride and vanity accompanied by an imperious nature. Isobel is slow to anger, or at least the anger of the quick tempered. She prefers a slow, glacial wrath that is displayed only when she has the upper hand.
She is fiercely devoted to her son and few have seen her ever so soft and gentle. Almost excessive in her protectiveness she guards his very existence closely – anyone wishing to see a display of vengeance fuelled by instant, hot white anger need only threaten him.
Nature of magic: Ritual (Primary)/Contract (Secondary)
Magic practice:
Blood Witch
All magic comes at a price, it is the inviolable nature of its being. Blood magic is amongst the oldest forms of invoking the forces of magic – across the continents and civilisations altars are stained with red of the ancient Priests of religions long forgotten acknowledging such a fact.
Blood Witches use rituals to sanctify this offering – whether it comes in the form of their own blood, others or even sacrifices. Usually involved in evoking the forces of nature in some way as well as the cycle of life and death. Contracts can also be invoked with this school, however with the inherent dangers thereof it is not undertaken lightly or without great need.
Brief bio:
Isobel was born into a lineage among one of the last surviving Covens in Britain– the Corryvreckan Witches -that could trace it roots from the scattered remnants of the followers of the pagan religion. Persecution and wars between the Covens had left a few, very old, powerful but fragile groups left.
Isobel’s mother was part of one of the oldest lineages in the Coven as was her grandmother. Therefore there was little question that she would be initiated among their ranks. Yet with her talent, wit and beauty Isobel advanced more quickly than even her lofty heritage promised. Yet a rising star’s ascension is not always viewed eagerly. Covens are a den of politics were rank means everything and many seek to rule.
Therefore, out of survival, she learned the power of secrets. Titbits of gossip, small deals made with the right person (or otherwise) and a little pressure gave power unimagined. Sex, lies and vice were perfect means to manipulate more powerful, experienced witches against each other. As time went on she learned that it wasn’t just the underbelly of human nature that could be wielded against her foes. Love, by far, was always the deadliest weakness.
By the time she was twenty-five the last Elder, Mags, died. Isobel prepared her claim, biding her time until the opportunity arose to take action. First the arrogant, deluded or careless were removed by the others for her. A simple manner to be elsewhere while the first moves of a complicated game were played. Once the unworthy were whittled down then Isobel cautiously made her entrance. Her peers were little contest. Young men and women were almost destined to tear at each other’s throats and Isobel simply aided the process with a few well-chosen words and the occasional magic to twist the turn of events just right.
However the older witches were more difficult. Experienced in both magic and guile they had watched her play her opening moves. They knew her style and were already approaching to destroy her. So, in desperation she made a contact with one of the oldest spirits of her lands – Herne the hunted. The power she wielded to victory came at a heavy price she accepted out of the arrogance of youth – at the anniversary of her tenth year as Elder, she would give up the person most precious to her for the Hunter’s quarry.
While youth often lacks wisdom it does bring initiative and boldness to change what for generations remained unchallenged. The fragile peace between the neighbouring Covens was broken – a simple matter to arrange a feud between the Orkney and Isla Covens, involving a revealed affair, the spilling of blood and a little poison. Isobel swept in and decimated the weakened winner and found herself the leader of the uncontested most powerful Coven in the north. Those disgruntled witches that had chafed under her ascension were now cowed with such a display of tactics. She had, for now at least, won the loyalty of those under her.
However, this victory aside Isobel knew the sad truth – the magic they wielded was dying in the Old World. The esoteric occultists, the Alistair Crowley’s, the Wicca … this was the magic that had supplanted hers. So Isobel and her Coven travelled across the sea to the Americas - where some of the ancient magic still clung. Many of Europe’s magicians and witches had fled there and in these hidden pockets of the magical world their secrets lay also.
Isobel soon found out to her pleasure that the American community was as embroiled in politics of their own as her home had been. Gone was the young woman who had played for her life, a cautious novice however skilled. Once power was tasted she found it much to her liking. Isobel started small with new Circles barely christened and washed up has-beens before moving to more and more challenging foes. The Mistress of Whispers dealt in secrets and shadows and sought to make her Coven feared and respected and the leader Isobel could be blossomed.
Then he happened … Isobel doesn’t know his name, who he was or why she had loved him. She hid that knowledge far away even from herself for the result of their union was more precious than all the power she had ever hoped to claim. A son, William, born healthy and happy with a mother determined to keep it that way. She knew then the true horror of the contact she had agreed to. In but a handful of years she would require to hand him over to Herne. A child would be no match for the Master of the Hunt, she had condemned her son to death. She needed time before she could find some way to save her son and if that failed, a way to hide him when the time came. Whatever the consequences it would bring onto her she would not sacrifice him for her sake.
It was how she had met Remi, the magician was famed throughout the community for her knowledge in rituals. Isobel had heard the woman knew of a spell to contain a secret within a vessel so that no one, not even the person it concerned would remember. Isobel had attempted to discover some leverage about her and found none; Remi was more than a match for her in the Game and seemingly only enjoyed a favourable reputation. Desperate, she did something she had never considered and simply asked her. To her amazement Remi agreed and helped her prepare the spell that would hide her secret away from the world, including herself. Isobel owed a favour, an obligation she did not take lightly or give often.
Isobel whispered the name of her son’s father and the knowledge was wiped clean from the world so that neither him or her would remember their time together. Her son was hers to protect, his custody entrusted to her Coven too scared to betray her as she seeks the answer out her contract.
Here is mine up, Hellis I've made quite a bit of changes to the bio since we last discussed it so hopefully to your approval!
@Archangel89@AdobeFlash@Fizzy@Bourgeoisie
Congrats. You made the cut!
Yay! Will I/anyone else who requires edits, PM your our CS's?
@Fizzy
You know you can always PM me what you got and we can work it trough together. I allready helped others with theirs.
That's very kind of you, I'll work on a little more and send it through.
@Fizzy
Damn. I am really sorry to hear that.
Apologies to waste your time, however once I read over her bio and saw how fragmented it was, I realised the idea I had in my head didn't survive the transistion to paper so well ^^. I expect this RP will be very high quality and don't want to play a character I'm so unsure about. Again though, best of luck and have lots of fun!
@Hellis I'm afraid I'm going to pull out, I have about three quarters of a CS typed up and it's just not what I was hoping for. I was struggling with inspiration for a bit and it shows - and I would rather have something I was fully happy with to play on. But my best wishes to this RP and everyone participating!
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