Assallya

Sailing the Seven Seas

Lucy was shocked. That much money for such a small thing? Whoever he was he certainly must dislike the French. Unless, of course, he was some form of agent. Still, none of that was her concern. ALl she knew was that she wanted the other half of that money and she wasn't going to jeopardize anything by thinking too hard.

"A French trade fleet will be approaching from Currawcow," Lucy repeated, mangling the name, "Week to ten days. Only to those pirates that would be strong enough to take it. May I ask for a cut of the loot, or sell the information for a little coin?"

After she had her answer she let him go with a batting of eyelashes, curtseying as if she were the lady she certainly wasn't Lucy watched the man retreat into the darkness.

The Conflict: Armanian Union and Razgar's Tribes (Medieval fantasy RP)

Villith hated the fact she and her people had not been tasked with destroying the elves. The dark elves had long possessed an enmity towards their arrogant brethren. She had been sent to watch Draxis, not necessarily to interfere in what he was doing, but at least one dark elf had to be present to witness the rapacious destruction of the heartwoods and the slaughter of their kin.

Villith liked the way this Draxis operated. Her own people often made use of their fallen slaves as expendable foot soldiers but this was something else. Their own slaves warriors were little more than groaning zombies lurching towards the enemy. This Draxis somehow managed to instill his undead warriors with martial prowess, ranks holding aloft shields as they advanced and providing cover for those behind.

Unfortunately their opponents were elves. All the fancy columns and formal lines would be near useless once they broached the treeline. Battle formations didn't work well in underbrush and uneven terrain. The flames being dropped into forests by the wyverns was more a worry as far as Villeth was concerned. The desiccated flesh of the undead did not deal well with fire. Then there were the siege carts, how would they get through the forest? Villith was interested in seeing that.

"The attack goes well Draxis," Villith hailed the undead lord by name. Sure as there were devils in the nine hells she wasn't going to refer to him as a superior. "However, the deeper you enter the heartwood, the more resistance you will face."

Villith was a tall, lean elven sorceress but even with her height she had to look up at the hulking eldritch form of the ancient undead king. Beneath long lilac coloured tresses her pale white eyes, lacking pupil or iris, looked him over. Yes, he certainly looked a formidable combatant and Villith was certain she wouldn't want to engage him, not with her long slender limbs and lack of armour.

Medieval fantasy RP?

Name: Villith
Age: 64
Race: Dark Elf
Side: Razgar's Tribes
Personality: Villith delights in the suffering of others, she's wild, vicious and flirty.
Backstory: Villith is a daughter of the horde. Her people, ostracized by the rest of elvenkind hate their brethren with a fervor that makes the Orcs hatred for humans seem almost like rivalry. Villith has grown up in a society featuring a "survival of the fittest" attitude. She had to kill her own sister when she was thirty, barely into puberty, just to end the beatings. When the Orcs called out their intention to march against the Armanian Union the general attitude of the dark elves was... FINALLY!

Villith isn't a general or anyone important. She's just a battle sorceress looking forward to killing a great many elves.
Weapon: Wooden Rod used as a spell focus. This simply piece of wood enhances her spellcasting ability. Without it she is limited to the weakest of cantrips.
Magics: Villith is an evoker, specializing in combative sorcery. She flings balls of fire, stokes of lightning and shards of energy.
Other:
Strength: Villith is quite capable of wiping out hordes of lesser soldiers.
Weakness: Villith has little in the way of melee ability or armour. She actively seeks to avoid being thrust into such situations.

Star Wars: Kalrus

Behold! The Last Starfighter has left the Star League and joined the Imperials!

Star Wars: Kalrus

Good lord... The black armour! They're nega-storm troopers!

Sailing the Seven Seas

Information? Lucy wasn't sure what to make of that. One thing she was certain of was that information was both dangerous and profitable. It could make a woman wealthy but it could also make her quite dead. The copper haired whore found herself caught between two extremes. If she listened to what he had to say and he was not pleased with her answer would he simply kill her? Then again, where they past that point already?

The copper haired harlot looked down at the presented pouch. It looked hefty. It didn't look to be a fortune but it was substantial. She slipped forward, bare feet slipping across the rough wooden planks that likely had been stripped off of some ship that had run aground and would never sail again. She gently caressed this man's forearm with both of hers, keeping all of her long slender fingers clearly within the confines of his gaze so as not to make him nervous.

"I think I can do that," she agreed, drawing her crimson nails across his skin, "Yes. I definitely think so."

Sailing the Seven Seas

Lucy wasn't used to gallant behaviour, feigned or otherwise, and she blossomed beneath Alexander's gaze. Her green eyes began to sparkle with veritable delight. Was this then her prince, her saviour who would win her away from this dreary and empty existence? A small inner voice chided her naivety. Such men, the voice told her, did not exist but she could not resist harboring some small hope deep within her. While expected, she currently had no inkling that Alexander was using her, that he had even been in the same room with her a few times in the past.

Then he propositioned her and much of his luster faded. She didn't let it show, such disappointments were common in her trade, nearly perpetual.

Tittering and batting her long eyelashes she delivered her best smile. Having exhausted almost the entirety of her glossary of French words Lucy continued in the King's English.

"My palace lay yonder my prince," she proclaimed with a vague gesture in the general direction of the small house, "Shall we away?"

Star Wars: Kalrus

Gamaloth, ever a hive of scum and villainy, was draped in eternal shadow. It was a green world, perpetually overcast skies concealed much of the sunlight and the swampy canopy captured the rest. Only the rarest patches were untouched by the mosses and fungi that caressed the earth like a blanket. The landing pads for the vessels visiting Gamaloth were surrounded by flame spewing droids that worked ceaselessly, night and day, to keep the encroaching growth at bay. It was the perfect world for a Hutt, damp and dark. It was for this reason alone, more than the comfort it provided that pleased the one known as Palto the Hutt. It was the desire other Hutts had for the planet that pleased him most, almost as much as the lesser Hutts that came to him, begging for permission to spend time amongst the mildew and gloom.

Aala stretched out along the edge of the fountain, merely one of a half dozen women that called Palto's palace home. They were adornments for their Hutt masters and gifts for those they chose to bequeath them onto for the evening. Aala's finger trailed through the gentle ripples of the pool and was soon joined by one of her lekku, the tentacles that descended from the back of her skull. She lay, admiring her reflection in the water, the smooth green skin.

Soon she would be free. That was what she told herself. In time she would learn something of extreme value, something so important that she could trade it for her freedom. However, first she was going to have to figure out the best way to get herself to be Hutt's favorite.

Sailing the Seven Seas

Where is everyone?

Sailing the Seven Seas

The pig snuffled in the mud, rolling it's pink carcass around inside its pen, disturbing its brethren. The wooden houses could have been in any town in Europe, the same mortared wood, some of them even sporting the white plaster. If it were not for the bird cawing loudly in the jungle a ship's keel away the pirate port could well have been a thousand miles away. The darkness between the buildings was near absolute, the stars blinded by the wide fronds of the jungle canopy overhead. Only a small lamp, hung from the beam overhead delivered any light.

Beneath the lamp, Lucy's copper hair echoed the flickering glimmer of the lamplight. She had pinned it up, keeping it out of the way as she lifted the bucket of water and poured it over her shoulders. The water sluiced over her naked body and splattered upon the hard packed earth outside of the tavern's rear door and Lucy closed her eyes. There were few small pleasures afforded one of her position and simple bathing was one of them.

"Loose!" the tavern keeper bellowed from inside, rudely breaking Lucy from her reverie, "Loose, yer wanted up front!"

"Shut yer hole," Lucy suddenly hollered back in cockney fashion, "I ain't done washin' the last man off me."

The barkeep simply shrugged in Alexander's direction.

"Just git yer skanky arse out here ya slut."

Outside Lucy sighed and quickly toweled off, grabbing her dress and pulling it over head before unpinning her hair and adding the black pirate styled cap with it's downy orange feather. She took a deep breath, settled herself and altered her bearing to make herself more attractive before stepping out with her most radiant smile.

"Salut monsier," she greeted Alexander, extending her hand as she gracefully circled the end of the bar, "It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance."