Kingfisher

12 Rooms Of Hell

@Kingfisher was Pairs suppossed to mean Paris? approved, move it! :) just write Paris right, if it is suppossed to mean Paris. I never heard of Pairs before

@KahleenCuthald

Curse my poor proof-reading!

12 Rooms Of Hell

And here...we...GO!

Jezzie

Full Name: Jezebel Wintergerald

Nicknames:Jezzie

Extras needed: None

18 27th of December 1997:

Birthplace: Dublin

Place/s grown up: London, Dublin, Dubai, California, Paris

Living place now: London

Current job: Drug Dealer

Family history: The Wintergerald’s story is quite the tragedy, provided that you think a family of overly indulgent criminals getting their just desserts is a tragedy. Jezebel certainly does.

The family started off selling munitions to the IRA, during their infamous campaign to create a United Ireland. The money was good, but there was a fortune to be made in trafficking and extortion, both of which looked equally promising to the up-and-coming gangsters. They sold guns, drugs, people, organs, and whatever else they could do to get ahead in the game.

The UK became their playground, and as they expanded out into the rest of Europe, the Wintergerald’s started raking in the cash like no tomorrow. Having come from humble origins, the Wintergerald family suddenly had a whole lot of money and a want to indulge their darkest desires.

Fast cars, men, women, exotic fetishes, and expensive foods. They spent cash like crazy, and the Wintergerald money making machine just kept on churning out more and more wealth for them to throw at their new hobbies.

Until they got sloppy, and the feds caught on.

The Wintergerald’s Empire collapsed, almost overnight, as the big players ended up behind bars, and their operations got taken over by smaller syndicates.

Years flickered by, and those who evaded capture wallowed in their bitterness, lamenting the lavish lifestyle of days gone by.

But did they repent for their misdeeds? Not a chance.

Parading their name around town, and cashing in on their former glory, the Wintergerald’s set themselves up as cocaine dealers. The money wasn’t what it had been, but their lifestyle was still vastly above and beyond that of the average Joe.

Jezebel was born during the reemergence of the Wintergerald crime family, and has been afforded an extravagant upbringing, full of fancy holidays and expensive clothes.

She’s not the worst of the Wintergerald’s, and is actually pretty good fun to hang around with. Whilst she’s pleasant externally, her inner-workings are still very much those of a criminal mastermind.

Relationship Status: Single- Bisexual

Skills: Jezebel understands people, and is able to get inside their heads and manipulate them. While not a fighter in the physical sense, her cool charisma and deceptively welcoming demeanour are truly forces to be reckoned with, and her uniquely deductive brain gives her an unseen advantage in tense life-or-death situations.

Weaknesses + Fears: Obese. Inactive. Apathetic.

Biggest lifetime wish: To be a self-made trillionaire without a care in the world.

Baddest secret: Whilst nowadays Jezebel is generally liked by those around her, she wasn’t always amongst such welcoming cohorts. Before her family could afford to live in the more ritzy areas, Jezebel’s upbringing in Dublin was full of bullying and torment, with the sadistic Jim Gagnon being her most hated antagonist. It wasn’t just verbal torments, it was following after school and hurling stones at her, or waiting around the street corner with a cricket bat on her way home.

Gagnon’s world revolved around Jezebel, and chiefly causing her misery. His every waking moment was dedicated to making her life a living hell. In truth, Gagnon was a fetishist who didn’t know how to express his feelings for the larger teenager, but Jezebel would never know that.

Jezebel snapped, and Gagnon’s body wound up in the canal, with a blunt trauma blow struck across the back of his head.

Guilty Pleasure: Binge eating and S&M

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

“By the Graces…” Jehrilla wheezed with what little breath she could force out “Never have I loathed steps as furiously as I do now.” The winding stone stairway which led up to Alerie’s chosen meeting place would have been quite the climb for anyone not used to such towering ascents, but to the obese slaver it was like scrambling vertically up a cliff face of barbs and hot coals.

Her chunky legs screeched in agony with each laboured step, and sweat poured down her milky flesh. It was a struggle to squeeze her gargantuan bulk through the narrow corridor, and a greater challenge still to muster the strength to pull herself up the next step which lay ahead, in a seemingly endless cycle of whirling, twisting torment. Her heart heaved inside her, it's desperate thumping ringing in her ears as it beat faster and faster and faster.

Jehrilla stumbled, panting and gulping down huge mouthfulls of air, into the chamber, before crashing down on top of a pile of silken cushions. She oozed out into the room around her, and every time her stomach rose or fell it looked as though she would burst right out of her scaley attire.

She listened through a haze of exhaustion as Lady Alerie spoke, using the opportunity to recover both her breath and her composure. By the time the Tyrell Woman was finished, Jehrilla was still dripping sweat, but was at least able to form sentences without pushing herself to the brink of death.

The Wise Master bowed her head respectfully when the young woman called her beautiful, and nodded solemnly when she mentioned her plan to torment this Lord Crakehall.

The red haired woman’s proposition was nothing if not enticing. With a harem of noble slaves from the West, Jehrilla would be the envy of all the other Wise Masters, and would have enough gold to keep her coffers overflowing with coin from decades to come. She ran her eyes over the reachwoman. Whilst she was lacking in a full-figure, and her bust could never dream of matching the slaver’s own generous bosom, she did have a certain youthful physique to her.

If you like bedding twigs which snap as soon as the excitement starts.

“This is an opportunity that I would be foolish to turn down, My Lady Tyrell.” Jehrilla spoke in her usual, soft yet hoarse manner. Her voice had a slight scratchiness to it; silky and comforting, whilst also grating and croaky at the back of her throat. “But backing a single side so early on in this inevitable conflict, without first surveying my options, would be just as foolhardy.”

She extended one fat hand, scraping the gold rings which were woven around her chubby fingers against one another.

“Thankfully, the Western Lords would be no more likely to trace my men back to me then they would to house Tyrell.”

Whilst this might not necessarily be true, Jehrilla could always sell her slaves to another faction somewhere down the line, then get a royal pardon from whoever came out on top, in return for new trade routes and the support of Yunkai.

“None of the other lords or ladies know of my being here, and it seems that shall work in both of our favours.”

Jehrilla had a trinity of slave soldiers and mercenary companies under her command, each fashioned from some of Yunkai’s, and indeed the Free Cities’, greatest fighters.

The Company of the Black Delight were well-built and rippling with muscle; clad in light armour and wielding weapons adorned with crooked hooks and spikes. No fighters revelled in combat so much as those who fought beneath the jagged helms of the Black Delight, nor were any other band of Essosi soldiers surrounded in as much dark mystery and superstition.

The Giggling Griefs were a flamboyant combination of deadly performers and bloodthirsty gladiator's from the most perilous of fighting pits. Many years ago they had been a company of murmurs, who learnt to defend themselves during their travels between the Free Cities. Once their master had discovered that his dancers and jugglers had an aptitude for fighting, he set about building his own mercenary company. Characterised by their extravagant dress and outrageous personalities; the Grief’s danced and fluttered across the battlefield, hacking and slashing as they wove beneath their enemies’ blades.

Finally, came the Bloodsoaked; an unruly rabble of vicious killers, kept in line by captain Vherick, who also happened to be Jehrilla’s most trusted bodyguard. The Bloodsoaked had been infamous during the years after Daenerys Targaryen reclaimed the throne, when they had risen to prominence working as enforcers for the crumbling slaver dynasties.

“With the assurance of House Tyrell, my soldiers could set sail by tomorrow's end.” Jehrilla declared with a delicate grin, painted elegantly across her full lips and slithering up the corners of her mouth.

12 Rooms Of Hell

Huzzah! I've got a fair amount of coursework to muscle through, but I'll try and get a CS up today.

Sins of Commorragh- A Dark Eldar (WH40K) Roleplay.

Still looking for people? If so, consider this a notice of interest then

@Mortarion

I have interest, and am in no ACTIVE 40k rps as of now

@agentmanatee

Much rejoicing!

I'll just wait for a few more people to express interest, then work on the OOC shall commence.

I hope everyone had a nice new year's eve!

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

Jehrilla awoke with the haze of sleep clouding her eyes, as the sights and sounds of the world began to flicker into being. The dull throbbing of a hangover chewed away inside her head, but she knew that it would only take some water and a substantial breakfast before it cleared up.

Her already huge stomach was bloated with the festivities of the night before, and it took her a good few moments to roll over beneath its enormous weight.

That was when she noticed her sleeping companion.

Garland Tyrell’s flowing brown hair was cast out across the pillows as he slept, his muscular physique tight and firm. The Yunkai’i noblewoman could see the strong build that his many tourneys had earned him, cast in a bronze light beneath the glow of the chamber’s torches. She couldn’t help but grin at the undeniable handsomeness of last night’s conquest.

The sweet wines and meats of the night before sat heavily in the pale-skinned young woman’s gut, and she very much doubted that the Lord Tyrell wanted to be sharing a bed with her when nature took its course.

Laughing her shrill, snorty laugh, Jehrilla plopped heavily out of bed, her massive, naked form shaking as she landed on the cold stone floor. She snatched her dress up off of the sleeping rug and squeezing herself into it, causing her to break wind, much to her own amusement.

The bronze scales of her form-fitting garment jangled with each sow-like step she took, clanking as she slipped her silk slippers over her plump toes. Jehrilla padded, as quietly as an obese colossus in clinking metal scales could, her way out of the chamber, shutting the large wooden door behind her.

Turning on her heel, and grinning triumphantly, it was then that the Wise Master of Yunkai first met the Lady Alerie Tyrell.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Happy New Year, fellas and dames!

Here's to more noir shenanigans

Renegades: A WH40K RP of grimdark, piratical, anti-Rogue Trader goodness!

Did somebody say...slaves?

Colour me interested.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@DJAtomika No doubt, especially considering how little she thinks of the Nyctari. I'm not sure how long the Lost Boys have been working for Maharet, but Narcissa has only become Nyxie's enforcer of choice over the last three years. She worked for most of the major criminal groups before that. Except the Nyctari lol. I feel like, with some exceptions, all of the older characters would be at least aware of each other. Vigilance probably knows Gish makes awesome guns. The Lost Boys obviously know Maharet. And so on and so forth. We just have to figure out the specifics.

@Lexicon

Speaking of Vigilance and Ghis...

New IC post be up.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

“We brought the Hound for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Baruch.” Nyxvira said, without even the faintest hint of sincerity as she licked the greasy remains of a hash brown off of her lips. Her voice had a cold, raspy quality to it, as though she were permanently bored or had just woken up. It was cool and calm, given an element of natural authority by the regal quality of her upper-middle-class Surrey accent.

“You’re here.” Nyxie observed dryly, as the bounty hunter strode over to her. The bold confidence with which the light elf carried herself had been earned, as was attested for by the manner in which Nyxvira’s henchmen recoiled nervously backwards from her armoured-presence, even when they outnumbered her nearly twenty-to-one.

Was there anyone in Santa Somabra who was more fitting a bodyguard to its queen than the woman who could inspire such dread and awe from friend and foe alike?

“Too pussy to fuck with the Hound?” The Faerie called over to a particularly shaky-looking Orc, who stood, wide-eyed and jittering, by the edge of her pool.

“M’am..?” He croaked in confusion.

Nyxvira rolled her heavily makeuped eyes “It's -MADAM- ! How many times do I need to tell you wankers? For Baal’raz’s sake, I’m not a yank! Do you want me to have you thrown in the bay, with concrete shoes?!”

“N-no m’a-, I mean; No, madam.”

“Honestly!” Nyxvira crossed her chubby arms as best she could, her enormous , pale boulder of a stomach exploding out into her lap “Such shite service, these days.”

“What can I do for you, milady?” The bounty hunter asked in her soft voice, as she knelt down by Nyxie’s sunlounger.

“Right, down to business then, I suppose.” Nyxvira groaned, as two well-dressed bodyguards moved forwards and adjusted her seat, propping her immense bulk up so that she was now in a sort of lazy, nonchalant sitting position.

“I’ve got a job for you, little one.” Nyxie stared down at Narcissa from behind her rhinestone shades, delicately moving a thread of red hair out of her vision.

“You hunt bounties, and I have a bounty for you to hunt. Its a lovely relationship we’ve got going.” The Faerie made a loose gesture with her hand at one of the waiters, who fled back inside the penthouse, then re-emerged some time later with a generous slice of cheesecake balanced elegantly on a silver tray. The waiter sauntered over to Nyxie, who was quick to scoff down a forkful, before sending him away.

“So, anyway *MUNCH* I’ve *SCOFF* got a job for ya,” she repeated in-between mouthfulls of cheesecake “There’s a Goblin who's been causing some trouble for some of the Rats skittering about *CHEW* in China *MUNCH* town.” Nyxvira let out a little belch as she swallowed her piece of cake “ Goes by the name of Gish. Some of the bottom feeders have taken a disliking to his attitude, and plan to show him who's boss. Unfortunately for them, Nyxvira Bloodbloom is boss, not Erick the uppity rodent-fucker.”

The Faerie shifted in her seat, sending ripples through her gigantic body, which was exposed, expect for the more private bits which were which was covered by her designer bikini.

“My people inside the Rats tell me that a cute little possy of bloodtweakers and dustsmokers are planning to smash up his shop sometime this evening. I want to buy guns from the gobo, and I find this to be inconvenient. I’ll leave the specifics up to you, but make sure they don’t harm a hair on his slimey green body.”

Nyxie waved the bounty hunter away “That’s all. Now piss off and let me enjoy my cake in peace.”