NorthernGR

Mirror, Fox, Key

Cool beans.

Mirror, Fox, Key

Name: Ronken Vusetten

Abstract: The all in one package deal, ladies.

Detail: When people think of Ronken, they think of victory. A man standing tall through the many adversities the city throws at you. When they look upon him, they feel pride, envy, inspiration, and for some, lust. Indeed, there were few as well liked as Ronken Vusettan.

Well, that's what he liked to think anyways.

In reality, the name Ronken was often muttered in the same breath as "Cheat, Brute, Idiot, Addict" and for good reason. He was a terrible cheat at poker, he solved more problems with his his fists than his mouth (And when he did use his mouth, it only caused more trouble), his booksmarts were as he put it 'below average', and yes he- may have a substance abuse problem. But he can quit anytime he wants!

When asked about his childhood Ronken's stories will vary from being raised in the wild by vampiric lycan to being the bastard son of the city's ruler. The truth is actually quite dull, like many of the denizens of Cogswall he was a street urchin. Where perhaps that may be an interesting tragedy or even make a good story at most bars, in Cogswall it was merely the norm. Normal was so boring, and Ronken was not a boring man. No, he'd need a much more exciting story.

Ronken made his livelihood with his own two hands, well fists more accurately. He was a fighter in "underground" fighting clubs. The Nobles knew full well about all the weird stuff the 'riffraff' got up to. They just let them have their fun so they wouldn't stir the pot.

Fine by him. He enjoyed fighting. In his eyes he was the best. And to be fair there was some merit to that. His ratio of wins to losses was quite impressive, and when it came to betting he was always smart money. Just don't believe him when he goes on a drunken rant about how he's 'invincible'.

As you've probably deduced Ronken hit the drink hard. When he wasn't fighting he was hitting up whatever bars he wasn't banned from. He'd drink from morning to night some days and still not quit. Half the time the only reason he'd leave was because he was kicked out for starting a fight. He uh, he liked fighting, if you couldn't tell.

Now at this point you probably think you know everything about the enchanting enigma known as Ronken. Wrong!

Ronken is a sampler of only the finest narcotics. Some of his favorites include; Happyroot, Cloudheart, and Sweet tooth. Before a fight, after a fight, during a fight, at a bar, at the toilet, Ronken is usually on something at some point. Some would call him an addict, he would call himself an enthusiast. He gets his goodies from a local gang called the Slum demons, who he may owe a considerable debt to. But Ronken's sure nothing bad can come of that, right?

In the end, as Ronken often puts it, he loves the finer things in life. A good and rough brawl whether its in a ring or at a bar, A drink stouter than his chiseled physique, and the latest in Cogswall's ever growing industry of narcotics.

Mirror, Fox, Key

*jumps in from off screen*

I'm a pal of Mokley and fan of her madness, asked if I could join any of her RPs and she said this, so here goes!

Hider

Name: Ronken Vusetten

Abstract: The all in one package deal, ladies.

Detail: When people think of Ronken, they think of victory. A man standing tall through the many adversities the city throws at you. When they look upon him, they feel pride, envy, inspiration, and for some, lust. Indeed, there were few as well liked as Ronken Vusettan.

Well, that's what he liked to think anyways.

In reality, the name Ronken was often muttered in the same breath as "Cheat, Brute, Idiot, Addict" and for good reason. He was a terrible cheat at poker, he solved more problems with his his fists than his mouth (And when he did use his mouth, it only caused more trouble), his booksmarts were as he put it 'below average', and yes he- may have a substance abuse problem. But he can quit anytime he wants!

When asked about his childhood Ronken's stories will vary from being raised in the wild by vampiric lycan to being the bastard son of the city's ruler. The truth is actually quite dull, like many of the denizens of Cogswall he was a street urchin. Where perhaps that may be an interesting tragedy or even make a good story at most bars, in Cogswall it was merely the norm. Normal was so boring, and Ronken was not a boring man. No, he'd need a much more exciting story.

Ronken made his livelihood with his own two hands, well fists more accurately. He was a fighter in "underground" fighting clubs. The Nobles knew full well about all the weird stuff the 'riffraff' got up to. They just let them have their fun so they wouldn't stir the pot.

Fine by him. He enjoyed fighting. In his eyes he was the best. And to be fair there was some merit to that. His ratio of wins to losses was quite impressive, and when it came to betting he was always smart money. Just don't believe him when he goes on a drunken rant about how he's 'invincible'.

As you've probably deduced Ronken hit the drink hard. When he wasn't fighting he was hitting up whatever bars he wasn't banned from. He'd drink from morning to night some days and still not quit. Half the time the only reason he'd leave was because he was kicked out for starting a fight. He uh, he liked fighting, if you couldn't tell.

Now at this point you probably think you know everything about the enchanting enigma known as Ronken. Wrong!

Ronken is a sampler of only the finest narcotics. Some of his favorites include; Happyroot, Cloudheart, and Sweet tooth. Before a fight, after a fight, during a fight, at a bar, at the toilet, Ronken is usually on something at some point. Some would call him an addict, he would call himself an enthusiast. He gets his goodies from a local gang called the Slum demons, who he may owe a considerable debt to. But Ronken's sure nothing bad can come of that, right?

In the end, as Ronken often puts it, he loves the finer things in life. A good and rough brawl whether its in a ring or at a bar, A drink stouter than his chiseled physique, and the latest in Cogswall's ever growing industry of narcotics.

Grimtooth

I'm still here, or am rather back I suppose. Sorry about not posting, I did get started on one like I said I would but things went down the crapper from there.

So yeah, holidays may have done this in sadly. Or at least put it on hiatus. I'm on vacation but can try and get a post out as soon as possible and convenient.

Grimtooth

*Insert excuse about life being crazy*

Sorry, have a quiet moment now and am making myself sit down and write.

Grimtooth

@Mokley Cool, that should keep things fast paced! :D If things go Jael's way, or she manages to get something else to distract people I should hopefully be snooping in my next post.

Out of curiosity, how long will it take for Fowle to show? Or would that be spoilery.. Wondering how much times we have to completely derail your plot! >:D

Grimtooth

This place was huge. And no, that wasn't a compliment.

Jael liked to think her job had its ups and downs. Right now, she was in the middle of a big down. She was walking the perimeter of the rookery. She had done this before, many times actually during her two month stay. She was refreshing her memory on places to hide, how far the tree line was from the mansion, any faults in the fence around the estate, anything she could use. More importantly she was seeing if Lord Fowle had increased his security for the party. To her shock, he hadn't, leaving the house guard at a staggering one man.

As stray rain drops pattered down on her leather hood, Jael let out a shiver. English weather was always bloody horrible, but when the good old fall temperatures started rolling in you could always count on a nice added chill to the bone. While things would be even more stressful inside she couldn't wait for the warmth the mansion offered.

As she finished her patrol and came back around to the gate Jael noticed one of the party goers making his way up. She stood in the tree line until the man was inside, no need to try an explain why she was prowling in the woods.

On the path to the house she began to adjust her black cloak and jacket, unwrinkle her leather gloves, shake her boot to try and jog loose that pebble that was lodged in it, and pat herself over to make sure none of her 'contraband' was in plain view. First appearances were everything. Make them think you're lazy or a slob and they'll never shake that feeling.

She gave the warmest smile you'd ever see and handed her invitation to the servant. When he asked for her coat she gave a small shake of her head and said, "I'm still freezing from the rain and cold. But uh-" She took the cloak she had over top off and handed it over. "You can take this, I suppose.." She paused. "If that's okay.." She asked meekly. Always make them think you're harmless, small.

While she was cold, the reality was she wasn't keen on handing over her coat filled with knives, poison, piano wire, and even more things she didn't care to get into.

Man didn't seem to care all to much. So she smiled and walked in. Donning her mask, which really was just a ripped piece of fabric with some string on it and two eye holes.

She was an assassin, not a seamstress!

As she walked in Jael let out a small gasp in wonder.. Well she pretended to anyway, at this point in her job she had seen more ballrooms and fancy dining rooms than she cared to talk about. They had lost that whimsical effect after the first dozen or so.

She didn't notice any sort of organization to the party. People were milling about, some talking to each other, some hopelessly trying to blend in with the walls, one man was getting piss drunk off wine already, and one lady was faffing about with the curtains. Right.

More importantly she didn't notice anyone resembling the Lord Fowle. Granted the only picture she had seen of him was ten years old, she was doubtful of any of these people turning out to be him.

Jael debated whether or not to question people to see if they had any new information. But she knew that the odds of that were slim. She had already questioned half the people in town under the guise of a census taker. All the stories were pretty much the same. The old man kept locked up and his servant came to town for food. Everyone had a different idea on why Fowle stayed in the rookery but Jael wasn't interested in speculation. Plus all the guesses were fairy tales at best and ignorant lies at worst.

What she really needed to do was snoop around the house before the party actually started. But she would need a distraction for her to slip by unnoticed.

So she decided to head to the banquet table and piss off the drunk guy.

Grimtooth

@Mokley Can I ask what the system would be if Jael were to say... Sneak out of the party before Fowle shows up to scout out the house? Should I finish a post saying she opens a door and you could describe what is through it, or? Are there even any doors in the ballroom?

Grimtooth

Working on a post now.

Grimtooth

@Mokley Will try to get a post soon. So judging by the IC post are we supposed to start off inside the ball room, with us already going through talking to Micawber to get in and all that?