ProxyInc

Escape from the Prison Mine

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<sup>’Clink.' 'Clink.' 'Scrap.’ The dining hall was filled with little sharp tings and scrapes of crude cutlery dragging against the dingy dishware they tried to pass for plates. Each sharp sound bit at Erith's brain, like dozens if razor sharp teeth gnawing away at his nerves. He couldn’t say he fully hated the mines. He liked the tedious work. Plus, rocks were fun. But the “cafeteria” was a whole different beast. His icy-blue eyes rolled and winced every few seconds with each new sound. Not only that—it was also filled with a myriad of unpleasant smells and bodies that slurped and devoured each meal. Though the gruel was something little better than what he could have dug out of the trash. But at least it was palatable—mostly. Sometimes he’d let his mind wander off to some of the best dishes he had eaten. But not today, today was filled with teeny annoyances that caused the feyling to bounce anxiously in his seat.

”Just chew. Chew. Chew. Chew.” His fevered brain yelled at him while mirroring his own hasty gnashing of teeth against the hard, tacky break. It was desperate to drown out the chaos that was building around him. It felt like little jolts of electricity were itching beneath his skin giving cause for his legs to bounce at a rapid pace. Unfortunately it was to no avail—eating and chewing just wasn’t enough to dispel the torrent of sensations rushing through him. ”Well, that’s enough of that,” he said under his breath, fingers gripping the plate while swinging his legs out from beneath the table. Dinnertime was over. Would he regret not finishing it? Probably. But that was future Erith’s problem. Current Erith needed something better to do to fill his time.

The feyling had made his way partly down the cafeteria before hushed voices cause his attention. ”I know that voice! His tail curled it’s way around his waist, the tip flitting back and forth excitedly. He could feel his shoulders slump away from his ears while relief flooded over him.

To say Erith made his way over towards the nearby table was an understatement. There was a noticeable bounce with each step as he more or less danced his way over; tray still in one hand. ”MHIN,” Erith shouted excitedly before sliding into an empty seat amidst the group. He shoved the plate away from himself before propping his head up on the table. A wide grin plastered across his face while he looked at the elf. Her fiery hair fell around her face with no real sense of direction. He had offered once to braid it for her. To which Mhin had very quickly, and harshly, shot him down. He tore his eyes away from her and glanced around the table. Maybe he was mistaken but if felt as if there was an uneasy air to the table. He noted the darkened and serious looks etched onto their faces. ’Well, Mhin’s face always looks like that . . .’ Erith’s brows knitted together in a moment of hesitation before brushing off the notion.

He lowered his head trying to make as much as eye contact as possible with each of them before whispering, ”Did I miss something?” His forehead wrinkling slightly as his brows drew up. This smelled like a mystery and if there was anything Erith liked it was adventure.

"Can I join?"</sup>

Escape from the Prison Mine

Erith Thornhollow

Erith Thornhollow

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^{_{Sandy blond hair is kept in a lose and messy braid down the nape of the young man’s neck; tapering off just a little below his broad shoulders. The color was a soft contrast against his pallid skin. A warm flush of cinnamon seemed to be permanently burnt across sharp cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Erith was about average as a feyling goes when it came to height. An impressive five foot and two inches, three if he was standing exceptionally straight that day. Though most days you could find him hunched over something, fumbling or fidgeting with something in those blocky, stubby fingers of his.
Erith loved to tinker with things and it showed. Strong muscles corded around his arms and lead into strong, thick fingers. His palms well worn and calloused with years of wear on them. Even his clothes usually bore smudges of oil and grease deep into the tawny dyed fabrics. While the patchwork pockets sown haphazardly on were filled with various bolts and debris.
His tail was a great aid while he worked. The color a few shades darker than the hair upon his head though by the end of a day’s work it was often just as dark as the stains upon his shirt. But regardless of the grime and the mess—Erith’s sky blue eyes remained unclouded. Chipper in the way they would sparkle beneath the flames of a nearby torch. With just a touch of mischief that would curl at the corners of full lips. He often looked like he was lost in thought and perhaps he was; or at least musing over some well-kept secret.}}
______________________◇______________________

Age

^Twenty-three

Personality

^{Erith has been compared to a painfully bright spot of sun on a dreary cloudy day more than once. Known for his pointless rambling, nearly nauseous optimism, and short attention span. Everything he does, he does loudly and would be comedic if it often didn’t end with him in some sort of trouble. Mischief is in his DNA and even if he wanted to lead a straight forward life there was just too much for him to discover still. And discovery often means skirting the law—or at least bending the rules just a tad.
The artificer burns to know how everything works. And he does mean everything; people included.}

Backstory

<sup>”Huh? What? No, I didn’t—well, actually,” Erith paused, eyes flickering over his shoulder and back at the crude, worn cloth his tail was wrapped tightly around. The evidence was damning. Not that he had a leg to stand on even without it. Word got around quickly when there was nothing else to do but work, avoid torture, starve, and sleep. Erith, the absent minded thief. Stupid tail.
He looked back at the towering man before him. Blood vessels throbbed around those graying temples, blood shot eyes wide and shaking in their rage. The man's lips were thin and peeled back over rotting teeth.”Listen, it’s not that I want your dirty rag of a blanket. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a combination of foul odors. Really, what are you eating? Did you know that even with the slop here that you can work around and eat better? It’ll definitely give you a more pleasant aroma. Though. Maybe it’s a sign of something gone wrong within? Erith had already lost the plot. His arms folded across his chest while his tail waved the soiled blanket in the air like a flag behind him.

”Oh for fucks sake, just shut up!” The man bellowed, his anger now shifted to annoyance. His dirt stained hands ripped the cloth out from Erith’s grasp, him startling in return. ”Stay to your side if you know what’s good for you.” The threat was thin. It wasn’t like there was much room for anyone, anywhere. They all knew it. And as before Erith would be tossed to another cell. Another group. Where he would eventually fall into another misunderstanding.

With a heady sigh the feyling slumped backwards and against the cool wall. This was how he landed here in the mines in first place. Though one could argue—actually, he did argue. In front of everyone. That it was the Nobleman's fault in the first place. The memory sat soured at the forefront of his brain. Why carry around such shiny bobbles if he didn’t want to talk about it? It wasn’t Erith’s fault that it was so flimsy either. He shook his head at how easily the thing had shattered in his hands. The look upon the small gathering crowd's face as the realization settled in. Thoigh he suppose it cpuld have ended in a worse way. After all if he hadn’t been sold here where would he be? Sat locked away. Bored with nothing to do. At least here he got to use tools and scoured the earth for new material.</sup>

Class

^Artificer

Notable skills or abilities

^{Shapeshift: Erith can change his shape to any person he’s visibly seen with limitations. He can only hold the shape for two hours maximum and can only grow about a foot larger than his actual size.
Magical tinkering/infuse item: Can imbue object and tools that he has working knowledge of with skills and enchantments that are bereft of the objects natural purpose.
Prehensile tail: Erith’s tail acts and serves as an extra arm. While it isn’t as strong as his actual arms it still can carry and move objects up to fifteen pounds.
Night vision: A natural trait from his fey heritage, Erith can see up to twenty feet in the dark or more in dimly lit spaces.}

Anything else:

^{Eirth is a kleptomaniac. Not by choice but driven by compulsion and egged on by his need to take things apart. Often his tail is the culprit, dipping into pockets on a whim.}

Escape from the Prison Mine

Erith Thornhollow

Erith Thornhollow

______________________♧______________________

^{_{Sandy blond hair is kept in a lose and messy braid down the nape of the young man’s neck; tapering off just a little below his broad shoulders. The color was a soft contrast against his pallid skin. A warm flush of cinnamon seemed to be permanently burnt across sharp cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Erith was about average as a feyling goes when it came to height. An impressive five foot and two inches, three if he was standing exceptionally straight that day. Though most days you could find him hunched over something, fumbling or fidgeting with something in those blocky, stubby fingers of his.
Erith loved to tinker with things and it showed. Strong muscles corded around his arms and lead into strong, thick fingers. His palms well worn and calloused with years of wear on them. Even his clothes usually bore smudges of oil and grease deep into the tawny dyed fabrics. While the patchwork pockets sown haphazardly on were filled with various bolts and debris.
His tail was a great aid while he worked. The color a few shades darker than the hair upon his head though by the end of a day’s work it was often just as dark as the stains upon his shirt. But regardless of the grime and the mess—Erith’s sky blue eyes remained unclouded. Chipper in the way they would sparkle beneath the flames of a nearby torch. With just a touch of mischief that would curl at the corners of full lips. He often looked like he was lost in thought and perhaps he was; or at least musing over some well-kept secret.}}
______________________◇______________________

Age

^Twenty-three

Personality

^{Erith has been compared to a painfully bright spot of sun on a dreary cloudy day more than once. Known for his pointless rambling, nearly nauseous optimism, and short attention span. Everything he does, he does loudly and would be comedic if it often didn’t end with him in some sort of trouble. Mischief is in his DNA and even if he wanted to lead a straight forward life there was just too much for him to discover still. And discovery often means skirting the law—or at least bending the rules just a tad.
The artificer burns to know how everything works. And he does mean everything; people included.}

Backstory

<sup>”Huh? What? No, I didn’t—well, actually,” Erith paused, eyes flickering over his shoulder and back at the crude, worn cloth his tail was wrapped tightly around. The evidence was damning. Not that he had a leg to stand on even without it. Word got around quickly when there was nothing else to do but work, avoid torture, starve, and sleep. Erith, the absent minded thief. Stupid tail.
He looked back at the towering man before him. Blood vessels throbbed around those graying temples, blood shot eyes wide and shaking in their rage. The man's lips were thin and peeled back over rotting teeth.”Listen, it’s not that I want your dirty rag of a blanket. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a combination of foul odors. Really, what are you eating? Did you know that even with the slop here that you can work around and eat better? It’ll definitely give you a more pleasant aroma. Though. Maybe it’s a sign of something gone wrong within? Erith had already lost the plot. His arms folded across his chest while his tail waved the soiled blanket in the air like a flag behind him.

”Oh for fucks sake, just shut up!” The man bellowed, his anger now shifted to annoyance. His dirt stained hands ripped the cloth out from Erith’s grasp, him startling in return. ”Stay to your side if you know what’s good for you.” The threat was thin. It wasn’t like there was much room for anyone, anywhere. They all knew it. And as before Erith would be tossed to another cell. Another group. Where he would eventually fall into another misunderstanding.

With a heady sigh the feyling slumped backwards and against the cool wall. This was how he landed here in the mines in first place. Though one could argue—actually, he did argue. In front of everyone. That it was the Nobleman's fault in the first place. The memory sat soured at the forefront of his brain. Why carry around such shiny bobbles if he didn’t want to talk about it? It wasn’t Erith’s fault that it was so flimsy either. He shook his head at how easily the thing had shattered in his hands. The look upon the small gathering crowd's face as the realization settled in. Thoigh he suppose it cpuld have ended in a worse way. After all if he hadn’t been sold here where would he be? Sat locked away. Bored with nothing to do. At least here he got to use tools and scoured the earth for new material.</sup>

Class

^Artificer

Notable skills or abilities

^{Shapeshift: Erith can change his shape to any person he’s visibly seen with limitations. He can only hold the shape for two hours maximum and can only grow about a foot larger than his actual size.
Magical tinkering/infuse item: Can imbue object and tools that he has working knowledge of with skills and enchantments that are bereft of the objects natural purpose.
Prehensile tail: Erith’s tail acts and serves as an extra arm. While it isn’t as strong as his actual arms it still can carry and move objects up to fifteen pounds.
Night vision: A natural trait from his fey heritage, Erith can see up to twenty feet in the dark or more in dimly lit spaces.}

Anything else:

^{Eirth is a kleptomaniac. Not by choice but driven by compulsion and egged on by his need to take things apart. Often his tail is the culprit, nabbing and dipping into pockets on a whim.}

Let me know if I need to fix or change anything ^^;

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

@Zmija Sebastian

You, uh, okay there?

Escape from the Prison Mine

lurks

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Sorry that I have died. IRL has been stupid busy and stressful.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Ophelia Cayde

@Lithfangel and @Dark Cloud

” Oh kid, you gotta think I'm not as sharp minded as I was long ago but if ya think I believe in them cards?" The old man’s voice cut through caucus of the tavern around them. His words as offensive as the swill she had been served prior.

Ophelia wasn’t new to naysayers. Though the blatant disregard easily wormed beneath her skin and chewed on her nerves. With a calm, steady hand she packed the cards tightly against one another—a sharp rapt on the table. Her eyes had narrowed into glittering slits the only not calm about her was the burning malice that wafted from her gaze. ”Oh, trust me old man. I knew you were past your prime long ago. But I didn’t realize that old age had riddled your mind so deeply, already. But maybe it’s the one too many knocks against the head, eh?” The tone in her voice matched her movements, steady and calm with an edge of fury that gave it a small bite.

She cupped the cards in the palm of her hand, folding them toward her body before reaching up on the toe of her boots and leaning across the bar. Her free hand struck across the air between them. Opehlia's index finger hooking and pulling onto the nearest bit of loose fabric on the old man, drawing him towards her. ”You going to tell me you’re a skeptic in this tavern? Where a corpse and shade walk freely around us? Magic. Death. The strange and unusual,” she paused to cock her head to the side, eyeing the loud man while he clattered down his drink, ”are reality but afraid to trust a little in some cards?” Her lips parted in a sharp grin.

Ophelia let go and leaned back away from the bar. She had shut her eyes away from the duo, taking moment for herself before reaching back to her earlier disregarded bottle. The bridge of her nose wrinkled as her brows pinched together in thought. She plucked her cards up from the bar. Ophelia’s knuckles white with the grip she had around them. ”Ah, fuck it.” She could feel the burn of blood rushing to her cheeks, knowing full well that it had already bloomed and painted her with a deep rose color. Be it from the drinks or the anger, she couldn’t tell. She took another swig from her bottle. Nor did she particularly care at that moment. For the moment the rim left her lips she let her fingers spring open. The bottle fell to the floor in a sharp crash. Glass and wine scattered and pooled beneath her.

”Huh,” she mused. She was a terrible drunk. Didn’t matter how much experience she had. Something always got broken. With a shrug she stepped away and closer toward the strange man, tucking her cards idly away. Someone will get that. The mess was already out of sight and mind. Ophelia let her gaze loll around before taking a half step backwards and bumping into the strange man who was still at the bar. He seemed aggravated a moment earlier, but she was too swept up on berating the old man to pay attention. She turned her head back and over her shoulder. ”Got something to add, stranger?” She let her eyes widen to their full extent, hoping to mirror his own previous intensity. Part of her was aware she was toeing a possible dangerous line but what was life without a little fun. Plus, she didn’t plan to stick around for much longer.

Woohoo!

Greetings

Returning

Welcome back~

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

I'll be trying to get a post up soon-ish ;^;