Current
I just force Bork or Shiva to RP when I need a GM.
1
like
3 yrs ago
I think the main thing with any IC is a good pitch, I've joined plenty of RPs because the pitch was good (but rarely do I care about how pretty the thread is).
3
likes
4 yrs ago
Some questions are just curve balls though. Traditionally the answer to "Do you support white supremacy?" is an easy no, unless you're either an idiot or racist or probably both.
Gender: Female Age: 23 Race: Human, Zherpanian Origin: Qudin, a small oasis in the furthest reaches of the Yhemerian Desert found to the west of Rekx. Religion: Ka'a Alissi Attire: A loose fitting hooded traveler's robe dyed a deep shade of midnight, chainmail armor, and well-worn leather boots. Although she no longer wears the modest face veils of her people, Nora nonetheless prefers to keep her face hidden whenever possible. Demeanor: Prideful, confident, focused.
Attributes:
Awareness: [2] As sharp eyed as a falcon, Nora is limited only by her lack of familiarity with the more delicate aspects of thievery. She knows how to spot danger. She knows how to spot weakness. She can smell a trap from a mile away and she knows how to track her prey. However, less clear to the desert bandit is how exactly a brothel operates or how a classic grift should play out. Intelligence: [1] A merchant must be able to read. A trader must be able to write. And a mercenary must be able to count offered coin. Nora is no scholar, but for a mercenary she is surprisingly bright. Strength:[2] Life across the burning seas of sand requires strength. Nora can carry her own weight and hold her own even without a weapon in her hand. Despite her uncharacteristically average size, through cunning and the correct application of force she has made a habit of besting men far larger than her. Wit: [2] A gifted tactician in matters of violence, Nora is alarmingly clever when it comes to figuring out how to hurt or intermediate others. Few mercenaries or lesser thugs can boast that they are as quick in lightening the pockets of the vulnerable or weak as the desert bandit. Dexterity: [3] Nora moves like water or sand, flowing forward effortlessly, and shifting out of grasp with the easy movements of a dancer. Willpower: [3] (Zherpanian +1) Nora does not know what it means to give up and she does not waver. Her will is a sharp blade of steel, honed to a razor's edge by the endless sands and merciless winds of the Yhemerian desert. Charisma: [1] Permitting her weapons to speak for her has left Nora with a markedly limited ability to charm and deceive those around her. Her appearance and bearings promise only swift violence to those that press her and most strangers steer clear of her as a result. Luck: [2] Nora possesses a soldier's luck. She is not particularly lucky in love or dice, but when crossing blades with her enemies she has just enough good timing to avoid more unfortunate outcomes or to do the right thing at most useful moment.
Skillsets
A History of Violence [2]- Intimidation. There is something deeply unnerving about the Zherpanian woman. She isn't the loudest, she isn't the toughest looking, and she certainly isn't the biggest, but somehow Nora comes across as deeply dangerous in the "will cut you into several smaller pieces without a second thought" sort of way that people find deeply unnerving. Bladed Tempest [3]- Dual wield. A veritable dervish in battle, Nora falls upon her foes like one of the terrible storms that rage across the Yhemerian desert. She wields her weapons as easily in either one of her hands, permitting her to take full advantage of clever angles and tricks. Soldier of Fortune [3]- Familiar Weapon. Skilled in the ways of wars, Nora has a knack for swinging a sword just so, wielding a rifle properly, and handling her enemies with violence at various ranges. Bandit of the Yhemerian Desert [1]- Brawn. To survive as a bandit in the Yhemerian desert requires an exceptional fortitude. Nora possesses a deep reserve of inner strength that she can rely on to overcome all manner of obstacles. The Simple Path to Wealth [1] (Zherpanian +1)- Bartering. Despite having a general lack of interest in pursing a vocation as a traveling merchant, as a member of the proud Zherpa people, Nora knows how to strike a hard bargain.
Flaws:
Insomnia: Years of vigilance and a lifetime spent on the run have disrupted Nora's regular sleeping habits. Little rhyme or reason remains for her circadian rhythms to follow and she often appears more than a little bit tired. She rises at odd hours, sleeps lightly, and awakens at the faintest, most regular sources of noise. Worse even when she does manage to sleep through an entire night, Nora seldom ends up feeling well-rested. Perfectionist: For a bandit, Nora has exceedingly high standards of professionalism. She abhors the common rabble that surround her on a daily basis, despairing at their inability to live careful lives of disciplined criminality. Mistakes are for lesser scoundrels and Nora can think of few things worse than failing to achieve a truly exceptional level of skillful villainy. Distinctive Appearance: Unwisely for a bandit, Nora has ensured that her appearance is particularly noteworthy. Elaborate patterns of ink are drawn upon her olive skin. The stories of the desert and the long memory of her people are recorded by the obsidian dye. Diverse motifs, scenes tragic and joyful, are all wrought in the parchment of her flesh by the steady hands of a great master. Traveling across much of her body, the tattoos are inconveniently memorable, and while they can be concealed by clothing, all it would take would be an offending strip of fabric to betray the identity Zherpanian mercenary.
Background:
She turned to see that the sand had already claim her footsteps. She smiled then certain that she had escaped. She would travel to the Mavian Sea. She would seek her fortunes in a new land. She would forge her own fate with the edge of her sword.
"Where are you from?" the courtesan lazily inquired, a hand gently caressing the side of Nora's face as they lay together in the warmth of the tussled bed. The morning sun cut through the thin fabric that was tied over the small windows of the room, coloring the room a blood red orange. The bandit rested contently, warmed in equal parts by wine, pleasure, and her companion.
"Qudin," Nora replied, tasting the desert sand once more on her tongue.
"Qudin?" her companion asked, smiling softly.
"A village. A place. A scattering of mud huts nestled next to a small oasis, no more. It is nothing. A forgotten drop of ink on the map. A mere shadow of Sha Khadi, the great city."
"I have heard of Sha Khadi," the courtesan said with a pleasant laugh. "Tell me of the desert. I am told it can be quite beautiful."
"There is great beauty in the Yhemerian Desert, yes," Nora agreed, feeling the warm wind roughly whipping against her skin again. "An ocean of sand, crested by great waves, the endless dunes, that tower over mountains."
"The sailors say that the people there have forgotten mercy. I've heard stories about bandits," the courtesan said, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she pressed her bosom against Nora. "Should I be afraid of you? Are you going to hurt me?"
"If Lord Vargas asks me to, then I will cut your throat without a second thought," Nora answered honestly, noticing the predatory smile that danced across the lips of the courtesan. An unexpected reaction and an unwelcome response, it sent a surge of alarm coursing through the bandit.
"Oh my."
"I am a desert creature, Janine" Nora said with a shrug. "I was a bandit like many others. The desert is no place for mercy. Guillan is not so different, a life is traded for a handful of coins. Surely you are not surprised?"
"Of course not, my sweet," The courtesan purred. "Lord Vargas said you were a serious one. He said you were dangerous. I heard him say that you were a bandit, an infamous one at that. How wonderful it is that he was right. I grow so bored sometimes, listening to the same old stories. Are all your people bandits?"
With growing concern Nora studied her companion. Her soft smile, her deep green eyes, and her welcoming features. It was a clever ruse, the woman was an uncommon courtesan, and Nora found her all too interesting. Her features were too soft for her life to have begun in the slums. She was too brave, too curious...and far too loud.
She was dangerous. She was dangerous and Nora knew she should have stayed away. A problem for a new day. She had the coin to spare. Lord Vargas was generous enough. He did not begrudge her small pleasures. So long as she cut the throats of those he asked, what did he care how she spent her mornings?
"In good times, we traded, in bad times, we raided. Such is the way of the desert," Nora replied. Memories of blood and sand danced through her mind. Not all the memories were unpleasant. Banditry had always suited her.
"What brought you out of your desert? It is a far path to follow from the Yhemerian Desert to Gullian," Janine said, her sweet breath brushing against one of Nora's ears. Nora could feel flames traveling over her skin, beckoning her to continue as unspoken promises lingered in the air between them.
"Banditry is a simple profession. I was hunted and so I ran, but that was many moons ago, and that life has faded into the sands."
"It seems like an awfully exciting profession if you ask me," the courtesan interrupted and Nora gasped at a wandering hand that traced the edge of her neck.
"You are a stranger in these lands as well," Nora began, drawing her companion closer as she tried to take control of the conversation. "You are not from Gullian, I know this."
"No, I came here from Bavoria," the courtesan happily recounted, her voice rising with with obvious pleasure. "I was born in Villanova. Can you tell from my accent? It is very refined. Almost as refined as I am."
"Bavoria? I have been to this place," Nora mused.
"You have? Where? Did you see Villanova? Did you taste the wine? Please tell me you tried the wine! My family had an estate there once, before we lost- And then- And then- I had to leave-"
Nora let the silence wash over them. She knew better than to interrupt. She knew far better than to ask. She pretended not to notice the tears threatening to escape the eyes of her companion.
"Perhaps, a story for a different time?" the courtesan finally said as the moment vanished into the sunlight. "Did you happen to pass through Villanova? It's a beautiful city, the hills are so wonderful this time of year..."
"No, I was in the North," Nora continued, wishing to escape the moment of uninvited closeness that threatened to smother her. "I fought my way east in the company of sellswords. There was much work there for those swift with a sword."
The courtesan nestled her cheek against Nora's chest, brushing a finger slowly across one of the swirling patterns that traveled across Nora's body. The warm sensation of her delicate fingertips sent a tingling wave of pleasure that broke gently across the painted skin of the bandit. Nora felt herself relaxing, sinking into welcome depravity with each slow breath. "Then how did you end up here? I can't imagine that the fighting stopped."
"I left when it was no longer profitable. The coffers of our employer were beginning to empty. There are only so many villages to burn and only so many men to kill," Nora answered, remembering well the bloodshed.
"You have a black heart, you know that right?" the courtesan said, but Nora could see the smile that took shape on her lips. The interest, barely contained, and veiled beneath demure mannerisms was obvious to her. She wondered again what sort of woman it was that she had invited into her bed.
"What does my heart have to do with the matter? A job is a job. They were no kin of mine."
"You are a violent one, my sweet Nora."
"I do not belong to you," Nora replied coldly, fighting a sudden unwelcome urge to run. She could sense the snare tightening. She could see the danger. The threads of the other woman's fate threatened to tangle her own.
"Not yet, but you will soon, just you wait."
"You do not seem to understand."
"Oh, my poor sweet girl, you're the one who doesn't understand. You still think that you can live without me," Janine said with a sultry laugh, wrapping her arms tightly around Nora and forcing their lips together with abandon.
Flustered Nora, pulled away, and meekly shook her head in reply. Her words were a poor substitute for her swords. Emotional transactions were enough. Intimacy for a night was enough. She had no desire for more. She did not need complications.
"Continue though, my dear, tell me how you came here from Bavoria, please," the courtesan coaxed with a soft smile, perhaps sensing the disquiet that Nora felt.
"I passed through the Lands of the Tork in winter," Nora began with a low breath. "There was little work and I adopted the guise of a simple trader. My time among them was peaceful. They are an honorable people and did not trouble me. In time, I secured enough coin to buy passage to passage to the Lands of the Nine."
"You mean, the most Blessed Lands of the Nine, right?" Janine offered with a low smirk.
"Blessed indeed," Nora agreed with a faint smile. "Weak. Rich with water and coin. Easy pickings. A good place for a bandit."
"You came only for the coin then?" the courtesan said. Nora could feel the other woman's weight shifting against her, a hint of disappointment lacing her sweet voice with unwelcome bitterness. "Not for the wine or...?
"Do you think I came for pleasure?" Nora fumed. Unexpected offense had crept into her voice and she felt a tinge of anger.
"Ah, well, a girl can dream, can she not?" Janine said. Her soft hands traveled gently down her arm and Nora could feel her irritation fading with each delicate motion that the courtesan made. "I had hoped that you had heard stories about the many pleasures to be found in our lovely city. Maybe you came here to find love?"
"Your dreams will poison you," Nora replied as her voice rose in irritation and more bitterness than she had intended.
"As long as they taste sweet, what is one more bottle of poison for me to swallow?"
"You may choose your own path, but do not try to drag me with you beneath the sands," Nora solemnly declared, moving her hands in a warding gesture.
"Fear not, my sweet desert flower, I will only ask you to join my in the loveliest of ways. I would never risk the offense of the great Lord Vargas. He seems most pleased with your services. They say that you are quite talented with those curved blades of yours. Even Percival seems to think that you're a real killer. He seems to be positively terrified of you. Which is a shame, he's missing out on so much fun."
"I am no flower. And Vargas would not like it if he heard you mocking him so," Nora said with a deep frown.
"Do you plan to tell him?"
"No," Nora said, roughly taking hold of the courtesan and drawing her even closer as she leaned in close, her voice no louder than the weeping wind of a motionless night,"Your doom will be of your own making. I will not steal your fate."
"You know you'll miss me," came the low reply, whispered with a warm breath that brushed softly over Nora's lips and filled her heart with with embers of desire.
Nora knew she was trouble. She knew, but she felt no fear, she felt only compulsion. She had seen her end. She knew it as she knew herself. Perhaps it would be a woman. Perhaps it would be a man. What did it matter?
She could already feel the sand slipping through her fingers.
Personal Effects:
A keen curved blade, kept strapped to her left hip. A second curved blade, comparable to a short sword in length, kept strapped to her opposite hip. A third curved blade, a small dagger carefully strapped to the small of her back. A heavy ornate rifle, engraved by her own hand, usually worn across her back. A medium sized powder horn, painted with a strange swirling pattern of red ink. A full suit of chainmail armor, carefully maintained and kept wrapped in a waterproof skin when not in use. A flask full of a sweet, cherry flavored spirit from Lymms. A coin purse, far lighter than she would prefer.
Crashing the restricted area sounds fun, I'll wait a bit before posting again, but I'm down for that as a strat for the GIANT DEMON DUDE and trash alchemist.
I tend to think that third person past tense is best person in most cases. Within that umbrella, I'm also most partial to adopting a limited point of view.
You can do some fun things with first and second person, but overall it's more work than I find most people are interested in.
Third person presence has an unfortunate habit of annoying me in longer length RP posts, but it does make quite a bit of sense to use when an RP is very fast paced, uses table top mechanics on each post, or is being played out on some other medium.
Gender: Female Age: 23 Race: Human, Zherpanian Origin: Qudin, a small oasis in the furthest reaches of the Yhemerian Desert found to the west of Rekx. Religion: Ka'a Alissi Attire: A loose fitting hooded traveler's robe dyed a deep shade of midnight, chainmail armor, and well-worn leather boots. Although she no longer wears the modest face veils of her people, Nora nonetheless prefers to keep her face hidden whenever possible. Demeanor: Prideful, confident, focused.
Attributes:
Awareness: [2] As sharp eyed as a falcon, Nora is limited only by her lack of familiarity with the more delicate aspects of thievery. She knows how to spot danger. She knows how to spot weakness. She can smell a trap from a mile away and she knows how to track her prey. However, less clear to the desert bandit is how exactly a brothel operates or how a classic grift should play out. Intelligence: [1] A merchant must be able to read. A trader must be able to write. And a mercenary must be able to count offered coin. Nora is no scholar, but for a mercenary she is surprisingly bright. Strength:[2] Life across the burning seas of sand requires strength. Nora can carry her own weight and hold her own even without a weapon in her hand. Despite her uncharacteristically average size, through cunning and the correct application of force she has made a habit of besting men far larger than her. Wit: [2] A gifted tactician in matters of violence, Nora is alarmingly clever when it comes to figuring out how to hurt or intermediate others. Few mercenaries or lesser thugs can boast that they are as quick in lightening the pockets of the vulnerable or weak as the desert bandit. Dexterity: [3] Nora moves like water or sand, flowing forward effortlessly, and shifting out of grasp with the easy movements of a dancer. Willpower: [3] (Zherpanian +1) Nora does not know what it means to give up and she does not waver. Her will is a sharp blade of steel, honed to a razor's edge by the endless sands and merciless winds of the Yhemerian desert. Charisma: [1] Permitting her weapons to speak for her has left Nora with a markedly limited ability to charm and deceive those around her. Her appearance and bearings promise only swift violence to those that press her and most strangers steer clear of her as a result. Luck: [2] Nora possesses a soldier's luck. She is not particularly lucky in love or dice, but when crossing blades with her enemies she has just enough good timing to avoid more unfortunate outcomes or to do the right thing at most useful moment.
Skillsets
A History of Violence [2]- Intimidation. There is something deeply unnerving about the Zherpanian woman. She isn't the loudest, she isn't the toughest looking, and she certainly isn't the biggest, but somehow Nora comes across as deeply dangerous in the "will cut you into several smaller pieces without a second thought" sort of way that people find deeply unnerving. Bladed Tempest [3]- Dual wield. A veritable dervish in battle, Nora falls upon her foes like one of the terrible storms that rage across the Yhemerian desert. She wields her weapons as easily in either one of her hands, permitting her to take full advantage of clever angles and tricks. Soldier of Fortune [3]- Familiar Weapon. Skilled in the ways of wars, Nora has a knack for swinging a sword just so, wielding a rifle properly, and handling her enemies with violence at various ranges. Bandit of the Yhemerian Desert [1]- Brawn. To survive as a bandit in the Yhemerian desert requires an exceptional fortitude. Nora possesses a deep reserve of inner strength that she can rely on to overcome all manner of obstacles. The Simple Path to Wealth [1] (Zherpanian +1)- Bartering. Despite having a general lack of interest in pursing a vocation as a traveling merchant, as a member of the proud Zherpa people, Nora knows how to strike a hard bargain.
Flaws:
Insomnia: Years of vigilance and a lifetime spent on the run have disrupted Nora's regular sleeping habits. Little rhyme or reason remains for her circadian rhythms to follow and she often appears more than a little bit tired. She rises at odd hours, sleeps lightly, and awakens at the faintest, most regular sources of noise. Worse even when she does manage to sleep through an entire night, Nora seldom ends up feeling well-rested. Perfectionist: For a bandit, Nora has exceedingly high standards of professionalism. She abhors the common rabble that surround her on a daily basis, despairing at their inability to live careful lives of disciplined criminality. Mistakes are for lesser scoundrels and Nora can think of few things worse than failing to achieve a truly exceptional level of skillful villainy. Distinctive Appearance: Unwisely for a bandit, Nora has ensured that her appearance is particularly noteworthy. Elaborate patterns of ink are drawn upon her olive skin. The stories of the desert and the long memory of her people are recorded by the obsidian dye. Diverse motifs, scenes tragic and joyful, are all wrought in the parchment of her flesh by the steady hands of a great master. Traveling across much of her body, the tattoos are inconveniently memorable, and while they can be concealed by clothing, all it would take would be an offending strip of fabric to betray the identity Zherpanian mercenary.
Background:
She turned to see that the sand had already claim her footsteps. She smiled then certain that she had escaped. She would travel to the Mavian Sea. She would seek her fortunes in a new land. She would forge her own fate with the edge of her sword.
"Where are you from?" the courtesan lazily inquired, a hand gently caressing the side of Nora's face as they lay together in the warmth of the tussled bed. The morning sun cut through the thin fabric that was tied over the small windows of the room, coloring the room a blood red orange. The bandit rested contently, warmed in equal parts by wine, pleasure, and her companion.
"Qudin," Nora replied, tasting the desert sand once more on her tongue.
"Qudin?" her companion asked, smiling softly.
"A village. A place. A scattering of mud huts nestled next to a small oasis, no more. It is nothing. A forgotten drop of ink on the map. A mere shadow of Sha Khadi, the great city."
"I have heard of Sha Khadi," the courtesan said with a pleasant laugh. "Tell me of the desert. I am told it can be quite beautiful."
"There is great beauty in the Yhemerian Desert, yes," Nora agreed, feeling the warm wind roughly whipping against her skin again. "An ocean of sand, crested by great waves, the endless dunes, that tower over mountains."
"The sailors say that the people there have forgotten mercy. I've heard stories about bandits," the courtesan said, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she pressed her bosom against Nora. "Should I be afraid of you? Are you going to hurt me?"
"If Lord Vargas asks me to, then I will cut your throat without a second thought," Nora answered honestly, noticing the predatory smile that danced across the lips of the courtesan. An unexpected reaction and an unwelcome response, it sent a surge of alarm coursing through the bandit.
"Oh my."
"I am a desert creature, Janine" Nora said with a shrug. "I was a bandit like many others. The desert is no place for mercy. Guillan is not so different, a life is traded for a handful of coins. Surely you are not surprised?"
"Of course not, my sweet," The courtesan purred. "Lord Vargas said you were a serious one. He said you were dangerous. I heard him say that you were a bandit, an infamous one at that. How wonderful it is that he was right. I grow so bored sometimes, listening to the same old stories. Are all your people bandits?"
With growing concern Nora studied her companion. Her soft smile, her deep green eyes, and her welcoming features. It was a clever ruse, the woman was an uncommon courtesan, and Nora found her all too interesting. Her features were too soft for her life to have begun in the slums. She was too brave, too curious...and far too loud.
She was dangerous. She was dangerous and Nora knew she should have stayed away. A problem for a new day. She had the coin to spare. Lord Vargas was generous enough. He did not begrudge her small pleasures. So long as she cut the throats of those he asked, what did he care how she spent her mornings?
"In good times, we traded, in bad times, we raided. Such is the way of the desert," Nora replied. Memories of blood and sand danced through her mind. Not all the memories were unpleasant. Banditry had always suited her.
"What brought you out of your desert? It is a far path to follow from the Yhemerian Desert to Gullian," Janine said, her sweet breath brushing against one of Nora's ears. Nora could feel flames traveling over her skin, beckoning her to continue as unspoken promises lingered in the air between them.
"Banditry is a simple profession. I was hunted and so I ran, but that was many moons ago, and that life has faded into the sands."
"It seems like an awfully exciting profession if you ask me," the courtesan interrupted and Nora gasped at a wandering hand that traced the edge of her neck.
"You are a stranger in these lands as well," Nora began, drawing her companion closer as she tried to take control of the conversation. "You are not from Gullian, I know this."
"No, I came here from Bavoria," the courtesan happily recounted, her voice rising with with obvious pleasure. "I was born in Villanova. Can you tell from my accent? It is very refined. Almost as refined as I am."
"Bavoria? I have been to this place," Nora mused.
"You have? Where? Did you see Villanova? Did you taste the wine? Please tell me you tried the wine! My family had an estate there once, before we lost- And then- And then- I had to leave-"
Nora let the silence wash over them. She knew better than to interrupt. She knew far better than to ask. She pretended not to notice the tears threatening to escape the eyes of her companion.
"Perhaps, a story for a different time?" the courtesan finally said as the moment vanished into the sunlight. "Did you happen to pass through Villanova? It's a beautiful city, the hills are so wonderful this time of year..."
"No, I was in the North," Nora continued, wishing to escape the moment of uninvited closeness that threatened to smother her. "I fought my way east in the company of sellswords. There was much work there for those swift with a sword."
The courtesan nestled her cheek against Nora's chest, brushing a finger slowly across one of the swirling patterns that traveled across Nora's body. The warm sensation of her delicate fingertips sent a tingling wave of pleasure that broke gently across the painted skin of the bandit. Nora felt herself relaxing, sinking into welcome depravity with each slow breath. "Then how did you end up here? I can't imagine that the fighting stopped."
"I left when it was no longer profitable. The coffers of our employer were beginning to empty. There are only so many villages to burn and only so many men to kill," Nora answered, remembering well the bloodshed.
"You have a black heart, you know that right?" the courtesan said, but Nora could see the smile that took shape on her lips. The interest, barely contained, and veiled beneath demure mannerisms was obvious to her. She wondered again what sort of woman it was that she had invited into her bed.
"What does my heart have to do with the matter? A job is a job. They were no kin of mine."
"You are a violent one, my sweet Nora."
"I do not belong to you," Nora replied coldly, fighting a sudden unwelcome urge to run. She could sense the snare tightening. She could see the danger. The threads of the other woman's fate threatened to tangle her own.
"Not yet, but you will soon, just you wait."
"You do not seem to understand."
"Oh, my poor sweet girl, you're the one who doesn't understand. You still think that you can live without me," Janine said with a sultry laugh, wrapping her arms tightly around Nora and forcing their lips together with abandon.
Flustered Nora, pulled away, and meekly shook her head in reply. Her words were a poor substitute for her swords. Emotional transactions were enough. Intimacy for a night was enough. She had no desire for more. She did not need complications.
"Continue though, my dear, tell me how you came here from Bavoria, please," the courtesan coaxed with a soft smile, perhaps sensing the disquiet that Nora felt.
"I passed through the Lands of the Tork in winter," Nora began with a low breath. "There was little work and I adopted the guise of a simple trader. My time among them was peaceful. They are an honorable people and did not trouble me. In time, I secured enough coin to buy passage to passage to the Lands of the Nine."
"You mean, the most Blessed Lands of the Nine, right?" Janine offered with a low smirk.
"Blessed indeed," Nora agreed with a faint smile. "Weak. Rich with water and coin. Easy pickings. A good place for a bandit."
"You came only for the coin then?" the courtesan said. Nora could feel the other woman's weight shifting against her, a hint of disappointment lacing her sweet voice with unwelcome bitterness. "Not for the wine or...?
"Do you think I came for pleasure?" Nora fumed. Unexpected offense had crept into her voice and she felt a tinge of anger.
"Ah, well, a girl can dream, can she not?" Janine said. Her soft hands traveled gently down her arm and Nora could feel her irritation fading with each delicate motion that the courtesan made. "I had hoped that you had heard stories about the many pleasures to be found in our lovely city. Maybe you came here to find love?"
"Your dreams will poison you," Nora replied as her voice rose in irritation and more bitterness than she had intended.
"As long as they taste sweet, what is one more bottle of poison for me to swallow?"
"You may choose your own path, but do not try to drag me with you beneath the sands," Nora solemnly declared, moving her hands in a warding gesture.
"Fear not, my sweet desert flower, I will only ask you to join my in the loveliest of ways. I would never risk the offense of the great Lord Vargas. He seems most pleased with your services. They say that you are quite talented with those curved blades of yours. Even Percival seems to think that you're a real killer. He seems to be positively terrified of you. Which is a shame, he's missing out on so much fun."
"I am no flower. And Vargas would not like it if he heard you mocking him so," Nora said with a deep frown.
"Do you plan to tell him?"
"No," Nora said, roughly taking hold of the courtesan and drawing her even closer as she leaned in close, her voice no louder than the weeping wind of a motionless night,"Your doom will be of your own making. I will not steal your fate."
"You know you'll miss me," came the low reply, whispered with a warm breath that brushed softly over Nora's lips and filled her heart with with embers of desire.
Nora knew she was trouble. She knew, but she felt no fear, she felt only compulsion. She had seen her end. She knew it as she knew herself. Perhaps it would be a woman. Perhaps it would be a man. What did it matter?
She could already feel the sand slipping through her fingers.
Personal Effects:
A keen curved blade, kept strapped to her left hip. A second curved blade, comparable to a short sword in length, kept strapped to her opposite hip. A third curved blade, a small dagger carefully strapped to the small of her back. A heavy ornate rifle, engraved by her own hand, usually worn across her back. A medium sized powder horn, painted with a strange swirling pattern of red ink. A full suit of chainmail armor, carefully maintained and kept wrapped in a waterproof skin when not in use. A flask full of a sweet, cherry flavored spirit from Lymms. A coin purse, far lighter than she would prefer.
"Get up girl, by Grimnir!" He chastised. "We have no time for you to be playing with these troll-spawn."
Val had only just managed to settle upon a suitable insult for the geriatric wizard who had just saved her life when she felt an unwelcome voice smash into her already painfully echoing head. A magical command shouldn't have hurt that much. It shouldn't have rattled her skull. As she buried her head in her hands with a pained groan Val tried to remember what exactly she had laced the morning's arcane acid with. In between pained smacks to her temporal lobe, Val could make out a clear suggestion that felt more like a compulsion in her frazzled state.
Scatter.
"RUN OFF-BRAND GANDALF!" Val shouted as she beelined for the nearest exit with a new found breath of panic. She didn't care if Edgar followed her. She hoped he could still run. She wasn't stealing a golf cart for him. And she wasn't waiting for Maël. He looked more like a monster than the ape thing Edgar had nailed to the floor. Val was sure he could handle himself with teeth and claws that sharp.
Still staring behind her as she ran, Val barreled into a security guard that stood gaping in her general direction. The wannabe hero was sent crashing into the ground with the trash alchemist landing on top of him. She struggled against him, smelling the a mixture of sweat, doughnuts, and burned coffee.
"Get off me!" Val shouted, repeatedly hitting the TSA agent with her satchel as the he scrambled for the taser gun secured to his belt. She winced as she felt barbs and wires race past her, just barely missing her chest before they struck an unfortunate passenger standing behind her. Reaching into her bag, Val retrieved a dark green bottle and promptly smashed it into the forehead of the security guard.
The bottle burst into a collection of heavy shards that left the TSA agent wailing loudly as blood began to seep from the gashes that now painted his prodigious skull. Kicking as she jumped to her feet, Val vanished into the thick cloud of grey smoke appeared from the broken bottle.
She had to run. She had to keep moving. She wasn't going to let them catch her. No matter who "them" was.
Val decides to run, Edgar or Maël could easily have followed, but she's not waiting to see if they managed to keep up.
More than happy to collaborate or figure out where they end up and how.
Naril,
Abstract Proxy
