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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lady Amalthea

Okie dokie... dead Astrid coming at the group near the water treatment plant, as if Thalia isn't taking enough of an emotional beating right now. I'm wanting her to put the Viking chick out of her misery sword & shield style, if you count a machete and E-tool as a sword & shield. (One must economize in the apocalypse, you see.)
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli

Страшная католическая девушка & Vladimir Alexandrov



Vladimir and Mary stepped into the tent of the Grand Duchess to what appeared to be the middle of a chain of very strange events unfolding. The present incarnation of The Great Bazhooli really, really wanted to say something about the overabundance of what he desperately hoped was tiger snot. Were it anything other, it would open them up to a host of questions that Vlad was unwilling to ask, which may have prompted answers that he was highly uncomfortable hearing anyway. The expression on his face seemed to communicate all of these things at once; his mouth was agape and hands were gesturing in a futile attempt to ask and yet not ask simultaneously, mind measuring the weight of his curiosity against the awful conversation which may ensue were he incorrect. And in front of Nuns, too.

More pressing issues were at the fore, anyway. There was a celebration afoot; a combined affair of a good handful of things of great importance. Well, great importance to the Circus, at any rate. And of course, the Graveolase. Mary cut through the strained stares and aghast, horribly confused looks of Vladimir by addressing Elizaveta directly, responding to her wish to attend the meeting tonight. "There is yet time, Grand Duchess." Mary held out the message from the Graveolase for Veta to view. "It would appear that they are changing the venue to the Russian Imperial Circus. I am, at least for the moment, acting with the authority of the Arch Graveolase. They are bringing the meeting to us this evening."

Vlad could not contain himself any longer. There was a point to be made, and if he could not discuss the unfortunate predicament of his fellow showman, he would most definitely alter his train of thought to the present discussion. "Da! And they vill arrive to grand celebration of lights and sound! Dancing and singing to put tventy Almack's to shame, vith vodka, vine, and eatable delights to tantalize their reserv-ed tastes!" His eyes were wide, as were his arms, gesturing with grand waves and swoops to punctuate his words, grabbing fistfuls of air. "Tonight, Mamushkas are for us." He whipped off his tall top hat, finally wrapping up his speech and bowing as if playing to a crowd. A flourish brought it back to his very dignified head. "If you are up for it, of course, little Veta. If you still need rest, ve vill speak to Graveolase - I or Baron, maybe Viktor... No, no Viktor..."

He trailed off, losing himself in a fast approaching thought. "I vill need to get out target vheel... and you, Costantin! You have been making the good jobs today. Tonight ve feast and perform. You have hard day. Do not have to perform, if don't vant to. Good? Good."

Mary couldn't help but look at Vlad as he cavorted and spun the tale of his vision for the evening's festivities. To her credit, she kept her face serene the entire time. Underneath the surface, she had to give Elizaveta credit for the fortitude necessary to be in this man's presence constantly. He was an experience. But then, she was brought up in this society. Mary wondered briefly if there was a little Bazhooli lurking deep within the Grand Duchess somewhere. "Oh, but I must apologize for my lack of manners. If you have not already met at the church, this is Sister Lazarus of St. Etheldreda's. Sister Lazarus, I have the honor of presenting the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. Additionally, this is Master Vladimir Alexandrov, heir to Baron Alexandrov and master of the, um..." She paused briefly, intent on pronouncing the next words correctly, "Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya. Master Alexandrov, Sister Lazarus."

Courtesy suggested that she give this moment over to brief pleasantries, if they wished to continue. Vladimir jumped uppn the opportunity. "Ov course, is pleasure to meet! You are velcome, Sister Nun Lazarus, to stay and partake in feast and merrymaking ov Russian Imperial Circus! Experience vonders and dancing from far corners ov Empire, da? And ov course, have seat ov honor near Sister-Knight Mary during receiving Graveolase, if thing is called for in meeting... Vhatever you are vanting, The Great Bazhooli is at immediate service." He dipped into a bow, one hand holding his hat in place while the other flourished dramatically. "Vill you be staying vith us?"

Meanwhile, Mary beamed a small smile in the direction of Adam, who had obviously ingratiated himself with Veta and her big tiger. Truly a remarkable child, especially considering his very recent history.
In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Newhope - Docks -> Lady Luck


"Posthaste, my loquacious companion! exclaimed Foy. "I believe the good doctor has expressed a desire apart from my attentions; at the very least until the first highball change her opinion. I am wearing my pleated trousers, you see. When combined with alcohol, they become positively magnetic. Pleated trousers, indeed. Tipping his own hat and taking off after Atticus at a jog. As he caught up to the Foysculpted Parson, he engaged the man in dialogue befitting someone of his station and experience. Oh, Shepherd? I say there, Atticus old boy... whyever must you accelerate beyond the desires of your cadre of fellow dock pedestrians? It might be misinterpreted as the act of a boorish individual, of which a minute minority of this crew holds any claim." He came to walk alongside the advancing priest, giving him a sharp and witty smile. "I've an idea, Shepherd. Myself and the highly esteemed Dr. Jahosafat Moreau were just engaged in dialogue concerning the appropriateness, or lack thereof, in casual and open displays of the fracturing of Biblical ethic. That is to say, how shall we acquire full understanding of the error of our ways, or to be succinct, "Sinning", unless we are give a structured tutorial on the very subject? Indeed, this is a head scratcher."

Foy pointed a finger toward the sky, displaying a very sarcastic Eureka moment. "Aha! Providence may have just provided the proper inspiration to achieve our goal, sir! We shall require a demonstration! Yes, a hands-on, participation required demonstration of several of the most decadent applications of our Seven Deadlies. How else will our Dear and Shiny Lord be able to forgive us, if we are bereft of incidents to forgive? Hmm?"

Naturally, upon actually entering the establishment, Foy saw several such opportunities for sinning in all of the usual ways. He listened intently as Jahosafat pointed out the dance floor, agreeing in totality with his sentiment. "Indubitably! I too feel the steadfast pull of the waxed, smooth wooden floor, prompting many a toe to be tapped. I simply must find out somehow if the house music or any live performers have a more or less civilized selection of music, naturally. Some good Core or Farradayan stock. Oh! A frontier line, perhaps? You know how I adore a good frontier line dance."

But in the meantime, I must see to tradition. Whisky, neat; as befits these surroundings. Come along, the first snort is on me, my finely suited compatriot, then I must find out if this place deals in less subtle, horizontal refreshments. To the barkeep!"

Jubilant but not stupid, Foy did not know the level of respectability of the establishment. He kept conscious of the weight of his valuables in the places he kept them, and bright, keen eyes scanned his surroundings (particularly the people in them), partially hidden by the brim of his very dapper bowler hat.


William Harper
Location: Newhope - Docks -> Lady Luck


Harper gave a polite nod as Daphne accepted his arm. He surprised himself with that level of contact, considering the mild paranoia that seemed to never quite go away. Maybe after a drink or two and some time to relax, the vast majority of the past three years would all be nothing more than an unpleasant memory. He had adopted a few different personas since breathing free air, this one was thankfully more like the person he was years ago. Still, he needed to assimilate into this new lifestyle. Leading a young lady to a social gathering was normal after all, wasn't it? Well, it was for them, so it would be for him.

He made himself remember what happened to the real Lieutenant Harper (that sadist), and it conjured the necessary warm smile that made him appear, for all intents and purposes, just a pilot looking forward to going out for a while with some company. "This way, ma'am," he said with plain optimism, leading Daphne down the dock and into the streets of Newhope, trailing others in the group who he really hoped knew the way to this nightspot. He made it a point to memorize his surroundings, just in case he had to beat a hasty retreat back to the ship.

As they neared the club, Harper removed his hard currency from his usual pocket, splitting it into separate amounts and changing their location on his person to deter pickpockets. Entering, he was momentarily set back to find that the best tables to preserve his anonymity with a quick shot to the outside were taken. It would be a wait for a table, if one opened at all. But there was a spot at the bar.

Harper wasn't an amazingly huge fan of the bar. Too exposed. But he was just one guy in a crowd, like everyone else. More colorful individuals would draw the attention, and subsequently, stick out in people's memory, making a couple of his new crewmates damn near ideal in this regard. So, with a shrug, he located an open couple of spaces and looked to Daphne. "Buy you a drink while we wait for a table?"
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez

Location: La Hacienda


A long, doleful sigh issued from Caesar, back in his private rooms. He hadn't been here for a long time, and it looked as clean and maintained as a hotel room. If the hotel room were decorated in Northern Mezoamerican Splatterpunk, anyway. Crisp bedclothes and polished wooden chests gave a contrasting feel of sophistication to the master bedroom, along with simple but high quality furniture and a series of more modern electronics. This was the room of a man with one foot in cultural history and the other in the necessities of the modern era. And a poster of himself captioned with "Chuck Norris? Never heard of her." that he really should have taken down years ago, but still gave a chuckle every now and again. Not today, obviously. But sometimes. Perhaps he'd blow it up and use it as a motivational poster for the Familia while he was away, which was really all of the time, anymore.

But he had wasted too much time in his rooms for now. As painful and tedious as this whole thing was for him, Caesar was obligated to greet his extended family and be seen by them, among them, as one of them. He was their patriarch. So, by way of the busy, working kitchen, Caesar returned to the house's courtyard. He was armed for a prolonged battle, and horking back a tortilla filled with whatever steaming hot meat they were carving up for the next meal. By the time he had shoved it in as far as it would go, the venerable Mexican began shaking hands and nodding quietly to the people present. After a bit of social hobnobbing of this nature, he happened across Cecily, carrying her glass of sangria. Noting the mild "fish out of water" vibe, he quietly asked her, "You good?"

Elsewhere in the courtyard, the seasoned Mexican's niece had located, and been accosted by, a trio of fully fledged, mask-wearing Luchadores, and had been lifted onto one of their shoulders. This particular one had a brown and black mask resembling a sugar skull and profuse hair on his arms, not unlike one of the legendary creatures of the United States's Pacific Northwest. Her eyes were still sad, but her mouth found a curious smile.

J. Keystone

Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub


The most basic of internet searches found the picture of the woman in question, including a good, clear one with her wearing a lab coat and looking directly into the camera. Keystone still had no idea who this person was, but the name was the important part. Between that and an image, he was good to begin his pitch to the boss. Oddly, the large man reflected on where he might have seen the face before, positive that he had checked everything that he had access to bearing said name. In the end, he decided to ask the guy in the know and not to try to puzzle out that difficulty himself. Positive that he was doing the right thing, Keystone attached a copy of the photo to a text message and sent it off to Caesar:

"You know who this is? Name of Dr. Amy Chang, recruited your friend Natasha to Justice Memorial. Hope this ain't an issue."


After he sent it off, Keystone noted with deepening concern that this lady was a roller derby aficionado. No, nothing could be rightly done about it just that second, so with some resignation Keystone had to sit back and wait for the rest of the background check to go through. With any luck, this was a thing that would blow over, a mere detail in the general, overall works.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
James & Thalia


Location: The Meet (Three-way intersection near the Hershall Norred Water Plant)


Though Thalia had thanked James, her mind was partly in denial. How dare this complete stranger say these things about her family? Alicia and Caesar were the two biggest badasses she knew. There was no way that she outlived them. It just didn't add up. Either he was lying or... or Thalia was being foolish. She knew that they were dead and just needed to find out for herself. This odd man in the middle of the road had no reason to lie to her. They were gone. The piece of her personal quest that kept her in what used to be Georgia was done. Thalia had already mourned their loss. What she had now was closure. Finally, she was free to go.

James wasn't sure what else to say to her. Or the Kiwi. He stood there for a couple of dry seconds before stretching his hand out to the both of them, saying, "Hey, we missed introducin' ourselves. Name of James Mandingo Grady. Most folk that know me call me Black James, tout suite..." It was the general, optimistic greeting he gave when he was meeting new people, though this time the words were a little more lackluster. "I just wish there was something I could do for y'all. Most folks get tea or somethin' after bad news..."

He wanted to say more, extend some measure of comfort, but before he could think of anything, James heard Ryan urge him to turn around. The moment that he did, he really wished that he hadn't. Braided, blonde hair, leather armor, roundshield slung across her back. The lady in question was long dead, but that tiny detail didn't stop her from walking toward them.

Thalia craned her neck to see around James, taking a step to her side to get a better view. She caught herself, an audible gasp preventing a sob from escaping. In the still of the cool air, she could just barely hear the woman back at James's truck ask a pointed question as to the woman's identity. A tiny bit of shock came over James and a little more than that came over Thalia. Their voices intertwined as they both spoke simultaneously, only partly in answer to the question:

"Astrid."
"Astrid."

A half second of total disbelief smacked them both, mirrored on their faces, each. They locked eyes for that half second and immediately returned to the corpse shambling at them. It was enough to knock the displaced Gonzalez back into the here and now. She noticed that the man who had brought James's attention to the very familiar Zed was now pointing a firearm at it. "Wait! Please. Astrid was a Shieldmaiden. I stood the Wall with her. She deserves better than that." Her voice was suddenly fierce, but colored by grief. She risked a step forward, asking everyone on the other side of the intersection, "I pull a weapon and handle this, are we all going to be cool?"

In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Passive Skills:
  • Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
  • Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)


The mood of the flamboyant Gentleman of the Russian Circus known as "The Great Bazhooli" could barely contain his absolute jubilation at the news that Elizaveta was not just awake and well, but also hungry. Hungry was usually a good sign, which he grasped with both hands in the classic tradition of his people: With flaming overkill.

A sense of sudden energy came about the man as he threw his hat back upon his head, covering over the filigreed, red bandanna holding his prominent, lightly oiled mane of chestnut hair down. Vladimir's face brightened, the first warning as the level of animation his limbs were about to achieve. The explosion of happy was palpable from three tents away. "Yes. Yes! Ve can have the dinner. All of us! A thing for celebration!" He moved in closer to the Grand Duchess and the boy, Adam, who remained in bed, voice gathering as a snowball tumbling down a powdered mountainside. "Grand, massive feast of Russian succulents and savories! Ve show everyvon..." he crept nearer to the Grand Duchess, spasmodically flexing his hands in front of himself to emphasize the fervent nature of his speech, "...Da, everyvon see that spirit of Russian Circus vill not be step-ed flat by attack in dark!"

He raised to his full height, eyes maniacally bright and twitchy. His voice grew powerful, and the light in the room seemed to darken slightly in response to choke hold on the dramatic. "All of the peoples and beasts of the Londons vill see the strength and grace of the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Petrovna Romanova! Feasting! Holding court vith Baron Alexandrov, Great Bazhooli, Roman Catholics, and Arch Graveolase! There vill be music! Dancing! Fires to light up sky, beacon of hope and defiance versus Soulless and monsters alike! Da! VE DO THIS THING TONIGHT!" Vladimir dropped his histrionic mannerisms for just a second or two, just long enough to politely address Elizaveta in quieter, doting tones, "You have good idea, Veta. Excellent plan. You do nothing but sit and enjoy. For before dinner, I send back fresh bread and honey for you and boy. Maybe beet or two. Beet good for him. Good for you, too. You eat. You rest." A smile began to slowly creep across his features as the gleam of utter Bazhooliness returned.

"THEN VE FEAST!"

Vladimir burst out of the tent with such force of personality that people nearby shirked back in unexpected awe. He cleared his throat, prepared to address the Sem'ya, when a realization smacked him. He quickly poked his head back into the tent, intoning hastily, "прости, little Veta. Vill be back in short time." The second explosion from the tent was not as impressive as the first, but his words were taken with the fullness of respect due The Great Bazhooli in his own home. He drew two of his larger knives from among the many on his person, twirling them around himself as he spoke. "Circus closing! Bring music, lights, acts back to Bazhooli Sem'ya Tent City! Tonight, ve celebrate! Grand Duchess is safe and vell! Tonight, circus perform for Circus." From among the people who had gathered, Vladimir pointed to select members of the Sem'ya and called them forward for special instruction.

"You: Am needing extra security peoples on perimeter. Everyvon celebrates, so you are keeping shifts short, rotate often. Guards on Veta's tent, all times. No von drinks until after turn at shift. You: Get cooks moving food for selling into Tent City kitchen instead. Use good stuff. And you: Places of honor at big table in front of assembly. Veta, Baron, Great Bazhooli, eh... Sister-Knight Mary, and usual places. I think Scary Catholic Girl has Nun friend vith her now. All ov you, go now!" He sent them away with a mighty flourish of tailored linens and bright steel.

Among the crowd, he located his son, calling out to him, "Konstantin! Ah, good son, there you are. Veta is awake now, and passionately hungry. For please, get her and boy some of the bread from today, vith pot of honey and jam, da? Oh! And smoked beets. Is good for boy. Thank you, thank you." He was aware that he had been heaping a lot of responsibility on Konstantin as of late, mostly in the form of tasks generally suited to menial laborers or servants. In a way, they all were. In the Circus, everyone who was able to worked, everyone served everyone else. It was a matter of survival in an unsure world. But Konstantin was, potentially, the next Great Bazhooli. He needed to maintain a sense of humble service to his people, and proud standing with everyone else. So far, he was doing very well with both. If only he would start showing the unbridled panache necessary for the job. All in good time, hopefully. "Am proud of you, boy. You do good."

His own sense of pride in his people rising, Vladimir leapt atop a nearby table, arms outstretched (and still holding blades), calling to uplift his people. "Ladies and Gentlemans! Gypsies, Nobles, and all between! Tonight, ve raise voices! Tonight, ve light lights! Dance! Sing! Celebrate! Tonight, ve show all of London-town that ve are strong! That ve are unafraid! That ve are bright light in time of darkness! Ve are Rusyn! Circus! Ve are Sem'ya!" Resulting cheers from the circus folk gathered could likely be heard for miles off. Vladimir was proud of his people, indeed. And since his father, The Baron, hadn't roared various obscenities from inside of his tent, he could only assume that the elder Alexandrov approved.





"I will defend those who cannot defend themselves. I will be faithful in love and loyal in friendship."
Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)


Meanwhile, Sister Mary carefully cracked open the letters, one with the seal of the House Crypt and the other bearing the mark of the Graveolase. She thanked Sister Lazarus again and selected the letter from Virginia first. It was fitting, considering that they had some discussion to get back to, previously interrupted by the carnage at Almack's. The idea had been brought up about meeting sometime that day, although no solid plans had been confirmed. Yesterday afternoon seemed so far away, what with all that had happened. If Mary had forgotten something or missed her somewhere in the shuffle, then she was due a personal apology as soon as possible. Nothing the Graveolase had to say, with few possible exceptions, would be as important to her at that moment. Not far behind her, The Great Bazhooli was in the process of rallying his people together.

Reading the letter from Virginia revealed a far worse circumstance than she had feared. The life of little James Crypt, the Viscount Wenwynith, was being threatened by forces unknown. Mary was touched that Virginia had enough faith in her to request aid in the endeavor to protect her family. Lord knows that with their reputation, there was always the possibility that someone in the British military would be less inclined to put forth their best effort to ensure his safety.

Uncertainty gripped Mary. Even with her elevated position, what could she do? Putting her into the protection of the Church at St. Etheldreda's was only useful if people didn't know that he was there. Even then, it would be a temporary measure. Calling for right of Sanctuary wasn't as absolute as it used to be in this country. Her communications with the Grand Cross of her Order were adamant that no additional Knights nor men-at-arms could be made available, considering the widespread simultaneous series of attacks that had taken place last evening. The other Knights of St. Sylvester had their hands full, seemingly worldwide. Even the Vatican must be tightening their ranks...

The Vatican. Of course.

Realization slammed into Mary like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. Maybe there was something she could do. As the wheels began to turn in her mind, plotting the best method of using whatever resource was at her disposal, a light smile crossed her face. Yes, she could help. Without doubt she could help; and she intended to do just that. The Oath she took to become a Dame demanded this of her, to the best of her ability. Mary took a half step away from her location before she remembered that there was another letter for her, which she opened and read quickly.

When she skimmed the letter, the surprise of it forced her to slow down and read it more slowly, enunciating every word in the fore of her brain. "They are coming here, Sister Lazarus. The Graveolase is coming here to meet with me. Excuse me, but would you please come with me, Sister?" Mary turned and walked through the crowd of people dispersing to busy themselves with the grand party that Vladimir was screaming about moments ago. "Master Alexandrov! Master Alexan..."

Her presence was noted by the flashy performer, responding with a stalwart laugh and good tidings. "Ah! Страшная католическая девушка!" Mary noted with the slightest annoyance that he referred to her as "Scary Catholic Girl" again, but was willing to overlook it for the greater good. "You stay for supper, yes? Big time to have! You, Veta, your friend maybe, guests of honor, da? Music, dancing, food. Good time for talking. Your boy stays too?"

"Yes, of course. I am honored to accept the hospitality of the Russian Imperial Circus, Master Alexandrov. With your leave, please, I have just received word that the Graveolase is planning to meet me here, sir. I know not how many they will number, and it is too late to send word otherwise. I am sorry to inconvenience your people in this way, Master Alexandrov."

"HA!" he roared in a single laugh. "Ve have prepared for evening to expect most of London. Ve have food, ve have wine, ve have vodka. Abundance of all, Sister-Knight. They vill be as welcome as yourself."

"You have my gratitude. If I may call upon you for another favor, please?" she inquired with humility.

"For certain!" Vladimir replied with a flourish, "Your gracious presence breathe life into air around us; The Great Bazhooli is in your debt for mere attendance at Circus, Sister-Knight Mary! You ask, ve vill do vhat ve can."

It seemed a greater compliment than was necessary, given the circumstance, but Mary smiled politely back at him before making her request. "I desperately need to pen a letter to a friend in trouble, and have it delivered as quickly as possible this evening. Someone important to me is in danger."

This revelation seemed to throw a hiccup in Vladimir's overly positive attitude. Just for a moment, however, as if it was covered over immediately by the sheer force of the man's charisma. "You go to my tent. Red and black, over there..." He pointed nearby, across the commons. "You go there, vhat you need is on my desk. Vhen done, ve have best horses and riders in vorld, take message for you. You go now. Tell friend to come here, if vant. Ve make party!"

Mary was already running to the tent as Vlad was finishing his sentence. She shouted a quick "Thank you!" behind her as she left, not stopping until she got into the man's tent. There was an oil lamp lit inside, which Mary turned brighter in her search for the desk in the dim light. Settling behind Vlad's desk, she penned a letter with practiced but flowing script, fully legible despite the haste with which it was written.



Mary sealed the letter in wax and pressed her crucifix into it, giving it as much of an official seal as she could just then. Further, she wrote down the address of the Crypt Townhouse on another, along with easy directions. Considering the nature of the family, it was very possible that they could not miss it. Mary stepped outside and passed the letter off to Vladimir, who was still in the area barking orders. He accepted the paper with a determined smile, flagged down two of his people, and handed it off.

A brief conversation ensued involving the directions, the riders trying to memorize the instructions as much as possible so as not to need to refer to the paper constantly. Vlad reassured Mary, "Everything is right. They are good vith English. Many are that chose to come here for Season. Others come to learn. They are good." He seemed fairly certain about his people.

Mary added, "Thank you. If you need directions, a member of the local Constabulary is duty bound to assist. Otherwise, the Crypts are well known. Further, she might be attending a funeral. I know not where it is being held, however. Please try to locate her as best you can, it is urgently important. Thank you both so much."

"Good!" exclaimed Vladimir, wrapping things up. "You deliver message - put in hand, da? You go. Fast as you can. I go to Veta."

Vlad looked to Mary. Mary looked to Vlad. "Thank you again, Master Alexandrov. I am in your debt now, it seems." she said quietly.

"Nonsense! Come, ve go see Veta now."

"Indeed." Walking alongside the apparently generous Russian, Mary returned to Elizaveta's tent, excited and relieved that she was back in the land of the conscious.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lady Amalthea

Would it be possible to get the content of the letters before the next round, so that I might have Mary react to it?
In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks



It was excellent to have Peter in his office for a visit and a little late morning tea, even to meet his friend from the war. It was an awkward meeting, that much was certain, but he hoped a generally positive experience for both his nephew and his new guest. Aside from his little ...incident... and that of his favorite Corporal, it seemed to go along swimmingly. Sadly, their time together had to come to a temporary close, seeing as both he and the Lord Captain had matters of business to attend. "Positively, my boy. Meanwhile, I shall see to issues of our little Fellowship and the Barracks. Speaking of which, the first matter should be arriving any minute. Do have a pleasant day, Peter. I shall see you again soon. Oh, and it was a rare pleasure meeting you, Mr. Benaszewski. My best to you and your family."

After the pair left, Reginald signaled for a steward to clear away tea service and bring around a tall pitcher of cool water with a set of tumbler glasses. It promised to be a series of lengthy conversations, and a gentleman tried to be prepared for any eventuality he or his guests may require.

What occurred next began a chain of events that would give the venerable Lord Major a sense of droll satisfaction. It was the plan, at any rate. But the perpetual smugness that ordinarily came with being a ranking officer in His Majesty's Armed Forces would have to build a bit first. One does not flash boil tea, no, one brings the water to a gentle simmer before allowing it to politely cross the border into a low, murmuring boil, then introduces the proper amount of just the appropriately oxidized tea leaves to steep, thusly creating that nectar of the gods, English Tea.

When the guard knocked and announced the presence of the Reporter and the Starlet, Reginald responded with an authoritative, "Excellent. Do show Miss Clark inside, and have Mr. Elvsgaard take a chair in the lobby. Wait just outside my door in the interim, soldier." As the door swung open to admit the first of what promised to be two interesting exchanges, the Lord Major exclaimed warmly, "Please Miss Clark, come right in. Welcome to my professional sanctum, spartan as it is. Take a seat. Do help yourself to a glass of water or a vanilla crisp. Oh, unless you would prefer something more ...fortified? We have much to talk about."
In 🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed) → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lady Amalthea

Ok, good to go. Keystone's actions were moving and speaking, no rolls needed. Next?
In 🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed) → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Keystone

Location: Deymins Tower
Interacting With: Sana, Kyra


Heeding Sana's words about bathing in ammonia, Keystone responded with an affirming grunt. Looking around the area, he noted with grim satisfaction that the group had quite effectively managed to bludgeon, stab, or otherwise manhandle their opposition into inanimate submission. With one exception, but its unlife was drawing to an unceremonious close so long as the quartet of people (and bear) around it didn't all accidentally slip on the same random orange peel and impale themselves on each other's weapons, resulting in one of Keystone's more diligent concerns: The death of his group. Again. But so far as checking on Sana - The dead guys were dead, she was not; they weren't moving, she was. Overtly, that was the entirety of his reason for approaching. In reality, his more protective instincts were showing themselves.

When Sana suggested that he make for the stairs, her body language implying that she had the remainder of the room (including Nor's pet dead guy) under the watchful attention of her bow, Keystone responded with a grim, "Yeah, on it." and moved to join Kyra on the stairs. As he arrived, he voiced a suggestion of his own to the platinum haired Ranger. "You might ought let me in front, play meatshield for a bit, yeah?" If nothing else, the burly pugilist was fairly certain that Kyra wouldn't mind using him as a mobile bulwark, taking the first hit if necessary. "Don't you worry. I'll try to keep the arse vapors to m'self."
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