Zoey Boey

Cold Front: Tacitum (Completed)

@Berlin very cool

Cold Front: Tacitum (Completed)

join this RP if you're a cool kid

The Marauders (2018)

*vegitates*

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Dareen Kahina

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Dareen made brief eye contact with Gen after his comment about manners, and ignored Denvar talking as if Dareen wasn't right there. If they wanted to know what a Pruulish witch was wandering around Aren with an arsenal of weapons, they could just ask. No one had asked Dareen anything, yet. She'd answer when they did. Dareen shifted her attention off tweedledee and tweedledum and onto the one called Mikhail. He didn't seem like he belonged here, either. At the very least he didn't spend a lot of his time here. At the very, very least, his name didn't end in a god damn "-ar" sound. These winged, pompous Eyriens were really starting to grind her nerves. Randalvar, Xandar, Genvar, Denvar, Banvar, Shmanbar.

But, one good thing has come of this. The Black Widows still exist, and yes, they are in hiding. Still, their unfortunate circumstances doesn't seem to have steeped their ego, any. Which was...typical.

Dareen brushed some of the hair that had been sticking to her forehead out of the way of her face, and tucked it back beneath her hood. Suddenly, there was that prickling sensation in the back of her neck. She was probably safe in here, she thought. This place radiated pompous arrogance, but not backstabbing murdery vibes. Still, force of habit. Dareen stood, walked over to a corner of the room, and leaned against it, crossing her arms. Her right index finger began tracing the line pattern beneath her left sleeve.

The Yellow-Jeweled mercenary thought about her predicament. Right now, her goals were abstract. Something that probably wouldn't do as a proper explanation. Her old job didn't exactly paint her in a positive light. She'd certainly done nothing to help the plea of the Black Widows. She blinked away an image of charred corpses and sniffed, rubbing her tattooed face with the palm of her hand. Dareen was struggling with her place in the world, she needed to reel it back in. These people could be allies. You've barely gotten to know them, Dareen chastised herself. Stop acting so recklessly. She was out of her element. Dareen rarely spent time in the presence of upper class nobility. Often, she just got names and locations from people like Faeril and Xandar. Who to kill, and where to find them. So much money. So few questions. Answers. Justice. Concepts weren't a goal. Dareen had just wanted to get away from her past, and was plagued by a question. Why?

Dorothea. That's the woman she wanted to learn more about. Her employer, though she was presumably much higher up on the totem pole than the people who gave Dareen work. Hidden away in some ivory tower, flooding the lands with gold and blood. Excessive wealth was something Dareen had nothing but contempt for, despite being nothing but greedy and jealous almost her entire life. Well, no one ever said one cannot hold contempt for one's self.

Shaking herself out of her internal monologue, Dareen's brown eyes un-glazed and sharpened on the room around her once again. She zeroed in on Mikhail, this time, ignoring the comments of the brothers.

"Yeah, Mikhail. Watch your words. Wouldn't want to incur the wrath of your superiors." Her words were not genuine, of course, but her tone was dry. She made no attempt to make her sarcasm obvious. Protocol, she thought derisively. An asinine concept, to fluff up the ego's of those who believed themselves better than anyone else simply because of how they were born. It helped no one except those keen on oppressing others. She'd been told by so many people in her life to "know her place" it made her sick.

Reel. It. In. She thought the words again, almost laughing at herself. This place was clean enough without your additional soapbox, Dareen. Regardless, the woman stood in the corner, radiating apathy and looking at Mikhail.

Cold Front: Tacitum (Completed)

Reika Saigyo

Gymnast/ Casual wear	Reika Saigyo Gender: Female Age: 28 Height: 5 feet, seven inches Weight: 111 pounds Occupation: Council Member, Overseer of Cocaine production and distribution

Background

Her father was a ruthless man. Mizuno Saigyo was a killer, a leader, and a cold, calculating genius. He taught his daughter everything he knew. It was not a loving relationship, but it was an...effective one. Reika is a relentless over achiever, and from youth she trained during most of her free time and became a particularly talented gymnast and even martial artist. So when Mizuno died in his sleep a few years ago, his daughter was the heir to the throne of the Saigyo dynasty, as it were. But long past were the days of running the criminal underground of Japan, and having international connections. Reika made a move- she would focus on strengthening bridges with once-neglected allies of the Crogiolo Syndicate. A few years later, she had lost personal power, sure, but the dynasty survived. It only made sense to merge the two fully, and a year ago Reika moved to a house in Chiavo. The once proud Syndicate needed strength, and so it allowed her a seat on the council in order to bolster their numbers and presence in the city.

So, for a while now, Reika has been quietly working, gathering wealth and clout within the Syndicate, managing the Cocaine division as well as providing muscle for the other members whenever they needed it. And now, well, whatever wave of so called "justice" brought her father's dynasty down in the east, has swept west. The pigs are at their heels and there is a traitor among them.

Resources

Leftover intelligence connections in Japan

Reserve henchmen from the old Dynasty.

Trained martial artist and gymnast.

Narcotic subdivision, and the wealth granted from the control of it.

A tea kit.

Her father's ceremonial katana- dusty old thing. Still, there is something quite charming about it.

Cunning and wit are her most vital allies.

A knitting kit.

Various knick knacks collected over the years, usually historical, or military artifacts from long ago.

Crimes

Racketeering.

Murder.

Cold Front: Antarctica (Completed)

lmao

THE END

Cold Front: Tacitum (Completed)

Here's Reika. Let me know if I need to change anything, really, anything at all. I have a couple back up ideas for characters. I just noticed the Crogiolo Syndicate wasn't a familial or generational one, so I just put this idea I had to paper of someone who was born and raised in a similar, but very distant, environment.

Reika Saigyo

Gymnast/ Casual wear	Reika Saigyo Gender: Female Age: 28 Height: 5 feet, seven inches Weight: 111 pounds Occupation: Council Member, Overseer of Cocaine production and distribution

Background

Her father was a ruthless man. Mizuno Saigyo was a killer, a leader, and a cold, calculating genius. He taught his daughter everything he knew. It was not a loving relationship, but it was an...effective one. Reika is a relentless over achiever, and from youth she trained during most of her free time and became a particularly talented gymnast and even martial artist. So when Mizuno died in his sleep a few years ago, his daughter was the heir to the throne of the Saigyo dynasty, as it were. But long past were the days of running the criminal underground of Japan, and having international connections. Reika made a move- she would focus on strengthening bridges with once-neglected allies of the
Crogiolo Syndicate. A few years later, she had lost power, sure, but the dynasty survived. It only made sense to merge the two fully, and a year ago Reika moved to a house in Chiavo. The once proud Syndicate needed strength, and so it allowed her a seat on the council in order to bolster their numbers and presence in the city.

So, for a while now, Reika has been quietly working, gathering wealth and clout within the Syndicate, managing the Cocaine division as well as providing muscle for the other members whenever they needed it. And now, well, whatever wave of so called "justice" brought her father's dynasty down in the east, has swept west. Now, the pigs are at their heels, and there is a traitor among them.

Resources

Leftover intelligence connections in Japan

Reserve henchmen from the old Dynasty.

Trained martial artist and gymnast.

Narcotic subdivision, and the wealth granted from the control of it.

A tea kit.

Her father's ceremonial katana- dusty old thing. Still, there is something quite charming about it.

Cunning and wit are her most vital allies.

A knitting kit.

Various knick knacks collected over the years, usually historical, or military artifacts from long ago.

Crimes

Racketeering.

Murder.

Cold Front: Tacitum (Mafia Party Game)

i'll be there

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Dareen Kahina

Dareen looked down at herself as the rain was heated off her cloak. "Oops," She said insincerely. She leaned onto the arm of the couch, resting her knuckles into her cheek, staring up at Faeril like an impetulant teenager. Yes, she thought to herself as the Eryien carried on about Protocol. I do know I tend to bring trouble onto those undeserving. She's done it many times in her life time, and it's something she hasn't quite gotten around to fully coming to terms with yet. Still, she hardly had any respect for those who claimed to be deserving of respect just because they were born in some way or another. Protocol was just another tool of the oppressors, whoever they may be. Still, Dareen was interested to find out what was going on here. Whoever these people were, they didn't seem to be friends of the Queen Dorothea. They probably would have demanded money or something, by now. The Pruulish woman wanted to learn more about any opposition there might be.

But nobility were usually part of the problem. It was hard not to see everyone in the higher castes as issues. Often they all looked, acted, and talked so similar to each other.

The "Reaper" (he most likely chose that name himself, Dareen thought) was being invited out of the room. The Eryien witch switched into her native tongue, and pointed very directly at Dareen. The Pruulish woman responded by gesturing at her own chest and making a surprised face. "Who, me?" Her facial expression said ironically.

She made herself more comfortable on the couch as some people cleared out. Whatever it was, it was clear she wasn't invited. What an odd day this turned out to be. Now a little more alone, she re-evaluated her strategy. She was annoyed by the fact she was here against her will. But, still, isn't this where she wanted to be? She wanted answers, didn't she? Questions like: Why was Dareen and her mercenaries sent out to bully and harass seemingly innocent people? What happened to all the Black Widows? Why was there a hidden pit of drea inside Dareen's heart? She'd never really thought about her faith in the establishment, or more rather her lack thereof. Disillusioned in her life choices, the Yellow-Jeweled Witch had set out for answers. Now, here she was. Being tsked tsked at by a woman with perfect hair and perfect nails. Some things never change.

Cold Front: Antarctica (Completed)

womp womp