May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Coordination and information for the various volunteers of BDI.
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May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 6:05 pm

Correspondence of Thieves
~~ Part 1/2. - Igor Kossov
~~ Section: Roleplay
Date: 14th May 2003

She was fast. Nimble. Skilled. And looked like complete street filth. Whether that was a front or not, he could not tell, when she slammed into him as if from tripping over something, and expertly lifted his pouch so that it fell on her foot. She grabbed it and tried to make good her escape from Black Dragon Inn. It might have worked, except there was a flaw she failed to calculate for beforehand and adjust her methods accordingly. The person she tried to rip off was none other than the Correspondence's crow: Markham the Grey.

He caught up to the fleeing girl rather swiftly when she collided with a semi-drunken human opportunist who tried to rascal the pouch for himself. The small-framed elf reacted quickly, and with a knife. The pouch was his.

The opportunist departed to get drunk and the girl was held at knife point. She steadfastly insisted at first that he seemed like an easy target, and then, that he himself was not her mark, but due to her loss of balance, she got him instead. Grey was however not born yesterday, and did not believe a word of the story. When she entered the inn, he had vanished onto a nearby rooftop, donning the whole cloth over his mouth routine. Only the elf's dark-seeing eyes were visible, to trail her back to the forest reserve where she decided to make her rudimentary lodging. To leave her would be folly; to kill her would solve nothing. So in spirit of the Correspondence, he left a note instead, pinned to a rotting log with a generic throwing knife.

"Street rat - Be at the burned-out smithy in Uldrath's alley at two in the morning tomorrow. Come ye alone or come not at all."

After that, using the rooftop route, Markham made his way back to the staging grounds of his fellow thieves.

The little elf walked among the darkened halls of the ex-church turned hideout, searching for someone. Bremen was unavailable, but Markham the Grey wielded enough influence and authority to be able to make his own decisions. The juxtaposition of status and his tiny physical size was surprising until one talked to some of the individuals who had the pleasure of dealing with him, whether on the hilt, or the point end of a knife. He was the quiet type, yes, the unexcitable, inordinately agile, extraoridinarily patient, and being able to hide in such places that the lay thief would only shake his head at. The most important part in making "The Grey" unsettling was that no one ever knew what the hell he was thinking.

As usual, that was the situation when he strode into a low room where a few of the thieves lounged about. They were hardy criminal-types, folk who were never above or below slitting someone to get to the gold. As Markham walked in, two pairs of eyes turned to him. The third, disinterested, was trying to balance a dagger on his finger.

"Ferret," the elf spoke, addressing one of the men. "Can you go check the pair?" The one called Ferret grumbled but complied and lazily walked out of the room. He knew perfectly well that his not being there meant that he was not supposed to know about what they would talk about. Markham turned then to a cloaked, hooded fellow, who seemed to have a perpetual leer about him. The face was deformed in some places, but still had hints of its former handsomeness. Red pinpoints blinked in his eyes and he cradled the wicked black scythe in his hands as if it were a beloved.

"I'm probably going to need you, Nock" Markham said.

"I'm a hired serviceman, Grey" was the response. Nevertheless, the man's face came alive, in a... deathly, morbid sort of way.

"You'll be paid, grim. I need someone who can stalk and watch my back. And not blab things. Ferret's got a big tongue, so you're it."

"Who?" Nock the scythe-wielder twiddled a bit of string around his bony index finger.

"A street rat tailed me today and tried to rip me off."

"You didn't stick her on the spot?"

"I think she was working for someone. Someone's trying to weasel into the correspondence."

Nock nodded. "Makes sense. You want me to do her? Lost your nerve? What is she pretty?"

"Pretty like a rat. I'm busy so I need to have someone watch her on some days when I can't.... But nevermind you, grim. You'll just kill her prematurely and blow the whole thing."

"The reaper knows whom to take and when," was the scythe-man's sage remark, before he lowered the weapon in a symbolic fashion. "She will not die unless Father Death beckons her name."

Markham peered at the death's devout but said nothing. One had enough of these religious-types up to the throat. He turned to the other man in the room: a goliath of immense proportions, and bearing slight orc features in the set of his jaw; his eyes. "I'll need you too Daggon. I told her to meet me in Uldrath's alley. If she brings people, you'll cover me."

Daggon the orcblood peered at the small elf and grunted.

"Does the boss know about this?"

"I'll tell him," Markham replied. "After we see her."
Last edited by Jayne on Sat Mar 26, 2016 2:29 am, edited 2 times in total.

Jayne
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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 6:08 pm

Correspondence of Thieves
~~ Part 2/2 - Mindy Stukel
Date: 15th May 2003

Smidget was tucked away safely in the forest reserve, in a small cave created by a few large boulders, situated just perfectly to provide decent enough protection from the elements.  Stretching along the eastern banks of the Darian River, the same river that Smidget took a dip in during the wee hours of the morning, is where the street rat had taken shelter; tucked away safely in the forest reserve in a small cave created by a few large boulders situated perfectly. Perfectly enough to provide adequate protection from the elements, as well as nocturnal creatures, while providing decent cover to avoid detection from any patrolling guards.

Her sleep was restless, dagger clutched in her nimble fingers all night long.  Though her eyes were closed, she only dozed here and there. Hearing alert, the snap of a twig alerted her to the fact that she'd been followed. The sound of a *thwunk* as the cold steel of a throwing knife is stabbed into the old dead log just a few feet from the entrance of the cave created by the boulders. It wasn't thrown. She could tell by the sound it made upon impalement and by the fact that the low whistle one usually hears with a thrown weapon was non existant. Though the elf tried to keep his footfalls from being heard as he slinked away, Smidget heard him anyways. Her grip on the dagger's hilt relaxed a bit and she allowed herself to rest.

The Next Day
Wet clothes finally dried, the ass of her pants stained by the dirt she sat in all night with her back lent against the surface of one of the boulders. Standing, she takes a few minutes to stretch; spreading her arms out to the sides and arching her back rather deeply -- a few creaks and cracks from the center vertebrae of her spine break the silence.

With caution, she peers out from the cave-like shelter and scans the immediate area, including a careful look to the tree branches above. All clear. Out she steps, setting charcoal eyes on the knife standing erect in the old dead log. Using the corner of her tunic as a makeshift glove, she grabs hold of the hilt, the knife is plucked from its place and the note stuck to the blade is carefully read. The street rat is careful not to touch the parchment, however. She has her reasons for not leaving her own set of fingerprints on both items.

"Street rat - Be at the burned-out smithy in Uldrath's alley at two in the morning tomorrow. Come ye alone or come not at all."

Lowering the knife a bit, she looks around the surrounding area again, thinking carefully. There's two things she has to do before meeting this man.

The street rat heads off, making her way from the Forest Reserve to the Black Dragon Inn. Bypassing all the commotions in the common room, she takes the stairs, two at a time, and vanishes into room.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, she is seen heading out of the Inn and off towards the docks. What takes place down there is unseen and unknown by all; save for one particular person.

She discovers she has a good few hours to spare before the appointed meeting, so she takes the time to do a bit of poking around. What she discovers, may be revealed in the near future. For now, it remains a mystery.
Last edited by Jayne on Sat Mar 26, 2016 2:30 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 7:21 pm

Dositheus
Author: Nick Kyriazes
Section: Roleplay
Date: 19th May 2003

The door opened to a small, unadorned room. A bed, well stuffed with down pillows and coarse but functioning sheets dominated the floor space save for a single chair which currently was cluttered with a traveler's cloak, a heavy pack, and several articles of clothing which laid haphazardly upon its seat. A single lantern dimly flickered on the wall, and its dancing flame cast eerie shadows upon the wall, transforming mere clothing into monstrous denizens of nightmares. The door was well oiled, and little sound was made save for the heavy, exhausted footfalls of a young man as he entered the room and methodically checked the hallway before closing the door.

Dositheus moved about the room slowly, his pace even and controlled as he gingerly snatched the articles of freshly washed clothing from his forearm where it was draped, and transferred it the framework of the bed. Dexterous fingers easily separated the wet material, and he made short work of the chore. When he was finished he dragged his fingers through his rapidly drying ebony hair, hugged tiredly, and heavily sat upon the edge of the bed causing the rope latticework beneath the mattress to quietly creak in response.

Dositheus was tired, there was no denying the simple fact, and his bloodshot gray eyes fluttered shut against the dim lighting of the room as his body cascaded forward and onto his knees like a toppled statue. He sat there for a long moment, his arms curled around his torso, and his body resting upon the expanse of his thighs as his brain threatened immediate shut down. The strain he had placed upon himself today was immense, for he had traveled no less than 20 miles, laid down several incantations on the entranceway of the inn, visited a bath house, and managed to find a nearby stream to rinse his clothes in.

The night had lazily stretched into the gray hours of the early morning, and still there was one task left uncompleted. Dositheus murmured quietly to himself, and gathering up strength he tensed his muscles before forcing himself back into a sitting position. His back throbbed in protest, earning a numb rub in return as Dositheus blearily blinked the quickly approaching sleep from his eyes. When he finished, and clarity returned, he found his vision focused upon a piece of parchment extended from the lip of his heavy pack. A small, tired smile tugged the corners of Dositheus' mouth, and with tempered excitement he eagerly took the parchment and unfolded it.

Dear Dositheus,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I have little doubt that your situation has changed much since I last viewed you through my crystal bowl. Once again I must commend myself for having the foresight of providing you with my sword prior to your exodus from the chantry. I know it has served you well, and it has aided me tremendously in my efforts to track your movements across the oceans and through distant lands. I trust that it will continue to assist you in the near future, for I fear this letter bears dire news indeed.

As you have no doubt already surmised Theodore knows your location as well as I do. The man has paid a terrible price in Hubris for his tracking efforts, and I fear his efforts to follow your movements are beginning to have a disastrous effect on his health. I fear he may wither away and die before he has a chance to come to his senses, and realize that Anthony's death was not your fault. I realize that you do not share my concerns for his health, but humor an old man who has seen Theodore in far better ages, centuries before you had even entered this world as a matter of fact.

Theodore also knows that I am contacting you to warn you of his discovery. To sum the situation up briefly, he knows that I know that he knows. Armed with that knowledge he is undoubtedly traveling towards you with all possible haste and I fear you may not have long before he makes another attempt on your life. Be wary and prepared however, for he knows that Hubris now cleans to him like vermin to a leper, and it is likely that he will not confront you directly this time. He has a number of contacts in the area ranging from nobleman to whom he has given council to in the past to a powerful werewolf named Dark Fang. All of these pawns may potentially be brought to play by Theodore so be on your guard, and even if a person does not crackle with magical energy, they may still be a foe.

I wish you the best of luck in evading Theodore and his minions, and I pray for your eventual, nay, inevitable safe return to the chantry. You may also be interested in knowing that I have recently contacted Marcus, and have informed him of your current plight. He has expressed great concern for you, and it goes without doubt that much of the staff at the cathedral holds you in their nightly prayers. May the Lord protect you and guide you, may he keep you steadfast, and may he protect you from the sins of a wrathful Theodore. I hope to see you soon my young apprentice, for there is much that I have too teach you.

Sincerely,
Donatus Marcellus

His tenuous smile turned to a wistful expression of sorrow as Dositheus slowly lowered the parchment onto his lap. The news regarding Theodore was anticipated what he had not expected was the fresh waves of homesickness that the letter carried. Dositheus had been away from the chantry for over a year now due to Theodore's tireless attempts to end his life, and with the mage's dogged tenacity it looked as though his exile would stretch on into yet another year. Slowly, Dositheus let a breath out of his heavy, aching chest, and his hands carefully folded the parchment and gently laid it upon the clothes strewn across the chair.

The young man then carefully eased his tunic up over his head, his arms forming crescents out of the exhausted pain that flared when they attempted to bend further. The lamp flickered, and cast shadows along the burn scars that lined his torso and upper arms, the marks of an earlier attempt made by Theodore. The shirt carelessly was tossed to the side of the bed, and his pants soon followed suite as an exhausted Dositheus prepared himself for bed.

Dositheus sprawled forward, burying his face in the pillows with a murmur of hard won content. His arms lay about his body akimbo, and as his toes absently dug into the mattress he realized he had left the lamp on. With a groan he rolled to his side, and briefly glared at the offending candle before he made a swift gesture with his hand, and mumbled a few words in Enochian. The candle snuffed, Dositheus burrowed his way deep into the mattress, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 7:33 pm

Within The Library Of Knowledge
Author: Ernest Witemore
Date: 19th May 2003

His eyes shifted uneasily as he looked through his library, nothing seemed to be disturbed. His Gargoyle stood quietly towards the back of the library unmoving and uncaring. The books which he had left on his large wooden desk sat agelessly collecting a fine amount of dust.

Cole shut the doors behind him and moved slowly to the desk, His eyes only glancing at the books for a moment before looking towards his crafting room door. Thoughts of the past went through his mind and heart.

Images of his many summons, and spells cast within that room. Joyful moments of when he would accomplish a new ritual. And of course the times when he would fail them. A small shake of his head was given before turning his attention to the doors that led to his Private chambers. Thoughts of the he loved washed through him. Ashlan had been a great inspiration to him.

Cole pulled out the chair of his desk and sat down after what seemed like hours to him, his hands idly pushed off the books to the floor. He would of released a long sigh if Kindred breathed. But alas he only sat there, While his icey blue eyes looked towards the desk. He had to explain to a few people and knew not where to begin with them. The last time he spoke to anyone other than Ashlan. He had been discussing the possibility of a Soul Transference to a childer. So that with his demise he would be able to live on.

To those that last seen him, it was only a matter of weeks, but the truth be told. To Cole the time was much longer, The time did not even measure into Decades, but into the centuries. He had truly only come back to retrieve a few items that he needed to finish His final ritual. Much has changed within his heart and mind. A final look to the desk was given before he stood and began to make his way towards the direction of the Inn. For the short amount of time that he had spent there. His mind would never forget its location nor The people within it. For with out knowing two of those people affected his thoughts on existence.

His hand moved up to his face as he walked down the darkened path towards the in, a moment's pause was given when he could make out the lights in the distance.

"It has been a long time Kristoff" He spoke softly to himself as his black colored robes soared about him in the nights breeze. Approaching the steps of the inn, he stopped looking hard to the doors. Much to explain he had thought to himself and much to hear I am sure. Within a moments click of time his hand moved to the door and he swept through the threshold.

Jayne
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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 7:38 pm

Within The Library Of Knowledge
Author: Catherine
Date: 20th May 2003
Part: 2/2

Ashlan, slowly woke feeling something was just not right. She wondered the roads of the city in awe of what has woken her from the depths of torpor. Finally she comes to the entrance of the library. Love is what woke her. Love that fickle emotion that mortals experience. Janythis now missing and those on the ship refuse to tell her of his location in fear she to will disappear. Not even her attempt of running away into the depths of slumber has done her any good.

"Cole my beloved mentor and friend where are you...help." ...Ashlan waits with the Gargoyle who stands quietly near the door in that disturbing silence ever guarding the location of Cole's most favored haven. Ashlan returning to one of her own race where she belongs. She realizes this now somehow and ponders as she waits if it is indeed to late....to late to share those things Cole spoke highly of. Ashlan changes form and rest at the door as a small white Persian kitten with long fur that keeps her warm on chilly evenings.

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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 7:46 pm

Magistrate Seeks Assistance
Author: Alexander Wood
Date: 20th May 2003

Posted around town on various boards:

Reknowned Magistrate of Drache seeks adventurous types to aid in small recovery. Legal, potentially dangerous. Payment upon delivery.

Inquire at Starmetal Forge,
office of Lytia C. Seward.
Last edited by Jayne on Fri Mar 25, 2016 11:48 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Jayne
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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Fri Mar 25, 2016 7:47 pm

Killers and Bandits
Author: saobhsims
Date: 21st May 2003


The figure was nearly invisible except for two small spots of light on his face. The black shielded all from view, he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face, but he could tell it was there when it blocked out the light. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a slice of dry bread. He ate it slowly and without a sound.

It was his fourth day in the loft; the occupants of the house were completely unaware that he was there, unflinching, as any movement would cause the rafters to creek loudly betraying his presence. If he did make a sound he hoped that the well to do family that owned this well accommodated four storey house would be dissuaded from investigating because of the recent overblown reports of large baby eating rats.

He peered through the two hollow bamboo shoots that had been rammed through the thick thatch roof one above the other. He’d been watching the house for three days now, drawing this bow at each sign of activity sighting through the bamboo shoots. Two pieces of cloth fluttered in the wind where he had tied them before moving in to occupy his hide; One from the oil lamp outside the target house and another from the upward pointing finger of a large stone statue in the middle of the square.

They had been in place before the target arrived at the house, with the information the his client had given him about the mark he had figured it best to mark all preparations and enter his hide before the mark or her body guards arrived. He had not been allowed to strike when she’d arrived. The client was still involved in negotiations with her father but on the eve of the third day he had been given the signal; a dropped handkerchief as his client left the inn next door.

In the distance he could see the ornate roof of the Headquarters of the Royal Guard, a few streets past his target and to his rear a meagre two hundred meters away was the forest reserve where he could throw off or engage any pursuers before jumping into the Darien river and swimming into the bay and making the last light rendezvous with the ship he had chartered.


The schooner rocked gently in the mouth of the Darien River, its anchor on the bottom holding them fast as the ship strained against it wanting to be carried out to sea. Saobh paced the deck a worried look on his face. Was it right that he did this thing? How could he justify it? Despicable acts so that he could restore the honour of his family and his father. He didn’t know what the man in blacks purpose was, he hadn’t seemed to be fleeing from the law. He’d even conversed with a member of the guard in the inn seven days previous just after they had made their arrangements.

He shook his head; he checked the ships time piece and remembered the information on the inshore chart of Drache’s coastline. In half an hour if they raised the sails they would have the wind to sail upstream over the anchor releasing them before the off shore winds kicked up allowing them to leave amongst the flotilla of other ships taking the same advantages of the wind. He could abandon his legacy, his duty to avenge his father and return to one of the Korthai fleets and live out his years as a trader.

It wouldn’t work, he was obligated to become a privateer of the Anrongatian Empire and harass her enemy’s on the high seas. His father had spent his life at it, loosing his life some months ago along with five hundred members of their Korthai family aboard three other ships. The cost to the Royal Family and the Guard had been minimal, their coffers were not liable for any of the major expenses, the riches and ships captured from pirates or enemy states were supposed to fund the privateers operations.

A Privateer would never be honoured for his bravery or courage. They were quite necessary, it was a big ocean and every ship counted but they were essential legalised pirates, mercenaries on royal contracts. The problem was that he could not get a contract, he could not afford to make the small schooner battle ready, and she was just barely seaworthy only fit to said around the head past Aran keep and up the Malchar to Elfspire. He needed this mans money to make repairs and to provide armaments.

He looked about once more and headed below for a minute. A few minutes later he came back on deck with one of the ships boys and started walking to forward to the anchor chain. The child paused at the mast and mumbled something, Saobh nodded his approval and the twelve year old scampered up the mast. He would be saying his goodbyes; there would be no way to know if they would ever find his way back to the ship again. A sudden hissing sound and he was back down from the top of the mast sliding quickly down a length of rope.

Saobh pulled four gold coins from the small pouch on his belt and handed them to the boy, “Keep them in different pockets and let nobody know you have them. At the Black Dragon Inn have the lady behind the bar change just one to coppers if you cannot make it back to the ship. He doubted the child would hang onto the money for long in the city; there were always people who would have no trouble taking a Child's last copper let alone some gold coin.

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Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Sat Mar 26, 2016 1:57 am

A Quiet Evening for Dositheus
Author: Nick Kyriazes
Date 22nd May 2003
Section:: Roleplay

Dositheus paused before his door, and cautiously glanced over his shoulder to insure the hallway remained empty of the typical motley assortment of inn patrons. Once his anxiety had been settled, he turned his attention to the door, and briefly passed his hand over it in a complicated pattern. Softly uttered words of Enochian echoed down the narrow corridor, and in a rather anti-climatic fashion Dositheus turned the knob, and entered the door without further flourish or flash.

Crossing the threshold of his room brought about a barely contained smile from the young man as he absently toyed with memories of the evening's successes. His smile grew wider as he vividly replayed his chance encounter with the intriguing, pregnant fairy in his mind's eye. He peeked out the crack into the hallway, closed the door, and with a contented sigh turned back towards the room.

He had first looked over the room without critical reflection, and now he found his tremendous error appalling. The window was half-open, and the drapes were lazily flapping in the breeze, clearly a condition that he had not left the room in when he had descended into the commons. His alarm raised, and a deep frown creased his tanned face as his eyes rapidly scanned the remainder of the room, and keenly rested upon the far corner that was draped with shadows darker than they should have been given the limited light of the lamp.

The opaque shadows dropped away without warning, and Dositheus jumped back and into the closed door in shock as they pooled about the floor like a discarded blanket. Unveiled by the shadows was a tall, slender man of pale complexion and dark velvety clothing. The man's cheeks were gaunt and as bloodless as a cadaver was, and his sunken eyes were surrounded by shadows as dark as the vanished mantle that had concealed his body. The man's thin lips drew back into a sneer, and the tips of ivory fangs glittered in the flickering light of the lamp as his body slowly uncoiled like a cat's.

"Mitrophan, to me!" Dositheus cried, his voice sounding more like a terrified scream than the confident bellow he had intended. His arm extended to his side, and his fingers wiggled in anticipation as the long sword wrested itself free from its scabbard and flung itself into his grasp. The creature in the corner exploded into action simultaneously with the sword, and threw itself at Dositheus with hands, nay, claws extended! Dositheus' eyes fell shut involuntarily, and he felt his body tense as he swung the blade forward with as much strength as his terrified will could muster.

An unholy shriek echoed through the room, and Dositheus fell once more against the doorway as the sword drifted to his side and his eyelids fluttered open. Once again the creature was at the far end of the room, carefully nursing a deep gash inflicted on its left forearm. It hissed and spat angrily, its fingers carefully probing the bloodless wound which apparently, despite the creature's best efforts, refused to heal in the manner it was expected to.

"Curse you!" The words were spat out with a heated venom born of self-justified vengeance. The creature slowly lowered its wounded arm, and despite the shadows concealing its eyes, seemed to glare at Dositheus as it slowly stalked its way around the bed. It angrily clicked the claws of its unwounded limb together, the elongated digits making a staccato rhythm of hair-raising rasps. "Theodore said you would be an easy catch, my fee will easily be doubled."

Dositheus found himself confronted with an unexpected emotion, panic. His heart thudded wildly in his chest, and a cold sweat broke across his body as he attempted to force himself into the doorway, seeking to meld with its unbending wooden frame. His first strike had been a lucky one, the creature had come on too fast, and he was simply too frightened for it to have been anything other than luck! He rolled his tongue about dryly within his mouth, and his eyes struggled to find another tool, anything that could lend him an edge within the room.

His eyes settled upon the flickering lamp hanging above the vampire's head, and for a brief moment a burst of hope surged within his chest. Without giving the vampire time for a second lunge he extended his hand towards the lamp, causing the vampire to briefly glance over his shoulder at the light source. Nimble fingers quickly danced an impressive jig through the air, and crisply spoken Enochian resonated through the room. A moment later the glass of the lantern exploded outwards and the once petite candle flame exploded into an impressive and vibrant ball of fire.

Dositheus' would be assassin released a second unholy shriek, though this one was distinctly born of terror rather than pain. It shied away from the flames and the shadow fell away to reveal pale eyes wide with fear. It stumbled away from the torch, and towards Dositheus who in turn shied away from the vampire. It shrieked again, and Dositheus adjusted his grip on his sword to prepare for another swipe as it stumbled even closer.

The vampire turned away from the flames, a crazed look stamped upon its gaunt features, and focused on Dositheus, or rather through Dositheus, and at the door behind him. Eager to be free of the fire, the vampire dove once again at Dositheus, this time intent upon cutting the young man down and bursting through the doorway. Dositheus screamed as well, this time in true terror and he recognized the rabid nature of the creature's actions. Once more he found his vision blurred as he exploded into action, and this time the shriek proved to be deafening.

Dositheus allowed the sword to limply fall to his side; its duty done as it had managed to bite a second, more savage wound, this time into the creature's shoulder. He watched as the creature bounded away, sailed through the window, and disappeared into the ebony nightscape beyond. His clothing was soaked with the icy sweat born of terror, clung to his body as he slowly slid down the door and slumped to the floor. With a sense of disbelief, and emerging joy that he was still alive, he watched the flames roil about the wall, barely controlled by the hasty incantation he had cast upon them. With a wave of his fingers, the flames were dispelled, and the room fell into darkness.

For several long minutes after the encounter, the only sound heard within the small room was the ragged breathing of a young man thankful for his life. A short while later, that breathing gave way to gasped laughter, which then gave way to hysterical mumbling and giddiness. Soon, after his celebration had ceased, Dositheus dutifully reshaped the wave of the candle, and with a second incantation re-lit the room's only source of light.

The young man then wandered over to the bed, and heavily sat down upon its cusp. His pulse was still racing, and his chest still rose and fell with the deep breaths of a man overwhelmed by adrenaline. A small mile formed on his lips, as he spied a letter protruding from the lip of his pack. He took it into his shaking hands, and slowly unfolded the message.

Dositheus,

I fear that Theodore may have recently contacted one of the vampire's residing within the city. If my assumptions are correct, and they often are, the vampire he will be contacting is Serge Drumkauf, an assassin that he has contracted out to service the chantry before. Be on your guard, for Serge is a powerful vampi-

Dositheus allowed the letter to drop from his hands, and fell back onto the bed in a fit of riotous laughter. Timing is everything Theodore, timing truly is everything.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
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Lucinda Darke
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Location: Australia

Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Sat Mar 26, 2016 2:17 am

Uncertain in the basement.
Author: Kel Russell
Date: 22nd May 2003
Section: Roleplay

It sits in a basement beneath a house in Drache, surrounded by artifacts long forgotten.. swords and armour encrusted with jewels.. chalices, crowns, various gems and stones and jewelry.. religious bits and pieces that had been saved.

A long, blue, snake-like tail trails upon the dirt floor.. a sheen of ice causing the scales to glitter like platinum sapphires. Wings of white-blue lay limp, the soft feathers appearing to be encased in ice. Arms hold the body up, shaking while sparkling like new-fallen snow.. a head down-turned.. a face hidden by darkness.

It has its eyes open, looking at its reflection in a mirror on the floor.. wondering things that it ought not need to wonder. Things that it never would have wondered before.

Before Drache.

Before BlkDragon Inn.

Before.. everything.

Scars dance on its arms and its tail.. its plumage used to be vibrant yellows, blues, greens.. its scales were once verdant like a jungle canopy. It was once beautiful in its own right.. bright and wonderful like the flowers in the deep jungles. It was from the Beastlands.. it belonged there.

Now it looked like winter.

Now it looked like snow and ice and death.

It slammed its fists onto the glass, shattering it with a shrill cry. In a fit of white-hot fury, it lashes out with its tail, sending the remains of the mirror across the basement. It didn't like this. It didn't want to be this way.

It didn't want to be around people anymore.

Too much had happened to it when it decided to seek out people. It was harmed, injured physically and emotionally. It wanted friends, made enemies.. fought Drow and other people.. told men it could not love. It didn't want to. It didn't like human men. It wanted to be alone again.. a hermit in a cave of wonderments.

It gripped some dirt from the dirt floor, its tail streaming along the floor like an icy, scaley, river. Hunching its back and shoulders, it let out a loud, shrill scream.

Could it be heard outside the basement? Maybe.

Would people acknowledge if it could be heard? No.

Quill screamed. It screamed.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
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Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: May 2003 - Mail Achieves

Post by Jayne » Sat Mar 26, 2016 2:30 am

Letter to Lucius Von Strahl..
Author: Unknown
Date: 23rd May 2003


Lucius Von Strahl..

Let it be known first that I, Ebeneezer Sink, retain faith in the guard and their dutiful service to we, the Public Of Drache. However, I observe that Vampires remain at large in our fair city, despite thy efforts to remove them.

While I am aware that the central concern of our guards is the 'Rat Situation', I do believe that some effort should still be invested in Removing The Undead. My employee and I were recently accosted by one of their unlovely sort in a tavern known as the 'Blackdragon Inn' - a tavern I am assured thou wilt be familiar with. (We had business in this area.)

I took the time to complete a sketch of the Vampire whilst he continued to berate us. I believe the likeness is accurate.

[ A remarkably detailed picture of Rastor is included. ]

I hope thou wilt find time to apprehend this fiend and - (I am at a loss to think of a better term) - exterminate it. Please also note that if thou needst a method by which to destroy rat corpses, thou may have full access to the morgue's crematorium.

Yours sincerely,

Ebeneezer Sink,
Drache Morgue.

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