Kargth
Established
Knight of a time long past,confused of who and what he is he travels the lands seeking for answers.
Roleplay posts: 45
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: 7ft tall and built like an ox nothing can be seen under his armor.
Clothes and Equipment: Wearing armor made of darkest metal and wielding a blazing sword Kargth is a sight to behold. His armor is etched with script with a language he does not understand. His sword blazing with magic he can not conceive of. The armor he wears is as much a mystery to himself as it is to others.
Registered: Jan 25, 2017 21:39:37 GMT -8
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Post by Kargth on May 9, 2019 20:38:11 GMT -8
The doorway, as the knight approached it, would swing open as he neared. Inside was an array of books, some piles as high as the ceiling, others reaching to an average man's waist. Behind a sturdy desk of oak, decorated sparsely, sat the resident librarian, Malagos. Malagos had his bifocals on the edge of his nose, his hands busy with holding a book upright. When the knight entered his office, the mage flicked his eyes at him, his hands placing a marker in his book and closing it. Placing his book on the desk, he folded his hands on top of the leather binding. "How may I help you?" Kargth looked around the room, seeing tomes and books piled high, some seemed so old that a mere touch would cause the books to crumple into dust. He walked closer to the Malagos, being careful not to disturb the mountains of books and paperwork as his bulk caused some of the towers to tremble. After a minute of careful navigation, Kargth arrived at the desk and looked down at the librarian. "I was directed here by one of your, staff." Kargth said slowly. "I am Kargth, Leader from a land far to your north. I am doing trade with your, empress." He said that last word carefully. "I do not speak common tongue well and I am not able to read it but simple words. I must learn it to further my studies. They said you had books that would help?"
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Malagos, Keeper of Knowledge
New
Roleplay posts: 5
Age: Physical: 35
Physical Description: Malagos reaches to six foot flat, usually higher, courtesy to heeled boots. Neatly shaven and trimmed, Malagos cuts a striking and handsome picture at no lack of trying, through magical and normal means. His eyes are a royal azure, usually kept down upon the pages of a book.
Clothes and Equipment: Royal purple robes and a vest of rich fabric, with an undershirt of white rich fabric. A necktie dangles from his collar, a gemstone in the middle serving as a protective rune, and his badge of office as the Librarian. Trousers of black wool, and boots of leather.
He carries a wand to funnel his abilities, though it is not at all necessary for him to use it. A book is usually kept on his person, as well as an inkset, so he may record history on the fly.
Allegiances: Isra
Registered: Jan 7, 2019 22:57:11 GMT -8
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Post by Malagos, Keeper of Knowledge on May 14, 2019 11:41:04 GMT -8
"I'm afraid we have no books that can do that, Kargath." Malagos looked back to his work, etching out another sentence on the parchment. The enchanted quills were exceptional, seemingly never running out of ink. He toyed with the utensil, rolling it between his fingers before beginning a new line of words.
"Perhaps, if I may, I can help. I know of Isran's history, from personal experience and second-hand knowledge. I can be the book you seek, Kargath, ask away."
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Kargth
Established
Knight of a time long past,confused of who and what he is he travels the lands seeking for answers.
Roleplay posts: 45
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: 7ft tall and built like an ox nothing can be seen under his armor.
Clothes and Equipment: Wearing armor made of darkest metal and wielding a blazing sword Kargth is a sight to behold. His armor is etched with script with a language he does not understand. His sword blazing with magic he can not conceive of. The armor he wears is as much a mystery to himself as it is to others.
Registered: Jan 25, 2017 21:39:37 GMT -8
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Post by Kargth on May 16, 2019 20:44:11 GMT -8
"I'm afraid we have no books that can do that, Kargath." Malagos looked back to his work, etching out another sentence on the parchment. The enchanted quills were exceptional, seemingly never running out of ink. He toyed with the utensil, rolling it between his fingers before beginning a new line of words. "Perhaps, if I may, I can help. I know of Isran's history, from personal experience and second-hand knowledge. I can be the book you seek, Kargath, ask away." Kargth was disappointed and confused. Would this land not have books to teach their children how to read and write? How did their new generations learn in this strange place. It seemed that Kargth would require a private tutor then back home. "The books that I seek are of a uh..." Kargth raised his hands in a vague gesture. "Magical origin. Books on old magic are most needed. Such as druidism, geomancy and blood magic."
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Malagos, Keeper of Knowledge
New
Roleplay posts: 5
Age: Physical: 35
Physical Description: Malagos reaches to six foot flat, usually higher, courtesy to heeled boots. Neatly shaven and trimmed, Malagos cuts a striking and handsome picture at no lack of trying, through magical and normal means. His eyes are a royal azure, usually kept down upon the pages of a book.
Clothes and Equipment: Royal purple robes and a vest of rich fabric, with an undershirt of white rich fabric. A necktie dangles from his collar, a gemstone in the middle serving as a protective rune, and his badge of office as the Librarian. Trousers of black wool, and boots of leather.
He carries a wand to funnel his abilities, though it is not at all necessary for him to use it. A book is usually kept on his person, as well as an inkset, so he may record history on the fly.
Allegiances: Isra
Registered: Jan 7, 2019 22:57:11 GMT -8
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Post by Malagos, Keeper of Knowledge on May 20, 2019 14:16:14 GMT -8
Malagos nodded, something of a 'not bad' in it. Then his hand came to his chin, stroking his smooth jawline in thought.
"Hmm." He planted one of his boots firmly, pushing himself back and away from the desk, sliding his chair backward. He turned in his chair, reaching into his personal assortment of books. His fingers graced over leather bindings, searching for something akin to what Kargath described.
"The old magic. Many would inquire somewhere more... not a public library. For such knowledge." He said this as an afterthought, his finger hooking a book and pulling it out. The tome floated to the desk softly, and Malagos turned around, following it. Spinning the book about, he pushed it toward the knight.
"Once you can read it, this book has some knowledge on what you seek." He tapped the cover, "Since blood magic is frowned upon by the general populace, I am afraid that you cannot find that here."
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Foxgloves
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Physical Description: Foxgloves is shaped like a man for the most part, tall and lanky. He wears a long coat with innumerable pockets and a hood with two long points that flop about like a rabbit's ears. The fingers of his gloves are long and thin, and his pointed boots are unadorned. Most notably, he wears a white mask, behind which only darkness can be seen. He is very light, as though stuffed nothing but cotton and cobwebs.
Registered: May 14, 2019 20:08:06 GMT -8
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Post by Foxgloves on Dec 29, 2019 15:28:45 GMT -8
The setting sun cast a vibrant red glow over the rooftops of Isra, as though the imperial flag were flying in the heavens themselves. However, tonight's meeting was to be held in the shadows, hidden from the Empire's watchful eye. This was not some lawful citizen's tea party, but a gathering of criminals seeking a nefarious fortune. Each one had been summoned with great secrecy, letters surreptitiously slipped into pockets and bags by some unknown agent. Each envelope contained a single gold coin and a bell-shaped purple flower along with the message, identical except for the name of the addressee. Dear ____Please accept the enclosed gift as a token of greeting. I am in need of your skills, and have a job that offers a generous reward upon completion. It goes without saying that this sort of job requires the most absolute of discretion. If you would like to earn an earthworm's weight in diamonds, meet me on the roof of the Library of Isra at sundown three days after the Yule Log burns. If you do not wish to do so, pocket the coin and burn the letter. Consider it a present from the Yule Bear.-A client.The letters would find their way to Azra'il, Fiona Blythe, and Sylhom Darviel. Whether they heeded the call or simply spent the coin on drink had yet to be seen.
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Fiona Blythe
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 107
Age: 25
Physical Description: ==================================================
Quite attractive, which is quite the benefit of her public profession. High cheek bones, a sharp jawline and thin nose, soft cheeks, and a stunning outlook about her.
Her eyes are a warm green, and her skin on the paler side, but it is hard to tell if it's natural or just well applied makeup until closer inspection. Her hair drops down past her shoulders, and a dark, aged timber brown.
Catching one's eye is her goal, afterall.
She is of medium height and wonderfully maintained build, toned but soft where it matters.
Clothes and Equipment: ==================================================
In public, she can be seen wearing expensive dresses, low cut at the front, and perfectly tailored. As well as her modest jewellery, she wears a specific broach worn by those of her profession, the silver dove of the working women's union, a group of independant whores and escorts.
During her more clandestine dealings however, she wears an incognito set of clothes, featuring a tight pair of dark green greaves, soft and comfy boots that reach up her shins, a basic white shirt, a dark red vest with a handful of pockets, and a dark green hooded cloak that matches her greaves. On top of this, she wears a belt with plenty of pouches to carry her tools of the trade. Finally, a dark maroon scarf is worn over her pale features to hide her identity.
For weaponry, she carries a pair of knives, hidden away for her own protection, however she has also been seen with a seemingly basic bow from time to time. On her belt, however, she hides a small hand-crossbow, and just enough bolts to get her out of a tight spot.
Her tool belt contains many tricks of the trade, including lockpicks, a glass cutter, smoke bombs for a quick get away, and even a handful of stink bombs.
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 23:02:23 GMT -8
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Post by Fiona Blythe on Jan 3, 2020 22:55:45 GMT -8
The door to Fiona’s second apartment, or more accurately her one-woman bordello, and out steps quite a well-to-do man, adjusting his coat and brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. He turns and smiles to the exceptionally attractive woman who had followed him into the doorway, wearing nothing but the sheet from her bed, and delivers a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you,” he says before he makes his way down the hall, then out of view.
“No, thank you,” Fi murmurs as she watches him disappear. Her mind goes back to a fun evening, the money she had earned and the way she earned it, but most importantly the extra gold she had picked from his satchel while he got dressed. Idiot.
Before she can head back inside to freshen up before her final appointment, she notices the letter sitting by the door. A letter? At this hour? There could only be one explanation. She hurriedly takes it inside and locks the door behind her. She drops the sheets she had clung around her, and makes her way towards her writing desk as she claws at the seal. Wait a minute, that’s not the seal she had been expecting. Then who…
She is only distracted by the coins that fall out for a brief moment before she reads over the letter. “A client”? A flower? That could be anyone, but usually her prostitution clients would just sign their alias like they usually do, nothing something this vague. Then again, absolute discretion would explain that, but why the flower? Then there’s the diamonds, she had only been paid with a diamond before, and it was more than her going rate. A few diamonds? That’s more than just an hour of fun and tomfoolery, and the roof of the library? There can only be one explanation.
This is a thieving job. That, or someone has some really kinky stuff planned, neither was she isn’t going to attend wearing one of her nice dresses.
She nods to herself, puts the letter in a drawer, then goes to freshen herself up as planned. She still had one actual client to impress before she could call it a night.
The Marshalls would love to hear about this one...
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The Yule Log had been lit three nights ago and, to the surprise of nobody, it continues to burn. Fiona, however, is not out and about to enjoy the festivities, instead, she has more nefarious goings on to deal with. For a woman of her talents, climbing to the top of the library isn’t immensely difficult, and if she got the timing right, she should be right on time. Still, she sticks to the shadows after climbing up, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever sent the letter before they saw her.
So she sits in the shadows… and waits.
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Sylhom Darviel
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: Sylhom is quite tall and skinny. He lacks much body fat and looks malnourished most of the time. He has messy orange-red hair that he usually keeps tied back. His eyes are green. His body is crossed with scars, mostly on his back and sides. On his back left shoulder is a brand.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are standard and quite loose and light for easy mobility. He carries two daggers with him and a small backpack in which he carries supplies.
Registered: Jul 25, 2019 8:48:46 GMT -8
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Post by Sylhom Darviel on Jan 7, 2020 5:25:30 GMT -8
Sylhom wasn’t a mercenary.
He had tried to stay consistent with that fact for a while now. Sure, he would do jobs for people that needed it, but taking money for them was a whole different matter. It was a moral thing, really. Turning someone down because they didn’t have the coin would be against just about everything he stood for, so it was easier to make no one pay than to try to figure out a system for that.
Times were getting a bit tough, though.
Stealing could only get you so far, and it wasn’t the most stable job in the world. A string of bad luck meant that his funds had almost completely run dry, and stealing food wasn’t something he was proud of. There was a phrase in his homeland, never trust a poor thief, and it had some merit to it in his experience. No funds to buy supplies, no way to pay anyone back, and more importantly, they obviously hadn’t stolen anything important enough if they were struggling to get even a small meal.
So when the envelope showed up, Sylhom was more than happy to take the job.
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In between the sounds of the burning log and the chatter of those on the street was the sound of feet hitting brick.
Sylhom hoisted himself up onto the top of the library with a quiet grunt. A little fashionably late, but he had to expect that his employer wouldn’t mind too much. He stood, keeping his cloak tight around him as he walked away from the edge and onto the roof proper. His free hand twitched against his blade, ready to start fighting if need be. The lack of food was making him a bit dizzy, but he had been in more dangerous situations before.
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Foxgloves
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Physical Description: Foxgloves is shaped like a man for the most part, tall and lanky. He wears a long coat with innumerable pockets and a hood with two long points that flop about like a rabbit's ears. The fingers of his gloves are long and thin, and his pointed boots are unadorned. Most notably, he wears a white mask, behind which only darkness can be seen. He is very light, as though stuffed nothing but cotton and cobwebs.
Registered: May 14, 2019 20:08:06 GMT -8
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Post by Foxgloves on Jan 7, 2020 10:38:41 GMT -8
If either thief were to cast their eyes towards the setting sun, they would spot what looked like a flock of doves flying towards the library. As the flock approached, however, their awkward fluttering would make it clear that they were no ordinary birds. The jerky movements lacked any of the grace of a natural bird's flight, flopping drunkenly through the air like marionettes on the strings of a novice puppeteer. Once they got close enough, the sharp-eyed thieves would quickly realize that they were not birds at all, but a cluster of white silk gloves flapping their way across the night sky. Each pair of gloves was hooked together at the thumbs, flapping their fingers like child making shadow figures on a wall. How they stayed aloft was anyone's guess, but they somehow managed to stay above the rooftops as they made a beeline towards the meeting point.
The flock of gloves reached the library rooftop just as the sun touched the horizon, and began to swirl themselves a circle. The gloves sped up as the ring contracted, beating their fingers frantically as they spun into a tight vortex. Despite their vigor, they were almost silent as they whirled around, spinning faster and faster until individual fingers and thumbs could no longer be made out in the whirlwind of white silk. All of a sudden, the entire mass stopped dead, then burst outward, gloves covering the rooftop as they fell lifelessly to the ground. In the middle of the spiral stood Foxgloves, his head cocked to one side as he straightened one of the points of his hood.
"Hello there," he said, waving a gloved hand. "Good evening, Mr. Darviel. Ms. Blythe. I'm very glad that you came. My goodness, what a mess I've made here. I do hope you'll forgive my ostentatious entrance."
He clapped his hands together twice, and all the white gloves sprang into life once more. They rushed towards him, flying in a massive stream of silk as they sped straight into the open mouth of his mask. The entire flock, which had to number at least a hundred pairs or more, vanished in seconds into the darkness of that open smile without leaving so much as a thread behind. Foxgloves chuckled, rubbing his hands together.
"So then," he said. "Shall we begin? Please, both of you, step out into the open. It's so awkward to talk to the shadows. I'm sure you have many questions for me, most of them pertaining to your payment. Am I wrong?"
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Fiona Blythe
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 107
Age: 25
Physical Description: ==================================================
Quite attractive, which is quite the benefit of her public profession. High cheek bones, a sharp jawline and thin nose, soft cheeks, and a stunning outlook about her.
Her eyes are a warm green, and her skin on the paler side, but it is hard to tell if it's natural or just well applied makeup until closer inspection. Her hair drops down past her shoulders, and a dark, aged timber brown.
Catching one's eye is her goal, afterall.
She is of medium height and wonderfully maintained build, toned but soft where it matters.
Clothes and Equipment: ==================================================
In public, she can be seen wearing expensive dresses, low cut at the front, and perfectly tailored. As well as her modest jewellery, she wears a specific broach worn by those of her profession, the silver dove of the working women's union, a group of independant whores and escorts.
During her more clandestine dealings however, she wears an incognito set of clothes, featuring a tight pair of dark green greaves, soft and comfy boots that reach up her shins, a basic white shirt, a dark red vest with a handful of pockets, and a dark green hooded cloak that matches her greaves. On top of this, she wears a belt with plenty of pouches to carry her tools of the trade. Finally, a dark maroon scarf is worn over her pale features to hide her identity.
For weaponry, she carries a pair of knives, hidden away for her own protection, however she has also been seen with a seemingly basic bow from time to time. On her belt, however, she hides a small hand-crossbow, and just enough bolts to get her out of a tight spot.
Her tool belt contains many tricks of the trade, including lockpicks, a glass cutter, smoke bombs for a quick get away, and even a handful of stink bombs.
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 23:02:23 GMT -8
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Post by Fiona Blythe on Jan 7, 2020 19:52:07 GMT -8
Fiona had sat in the shadows for several minutes wondering if the job giver would even turn up. She contemplates moving along, but decides that she didn’t have anything else to do, by the time she got back across town, got a fine dress and her make-up on, and then out on the streets for a good time, most would have already paired off or gotten drunk. Is it too late? Hmm…
As she ponders the gold she could make, she hears a nearby sound. Someone is coming up to join her… she slips further into the shadow, intent to get the upper hand and find out who this job giver is… She narrows her eyes as he comes into view. Is this the job giver? He doesn’t like much, not at the moment at least. Yes, he’s handsome and someone she would likely target at her other job, but judging by the way he holds himself it doesn’t seem like he’s eaten for a little while. If that’s the case, how would she get paid? No, this isn’t the job giver. Perhaps she isn’t the only one on the job.
As she watches him, she finds there’s something familiar about him, but she can’t place him. Has he come to her before? No, she would remember a handsome jawline like that. Perhaps she had seen him on a job before? Maybe. Then again, perhaps she’s only seen him in passing down on the street. Who knows?
Then it catches her eye, the flock of birds. What is… she watches it, noticing something weird about it. Then as it comes closer, she notices the odd look to the birds, not really recognising them… then she sees that they’re hands! What the hell? She slinks further into the shadows, with just a curious eye peering around the corner. If this had happened a month ago, she would have just left, but now? Well this would make for one hell of a report.
Once the gloves ‘land’ and the creature appears, she begins making mental notes. This seems to be the man who had hired them… Definitely not someone she planned on letting her guard down around, she made a promise to herself. He even knows her name, so this is definitely the guy. Mr. Darviel though? She recognised that name! Now she knows he isn’t someone she had just met on the street, so he had to be a client or… Then it clicks. She remembers the name, one that had left the lips of a handful of thieves in the underworld. Some sort of goody two shoes. Interesting…
As beckoned, she leaves the shadows, revealing her dark leathers that hug her wonderful figure, and most importantly not leaving any buckles or pieces of material dangling. Her face is hidden behind her red scarf and hood, with only her beautiful eyes shining through. “Darviel,” she says as she walks over to the two, the only greeting she’d give the man for now. She knew she had heard his first name, but she just couldn’t remember it.
Her attention goes to Foxgloves. “I do have questions,” she says. “The diamonds, how many are there? Are we talking multiple each?”She shifts her weight to one foot and crosses her arms over her tightly held chest. “What’s the job? What kind of risk is it?” Then she narrows her eyes. “And finally, who and what the hell are you, and why should we trust you?”
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Azra'il
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: With skin as white as death and eyes of ethereal blue, there is an unmistakable otherworldliness to her immediate figure. The once good and benevolent monk corrupted by unfathomable dark forces. Azra'il wears the monk robes from her past life, dyed black, signifying her personal fall from grace, and wears her black hair in an up-do, with shaved sides. The same as it was in life, yet forever changed in un-life.
Registered: Nov 16, 2019 22:16:06 GMT -8
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Post by Azra'il on Jan 8, 2020 11:03:28 GMT -8
The shadow monk sat perched over the ledge on the rooftop. Even as the others gathered, she merely looked down upon the city street with a long stare. She had decided to allow the other thieves and the commissioner to converse a bit before she made her appearance. This time, a glamour had been cast over her deathly pale and emaciated visage, so as to not startle the humans so terribly. The skin of her glamour was dark, and much fuller, and she changed the colors of her robes from black to blue. Although there was one thing the glamour wouldn't be able to hide, and that was the unearthly blue glow of her ethereal eyes. She jumped over the ledge and back onto the rooftop, bending the knees fully until she was squatting, and rested her arms on her knees. Then, she leaned her head into her hand, staring idly at the eldritch horror wearing the mask with a small smile. "Were you planning on getting this party started without me?"
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Sylhom Darviel
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: Sylhom is quite tall and skinny. He lacks much body fat and looks malnourished most of the time. He has messy orange-red hair that he usually keeps tied back. His eyes are green. His body is crossed with scars, mostly on his back and sides. On his back left shoulder is a brand.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are standard and quite loose and light for easy mobility. He carries two daggers with him and a small backpack in which he carries supplies.
Registered: Jul 25, 2019 8:48:46 GMT -8
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Post by Sylhom Darviel on Jan 11, 2020 18:38:30 GMT -8
How odd.
Sylhom didn’t think birds would be this lively at this hour. He stood in awe of nature when he realized quickly that those weren’t birds. At least, not very good ones. The jerky movements caused him to take a step back, hand moving to his dagger. Were those hands?
Magic.
He should have known better. A note specifically to him asking for him to come to a convenient location in the middle of the city? His muscles flexed, screaming at him to just jump off of the roof, but he couldn’t move. Fear had overtaken him. This strange magical creature would carry him away. As soon as Foxgloves revealed himself, Sylhom managed to take another step back but that was all his body would allow him to do. A mask. The mage would be too cowardly even to show his face. How typical.
Not only was he going to be taken by some mage, but one as strange as this one. Then the mage began to speak, and made no mention of dragging anyone away. To say that Sylhom was unsettled was quite the understatement. Each word seemed to make Sylhom tense more, like the sound waves of the... thing speaking were causing physical harm.
Nothing too strange was said, though. In fact, they almost made sense. The mage made mention of payment and had pointed out another compatriot. Sylhom turned to see a woman that he actually recognized, albeit in a vague way. They’d met before, perhaps? Heard of each other? Blythe sounded all too familiar… Yes, he knew of her. Interesting woman. Interesting way to meet her. She was gorgeous, as he had heard, but he wasn't interested much in women. Still, she was well known for a good reason. They may have a chance to get this job done if she was here. Sylhom moved his hand away from his dagger, too dazed to even pay attention to the fact that someone else joined the fray.
He rolled his shoulders back, hoping that when he stepped out into the light, his fear wouldn’t be showing as much. The elf was tall, but far too lanky to be considered attractive by most. His face bore thick, deep scars in uniform patterns. What may have once been a cold exterior was ruined by the way his hands trembled and his face looked like a child about to get scolded for having their hand in the cookie jar.
“I have… the same questions,” he said lamely. Not the smoothest entrance he’d ever made, but it would have to do for now. "and is the mask necessary? I'd like to see the face of the... person hiring us."
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Foxgloves
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Physical Description: Foxgloves is shaped like a man for the most part, tall and lanky. He wears a long coat with innumerable pockets and a hood with two long points that flop about like a rabbit's ears. The fingers of his gloves are long and thin, and his pointed boots are unadorned. Most notably, he wears a white mask, behind which only darkness can be seen. He is very light, as though stuffed nothing but cotton and cobwebs.
Registered: May 14, 2019 20:08:06 GMT -8
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Post by Foxgloves on Jan 12, 2020 13:40:36 GMT -8
Foxgloves chuckled as he surveyed his "contractors", a rather dry sound akin to that of old papers being shuffled together. The three of them made quite a motley crew, but they seemed like professionals...at least, the two women did. The scrawny elf looked more nervous than he would have preferred, but he supposed that it couldn't be helped. He'd found that he occasionally made people nervous, although for the life of him he couldn't imagine why.
"You know I could never do that, Azra'il dear," he said, the points of his hood twitching as he contemplated her. "You're invaluable. I wouldn't have ever been able to open that opal whisper-box without your help. I just knew that you'd show up right on time, that's all."
He snapped his fingers with an unnaturally sharp click, a strange sound to hear from gloved hands. Striding over to Fiona, he hooked a long, pointy finger under her chin, tilting her head up to face him.
"Why, miss Blythe," he said. "That's an excellent question. What sort of job, indeed. Especially important, coming from a woman of many professions such as yourself. I'm afraid I haven't a sense of touch, nor a sense of taste...so it won't be that kind of job. No, I've gathered you all here for something much more straightforward...a thievery, of sorts. I would like you to steal a man, a master forger by the name of Shimmers. The finest forger in the empire, it's said that he can create anything that's ever existed. Unfortunately for our dear Mr. Shimmers, he's been caught by the Imperial Guard. In two days, he's being transported from Port Silverion to the capital for trial, incarceration, and likely execution. Your job is simple...steal him from the guards while he's being transported. I have use for his services. As for the risk...why, the risk is exactly what you'd expect for such a high-paying job. You're professionals, you should know what you're getting yourself into."
He reached into his pocket, then held out his hand for the small group to see. In his palm laid a small pile of glittering diamonds, each one shining almost unnaturally bright in the darkening twilight. They were like a handful of stars against the dark purple of his glove, vanishing abruptly as he closed his fist and dropped them once more into his pocket.
"As for me...goodness, that was awfully rude of me not to introduce myself. I do hope you'll forgive me. I'm Foxgloves. As for what I am...well, you could call me a merchant. A peddler. A salesman. I provide items and services for payment. Isn't that what we all do?"
Stepping back from Fiona, he twisted his head around to face Sylhom, swiveling around like an owl.
"So many assumptions," he said. "You'll never get anywhere if you keep assuming that everyone is just like you. Who's to say I'm hiding my face behind a mask? I daresay that there is someone on this rooftop hiding their face behind a mask, but it certainly isn't me. The mask is as necessary as your trousers, perhaps a bit more. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"
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Fiona Blythe
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 107
Age: 25
Physical Description: ==================================================
Quite attractive, which is quite the benefit of her public profession. High cheek bones, a sharp jawline and thin nose, soft cheeks, and a stunning outlook about her.
Her eyes are a warm green, and her skin on the paler side, but it is hard to tell if it's natural or just well applied makeup until closer inspection. Her hair drops down past her shoulders, and a dark, aged timber brown.
Catching one's eye is her goal, afterall.
She is of medium height and wonderfully maintained build, toned but soft where it matters.
Clothes and Equipment: ==================================================
In public, she can be seen wearing expensive dresses, low cut at the front, and perfectly tailored. As well as her modest jewellery, she wears a specific broach worn by those of her profession, the silver dove of the working women's union, a group of independant whores and escorts.
During her more clandestine dealings however, she wears an incognito set of clothes, featuring a tight pair of dark green greaves, soft and comfy boots that reach up her shins, a basic white shirt, a dark red vest with a handful of pockets, and a dark green hooded cloak that matches her greaves. On top of this, she wears a belt with plenty of pouches to carry her tools of the trade. Finally, a dark maroon scarf is worn over her pale features to hide her identity.
For weaponry, she carries a pair of knives, hidden away for her own protection, however she has also been seen with a seemingly basic bow from time to time. On her belt, however, she hides a small hand-crossbow, and just enough bolts to get her out of a tight spot.
Her tool belt contains many tricks of the trade, including lockpicks, a glass cutter, smoke bombs for a quick get away, and even a handful of stink bombs.
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 23:02:23 GMT -8
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Post by Fiona Blythe on Jan 12, 2020 23:42:07 GMT -8
Fiona peers to the new woman after Foxgloves refers to her as Azra’il… there’s something familiar about that name too, but she can’t place it. Perhaps not as well known as herself or Darviel? Perhaps that makes her the best of the three. Ha! In her dreams perhaps! Still, her emerald eyes linger for a moment, taking the woman in. Interesting, this one… and weirdly attractive. Hm.
Her attention is brought back to the task at hand when she flinches at the weirdly crisp snap, completely taking her by surprise, then she glares into his mask as she gently pushes his finger away from her covered chin. Her brow furrows a she adjusts the scarf around her nose and mouth, hiding her identity, when Foxgloves addresses her. Why did she bother with the scarf now? Her full name is out there thanks to Fox. This guy better be the real deal… Many professions? She rolls her eyes, of course he knows about her other job. This guy knows far too much, and she finds herself wondering how, but she’d find out later.
“A prison break,” she says, followed by a low whistle. “Dangerous. Could get messy, going to be hard to do without alerting the guards, and even harder to avoid silencing them for good…” Fiona has never felt the need to kill, even though she is prepared to, and likely has in the past, but never someone who is innocent. Guards? They never needed to die, and she intended to keep it that way, at least for herself.
She steps forward to look over the diamonds, and reaches out to touch one and judge its authenticity, but before she can they’re gone. “I didn’t even know the caught Shimmers,” she says, brow furrowed in annoyance again. Who does this guy think he is? “But I guess I can benefit from breaking him out too. Did a hell of a piece for me. The Castle Tomar in Duke Ericsson’s mansion? Not the real thing, the real thing is hanging up at home. Nobody is the wiser.”
The thieving courtesan steps back as Foxgloves begins speaking again. A merchant? A peddler? “Foxgloves…” she repeats, committing it to memory. Well he’s not wrong. Everyone has something to sell, and for Fiona its either stolen goods or herself. She merely shrugs in response. Foxglove’s talk about masks annoys her, considering he’s the one with an actual mask, but his final quip about Sylhom’s pants elicits an amused huff out of her.
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Azra'il
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: With skin as white as death and eyes of ethereal blue, there is an unmistakable otherworldliness to her immediate figure. The once good and benevolent monk corrupted by unfathomable dark forces. Azra'il wears the monk robes from her past life, dyed black, signifying her personal fall from grace, and wears her black hair in an up-do, with shaved sides. The same as it was in life, yet forever changed in un-life.
Registered: Nov 16, 2019 22:16:06 GMT -8
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Post by Azra'il on Jan 13, 2020 7:44:39 GMT -8
Azra'il smirked at the strange and unusual creature that was Foxgloves. Were the humans completely unaware as to who and what they were dealing with? The undead monk slipped off the ledge and slowly sauntered to the group with an unnatural breeze. She came up behind just as the masked shadow finished easing their troubled little hearts. Pathetic. The ruthless gleam of her eyes landed on the whimpering woman, who rambled along with her nerves.
Ms. Blythe apparently had never killed anybody before. If she knew who Shimmers was, surely she must have been aware of the manpower that would be guarding him. The situation would not be handled without taking them out. This was the quickest solution, but undoubtedly, they would try to come up with a plan that prevented them from doing so. Azra'il would waste no time humoring their reveries.
How she yearned to tell them to go back to their commission boards their human your bars and taverns if they wished to play it safe. They shouldn't have answered the Mark if they did not truly belong to the Night, like them. They were playing with a lot more than fire, now, and the risk was far greater than a scorching. A century of continuity had its way of hardening one's soul, but Azra'il would have to find it in her cold, dead heart to forgive the youth. They simply did not know any better.
The creature revealed the woman's name and profession to them all, and with a single suggestion at that. If Fiona did not think their contractor was one that was not to be trifled with, surely she did now. The elf couldn't have been entirely spineless to demand to see the creature's face. It caused Foxglove's head to spin around like an owl and go on the defense, deflecting by addressing Azra'il's glamour. That took some serious guts that even the monk was impressed. The creature was as ruthless as he was fearless, but even its buttons could be pressed by the mortals. Azra'il could hardly blame them for being confused, suspicious, or even frightened of Foxgloves. They would be fools to not question it. Even so, it would have been more sensible to simply let it go.
The mention of Shimmers caught her attention. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long while, but anyone that lived in the Empire for an extended period was bound to hear of them. So, the excited whispers of the shadows about his capture were true.
Azra'il pulled out a small booklet and began to read a prayer of a dead language. Foxgloves gave them everything they needed to know. Two days from Port Silverion to the Capitol. That was plenty of time.
"If that is all," Azra'il's dead rasp cut the conversation, "then perhaps it is best we were on our way."
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Sylhom Darviel
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: Sylhom is quite tall and skinny. He lacks much body fat and looks malnourished most of the time. He has messy orange-red hair that he usually keeps tied back. His eyes are green. His body is crossed with scars, mostly on his back and sides. On his back left shoulder is a brand.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are standard and quite loose and light for easy mobility. He carries two daggers with him and a small backpack in which he carries supplies.
Registered: Jul 25, 2019 8:48:46 GMT -8
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Post by Sylhom Darviel on Jan 16, 2020 5:04:25 GMT -8
Sylhom found himself overwhelmed by this intricate dance, but he knew he was in the company of real thieves. They seemed to love this sort of tip-toeing around each other, mentions of plans never finished and heists gone right. Coded language that helped little more than ego, but he wasn’t one to judge. He watched as the strange creature spoke directly to Ms. Blythe and the oth-
There was another?
He turned to see Azra’il, shuddering as soon as he saw the pale skin. Within those strange eyes was a story that he did not want to be apart of, something unnatural and distorted. This was no time to back out, though. As long as no one tried anything too fancy, they’d make it out with their heads still on.
His fingers tapped against each other as he listened to the plan proper. Imperial guards were obnoxious but not quite a deal-breaker, and this Shimmers fellow was not unfamiliar. He couldn’t help but agree with Ms. Blythe, though. Those transportation carriages tended to be well guarded, and he lacked the supplies and connections to make that any easier on the group. Woe was the thief, too poor in coin to steal and too rich in spirit to beg.
The gems in that hand would make him rich in both. He wanted to step forward as well, to swipe the diamonds and jump off of the roof while he still had his dignity, but that was a dream that he knew would end in failure. His mental calculations told him that the money was enough to get him far. Supplies, connections, food… He might be able to make something of himself.
So when Foxgloves turned to him, he just smiled. “Understood,” he said, “My mouth is staying shut and my trousers are staying on. I’ll do the best I can.” His stomach churned when he spoke, but getting out of this alive was more important than saving his ego. That could be saved for later, when the job was actually done.
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Foxgloves
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Physical Description: Foxgloves is shaped like a man for the most part, tall and lanky. He wears a long coat with innumerable pockets and a hood with two long points that flop about like a rabbit's ears. The fingers of his gloves are long and thin, and his pointed boots are unadorned. Most notably, he wears a white mask, behind which only darkness can be seen. He is very light, as though stuffed nothing but cotton and cobwebs.
Registered: May 14, 2019 20:08:06 GMT -8
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Post by Foxgloves on Jan 17, 2020 20:49:51 GMT -8
"An excellent idea, Mr. Darviel," said Foxgloves, striding across the roof to pat him on the head. The touch of his glove was firm but oddly weak on Sylhom's head, as though lacking weight behind the pats. "So many of people's troubles could be solved if more people did just that, don't you agree? Goodness, think of all the wars, the brawls, the duels that could be prevented. So much needless bloodshed...but I suppose that won't ever happen. Good for you for doing your part, though. The world is a better place for it."
He pulled a large orange carrot from his pocket, dusting off some dirt before handing it to Sylhom. Turning back to Fiona, he cocked his head to the side like a curious pigeon, contemplating her for a moment before speaking.
"Is it really a prison break if the target isn't in a prison?" he asked. "Kind of an odd term for it, don't you think? It will be dangerous, of course. That's why I hired professionals. If I just needed a sweet roll stolen from a street vendor, I could have saved myself a small fortune in diamonds and hired some thug in a bar. You people aren't the sort of folk I can just hire in a bar...well, for this sort of work, anyways. In any case, what you do with the guards is up to you. I won't tell you how to do your job. It's up to your discretion as professionals. Still, it will be a difficult job, so I suppose I could offer you a hand."
Reaching into his pocket once more, he pulled out a pale severed hand, which grasped at his fingers as he lifted it up. He touched the tip of the hand's index finger with his own, and it relaxed its frantic motions. It hopped out of his open glove and onto the ground, scuttling up to Fiona and crawling up her leg like an oversized spider.
"Its name is Sinestri," said Foxgloves, eyeing the creature as it clambered its way up Fiona's thigh and tried to nestle itself into one of her pockets. "It's a pet of mine, I believe you'll find it quite useful. Please try to return it in good shape, I've grown quite fond of it.
"As for you, Azra'il dear," he said, turning his attention to the dark monk, "You would be correct. You three had best get going now. But oh, I couldn't let you go without giving you a gift as well. Let's see...what might you find useful? You certainly seem to be well-prepared as it is...oh, but I have the perfect thing."
This time, he produced a long black candle from his pocket, the wick a rather sickly shade of yellow. He handed it to Azra'il upside-down, with the wick pointing towards the ground.
"This is how it's meant to be burned," he said, giving the candle a little wiggle to emphasize its orientation. "Make sure you remember that. I'm sure you'll find some use for it. Eldnacs are really quite difficult to come by these days. Now then, the three of you...you'd best be off. Good luck, and please try to bring our dear Mr. Shimmers back in one piece. Failing that, make sure he at least has his hands and eyes. He needs those to work. I'll expect you back here in five days with the forger."
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Fiona Blythe
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 107
Age: 25
Physical Description: ==================================================
Quite attractive, which is quite the benefit of her public profession. High cheek bones, a sharp jawline and thin nose, soft cheeks, and a stunning outlook about her.
Her eyes are a warm green, and her skin on the paler side, but it is hard to tell if it's natural or just well applied makeup until closer inspection. Her hair drops down past her shoulders, and a dark, aged timber brown.
Catching one's eye is her goal, afterall.
She is of medium height and wonderfully maintained build, toned but soft where it matters.
Clothes and Equipment: ==================================================
In public, she can be seen wearing expensive dresses, low cut at the front, and perfectly tailored. As well as her modest jewellery, she wears a specific broach worn by those of her profession, the silver dove of the working women's union, a group of independant whores and escorts.
During her more clandestine dealings however, she wears an incognito set of clothes, featuring a tight pair of dark green greaves, soft and comfy boots that reach up her shins, a basic white shirt, a dark red vest with a handful of pockets, and a dark green hooded cloak that matches her greaves. On top of this, she wears a belt with plenty of pouches to carry her tools of the trade. Finally, a dark maroon scarf is worn over her pale features to hide her identity.
For weaponry, she carries a pair of knives, hidden away for her own protection, however she has also been seen with a seemingly basic bow from time to time. On her belt, however, she hides a small hand-crossbow, and just enough bolts to get her out of a tight spot.
Her tool belt contains many tricks of the trade, including lockpicks, a glass cutter, smoke bombs for a quick get away, and even a handful of stink bombs.
Registered: Jan 12, 2019 23:02:23 GMT -8
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Post by Fiona Blythe on Jan 19, 2020 16:16:10 GMT -8
Fiona looks over at Azra’il and mentally eyerolls. One of these kinds, eh? The ones that fancy themselves to be big and tough. That usually meant one of two things, they were the biggest posers on the planet and would run at the slightest whiff of danger, or they’re the real deal and just as crazy. To Fiona, neither were preferable on this kind of job, as it usually lead to more work and more bloodshed than needed. Great.
As for the man? Staying quiet would be a bonus at least, even if he didn’t look all that impressive. The thieving courtesan is starting to think she may be the best suited for this job, with her quiet, meticulous, almost surgical methods. Only time would tell.
Then its her turn to be talked at by the strange… man? Creature? Manifestation? Whatever this Foxgloves is. She’d seen things in her travels, so his very existence isn’t so much a shock to her. “Prison break, kidnapping, whatever, same thi- HEY!” she barks as the hand starts climbing up her leg. She grabs it by the pinky as it tries to stuff itself in her pocket, and holds it out. “Mr. Foxgloves, this is a severed hand,” she says, letting it flick and dangle in her gloved grasp. “How is it alive? How do I know it won’t pop out and try to strangle me?” Her brilliant green eyes shift from the hand to the man. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
On one hand, she had a fucking hand in her hand, and on the other, it’s alive, sneaky, and seems to obey the strange creature. Would it obey her? She decides to take a chance and, with a grumble of resignation, she stuffs it in her bag, intent on not having it by her thighs, or anything near them. Who knew how handsy it would get. “If it tries to kill me, I’m killing it.”
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Sylhom Darviel
New
Roleplay posts: 8
Physical Description: Sylhom is quite tall and skinny. He lacks much body fat and looks malnourished most of the time. He has messy orange-red hair that he usually keeps tied back. His eyes are green. His body is crossed with scars, mostly on his back and sides. On his back left shoulder is a brand.
Clothes and Equipment: His clothes are standard and quite loose and light for easy mobility. He carries two daggers with him and a small backpack in which he carries supplies.
Registered: Jul 25, 2019 8:48:46 GMT -8
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Post by Sylhom Darviel on Jan 21, 2020 10:31:12 GMT -8
It took all of Sylhom’s might to not start swinging when Foxgloves started touching him. He didn't even care about looking like a coward, just stared at Foxgloves with his arms planted firmly at his sides lest he lash out in any way. It was bizarre, more than it should have been anyway, and the lack of weight behind the touch was somehow more scary than a firm grip. God damn magic users, and their god damn carrots -
Carrots. Well, carrot. He took it with a befuddled look but said nothing else, just listening to the rambling as he stared down at the vegetable. Was there something wrong with it? Was it a magic carrot? He hadn’t heard of such a thing but he supposed there was something out there for everyone. He tucked it into his bag wordlessly, watching as the other gifts were given. The hand was strange but re-animated body parts weren’t entirely new to him. Unholy and immoral? Yes. But not much could surprise him in the way of magic.
“What are these for?” He asked, knowing full well that he likely wasn’t going to get an answer. This was the last time he was taking up a random job offer, he was sure of that. Ms. Blythe at least seemed to have her wits about her. Nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this affair more morbid than amusing.
It was good pay though. Good enough pay that he might not have to work for a while. That’s all he could really focus on at the moment. With a roll of his shoulders, he began to make his way towards the edge of the roof. Hopefully, having three people would speed things up rather than overcomplicate them. You could never tell with these hired hand types.
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Azra'il
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Age: Unknown
Physical Description: With skin as white as death and eyes of ethereal blue, there is an unmistakable otherworldliness to her immediate figure. The once good and benevolent monk corrupted by unfathomable dark forces. Azra'il wears the monk robes from her past life, dyed black, signifying her personal fall from grace, and wears her black hair in an up-do, with shaved sides. The same as it was in life, yet forever changed in un-life.
Registered: Nov 16, 2019 22:16:06 GMT -8
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Post by Azra'il on Jan 22, 2020 12:44:05 GMT -8
"Ah, an eldnac," she spoke without feeling, merely taking in the object for its possible use, "I have not seen the likes of such an item for half a century. I know precisely what shall be done with it." She almost remarked on how it would not take her so long to finish the job, but remembered her human companions and their need to eat, sleep, and rest.
Between the three, it was Azra'il that was the most powerful, but least important to the operation itself. Ms. Blythe, however upset to not be the center of attention in their interaction (this much could be disclosed not merely by her body language, but also her colorful attire), would be the most skilled and useful operative among them, judging by the tools around her belt, and it would be her that will be doing the breakout itself.
Azra'il was unsure as to what the elf would be good at; by her observation he appeared to be weak of both will and body, with not enough meat on his bones to be either fast or strong. Although he could prove himself to be useful, as he was the hungriest, and therefore would be the one most eager to prove himself during the job. He would take the biggest risk as the distraction, or as Azra'il saw it, the bait. There was only one thing she was good for, she thought to herself as she glanced down at a spell which drains the souls of her victims.
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Foxgloves
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Physical Description: Foxgloves is shaped like a man for the most part, tall and lanky. He wears a long coat with innumerable pockets and a hood with two long points that flop about like a rabbit's ears. The fingers of his gloves are long and thin, and his pointed boots are unadorned. Most notably, he wears a white mask, behind which only darkness can be seen. He is very light, as though stuffed nothing but cotton and cobwebs.
Registered: May 14, 2019 20:08:06 GMT -8
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Post by Foxgloves on Jan 24, 2020 18:58:52 GMT -8
Foxgloves watched as Fiona struggled with the hand, chuckling as she stuffed it into her bag. The hand would flail about in the bag for several moments before falling still, aside from the occasional twitch. Luckily for Fiona, it seemed that the stump of the wrist had healed over, so she managed to avoid getting blood over all of her things.
"Why shouldn't it be alive?" he asked. "Haven't you ever gone through some harrowing situation and had a narrow escape, only to think to yourself 'goodness, I shouldn't be alive'? Perhaps the same happened to the hand. It was cut from its body and shouldn't be alive, and yet here it is. The world works in funny ways, don't you agree? In any case, Miss Blythe, I'm surprised to see you so worried about hands. You oughtn't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles."
He reached out a hand and patted her cheek, then whirled around to face Syl'hom. The carrot would feel just like any ordinary carrot, slightly damp and still covered in a thin layer of dirt.
"Why, my dear malnourished friend," he said, "The gifts are for whatever you may need them for. You look like a stiff breeze would blow you over. You should eat something, I won't pay you if you die of starvation before the job is done. Would you like a turnip? I have a turnip as well. But Azra'il was right. You'd all best get going, the journey to Port Silverion is long and arduous unless you take a coach. I'm not reimbursing you for travel fees, so do whatever you must to reach your destination. Good luck, and don't fail. I don't pay failures."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked straight off the edge of the roof, hood points flailing behind him as he fell. If they ran to the edge of the rooftop to look, they would see no trace of him on the streets below, nor in the skies above. It seemed that their mysterious employer had just vanished into thin air.
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