The Cult of Thieves

Effervescent · Dec 21, 2016

The Cult of Thieves

Chapter One: Wolfsbane

The rain had dulled to a mist of droplets that slicked the cobblestone roads of Windfeld. The port city reeked of the Glassy Sea and its plunder of fish and whale. Faledrin's populace was mostly comprised of the weary poor, overworked and broken as each day they toiled on. There was a forbidden utopia beyond the wall that separated the poor from the Noble District. There, glittering houses and dense gardens surrounded the castle in a seemingly otherworldly beauty in comparison to the muck and grime. The common folk envied them and despised them all the same, for they grew rich off of the labor of the people beneath them. What was their king really ruling when there was merely a speck of prosperity in Windfeld where the rest of the kingdom suffered in perpetual ruin?

The corrupt made their home in the slums and squalor, and none cared less or more about it. Not like they had much to lose or plunder from these smugglers and thieves. Being a port city, it seemed they had more to gain from the shady endeavors as citizens found it more easy to indulge in exotic goods. Harsh punishment was divvied to those foolish enough to get caught sentenced to a life of imprisonment. Either way, citizens of Faledrin were left to rot in sorry states, and neither their king nor the Allied Kingdoms cared.

"Shut the gates!" an urgent voice commanded in repetition. At the center of the city, the clanking of metal resounded as the iron gates shut to divide the nobility from the rest of the world. Those close by murmured concerns, some even rushing away from the walls to report the sudden close. It was known throughout Windfeld that the wall was created specifically to keep out anything the rich deemed unsavory, but the gates were never closed unless there was some form of threat.

Sothal's pace slowed through the Barrows as he listened to the distant commotion. The echoes of gates quickly falling shut cut through the soft patter of rain. Two guards rushed past him on the narrow road as they headed toward the nearest gate, and Sothal followed their trail curiously, and approached just as the guards were quietly briefed. At his distance, and with the rain clattering against his jacket, he could not make out the conversation. One of the other guards turned, face perturbed under his helm as he drew his sword and walked before Sothal.

"Get on your way," the guard said. Sothal raised his hands in the air to denote his non-violent intentions.

"I merely wish to know what is happening," he said in return. "The gates only close when-"

"I said get on your way!" the guard repeated, and faked an advancement with his sword in warning. Sothal stepped away in compliance. Clearly he would not get any answers from the source. But that would not be an issue he could not overcome.

Being a member of the Cult of Thieves had its considerable advantages. The network they weaved of both members and veterans was enough to keep them ahead of the game and above the order. If there was something greatly amiss in Windfeld, the common folk had the right to know. But while they pissed on street corners and dithered about in their off hours, the Cult of Thieves would already have the answers. He needed to locate Oracle, and he hoped the others would do the same.

It was a simple task, really, yet quite unpredictable. Oracle was a difficult woman to find, and impossible if she desired not to be found. But a system was given in order for the Cult of Thieves to locate her in times of dire need, and Veterans long retired from the Cult of Thieves were the only ones to hold the clues within a deck of cards. The nearest Veteran to Sothal was Calter Black in the Barrows not but two blocks and a stone's throw from the gate he departed. Guards began to aggressively command the gathering crowd away from the gates, some using more force than was really necessary.

The rain began to pick up again in heavy, fat drops that soaked the man through to the bone. It cooled down the stifling Summer's heat well enough that he didn't fully care he was drenched. Stepping into the butchery, he waited behind an elderly lady for a chance to speak with the shop owner, Calter.

"Them guards closed the gates again," she muttered. "Summat abouts an I got to make a meager meal out of this."

"It's good meat," Calter Black assured, though his tone carried a hint of frustration. He spared a glance to Sothal, nodding to the man knowingly as he carried on with his customer. "You don't get to complain with as long as you've lived in this wretched place. Ten croones, Mrs. Tallay."

"Don't mean I can't bitch about it," Mrs. Tallay responded in kind. "Lived here all my life and ain't no domestic threat gonna keep food from me belly. But it's right small for ten croones, Mr. Black."

"Lord Calidron raised my fees," he admitted. "I can't sell for the same price anymore."

Mrs. Tallay reluctantly removed ten copper pieces from her pouch with twisted, bony fingers. Her wrinkled lips were pulled thin and downturned in a deep frown that touched the falling tip of her nose. "T'ain't right," she spat as she gathered her meat. "T'ain't fit."

"Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Tallay," Calter called out as she shuffled away. "And steer clear of whatever's out there!"

Sothal stepped up to the counter and met Calter's expectant gaze. "Do you happen to have the card of the day?" he inquired.

"It's your lucky day," the butcher responded as he reached into the pocket of his pants. His hand slapped the counter, and from underneath was revealed a singular card with the symbol of a lion wreathed in thorns. "Just got word not but before Mrs. Tallay."

As soon as he saw the card, Sothal immediately knew which location Oracle was hiding. The card of the wreathed lion was the symbol designated for the Seawatch Inn just out near the main pier. He thanked the butcher and quickly set off on course.

It was a rather seedy looking inn whose patrons suited the tone harmoniously. The façade looked as though the three story establishment had sighed and slumped to a sit from a dreary day, the building seeming to bend and droop. It still held together, and its patrons tested the limits when indulging in both drink and harlot. It was thankfully, despite it's prime realestate, well overlooked, and Sothal entered with only the innkeeper to acknowledge him who merely pointed down the hall.

Knocking twice on the far door, he spoke into the frame. "It's Sothal," he said before entering. There, in the dingiest of rooms surrounded by dim lighting was the bright-eyed Fallenite known appropriately as Oracle.

@Doctor Jax @Red Thunder @rissa @Elle Joyner @Gossamer @RiddL @Dovahkiin

Currently: In your intro post, your character should somehow discover the gates being closed to the Noble District. It is known that the nobles only do this when there is a threat in Windfeld, and so it is cause for concern, especially since this time no warning was given to the people before the gates closed. Your character is then to think to find a Veteran, aka a retired member of the Cult of Thieves, who will eventually show them the card with the lion wreathed in thorns. Your character must ask the Veteran if they have the card of the day. This card will direct them to the Seawatch Inn. Your Veteran can be anyone you'd like.

RiddL · Dec 22, 2016

Kylar was tending to some of his plants in his herbal garden just behind his shop, enjoying the feeling of rain against his skin when one of his assistants rushed out the back, sliding to a stop as Kylar half turned on his heel to face him. "You better get to the gates, there's all kinds of trouble going on there." His assistant said quickly before running off to tell more people. Kylar swore under his breath and ran to his trunk, dropping to one knee as he pulled his cloak and dagger out of the trunk and quickly putting them on, rushing out the door of his shop, locking the doors before sprinting towards the gates. He slowed down to a walk as he spotted a growing group of people.

"Whats happening?" He asked one of the older men in what was becoming a giant mass of people. "The guards done closed the gates, we don't know why but they be intent on keeping everyone away from em." replied the man as they were pushed closer to the center by more people who were arriving to see what all he commotion about. Kylar pushed his was back out from the crowd when he heard a shout from the guards, followed by the unmistakable unsheathing of swords. "Disperse the lot of you!" shouted an officer as he drew his sword. More than half of the assembled crowd left at that the moment, afraid that the guards would harm them, others following as they were threatened by the guards.

Kylar watched for a while longer before adjusting his cloak and making sure that his face comfortably hidden beneath the cloaks hood, slightly hiding the smell of drying fish and the salty air. "What the hell is happening here?" Kylar muttered under his breath as he walked away from the gates. "Oracle ought to know what's caused them to close the bloody gates." He thought as he moved to a friend and veteran of the Cult, Wreaver Johnston. He walked into Wreaver' smithy and inspected one of the daggers, before walking to the Veteran himself, "Seem to be enjoying your days beating metal senseless, makes me wonder if you miss banging heads together" Kylar said as the big man turned to him. "HA, I prefer this to skulking around in the shadows nowadays, now what can I do for you today Kylar?" Wreaver asked, his face splitting in two as he smiled at the young man. "Would you happen to have the card of the day?" Kylar asked before replacing the dagger he was looking at back with the others. "Ah, indeed I do at that, got word not ten minutes ago myself." he said, palming the card from his sleeves into his hands, a trick that came naturally to the old pickpocket.

"There you are." Wreaver said, revealing a the card with the symbol of a lion wreathed in thorns in his hand. "Many thanks Wreaver, may the heat of your forge never cool" Kylar said as he turned and left the Forge, sweat on his brow as he left he heated building. "So... The Seawatch Inn. That's about a ten minute run by the roof tops." Thought Kylar as he ran to one of the many drainpipes that stood against the wall in an alleyway. As Kylar climbed he was careful not to make too much sound in case any guards were about, taking even more care as he ran cross the building to where the Inn was.

As he approached the Inn he slid down another pipe to the ground, landing on the packed earth with a soft thud as he walked to the front door of the inn, removing his cloak and tucking it under his arms, the innkeeper pointing down the hall when Kylar' cold eyes met his, with a nod to the innkeeper he walked down to the far door. "It's Kylar" he said knocking and opening the door. He closed the door behind him and placed his cloak carefully on a nearby chair before turning and acknowledging those in the room. "Sothal" He said with a respectful nod of his head. "Oracle" He said turning and dipping his head in respect to the Fallenite woman.

Elle Joyner · Dec 22, 2016

no-lightbox

The cloak was blue as a peacock's wing, the sort of thing that would call attention, even in a measurable downpour the likes of which fell that morning, drenching Windfeld to rusty mud and the salty, briney stench of a dead fish and moldy wood. The glossy sea became a tempestuous beast, raging waves cracking against the pier, slapping the pylons, heaving great foamy sprays several feet into the air, stone-black clouds moving across the murky, ashen sky, cracked by jagged heliotrope forks of lightning.

For Cordelia Briggs, who these days went by the name Oracle, attention was never an issue in rain or shine. This was only one small benefit to having a gift like hers, and one that she all too willingly employed while running her route through the finer parts of town. Finer, on a day like that particular one was something of a stretch...Nothing dulled the glimmer of opulence quite like a bitter, miserable deluge.

In truth, she might have skipped that morning's visit entirely, except after what she had overheard the day prior, she understood all too well the importance of her mission. Something big was going down, something that had the well-to-do hiding behind the gates, and rumors could hardly be brushed aside when they were regarding Tainted.

And so she journeyed out in that wretched cloudburst, her vibrant cloak doing little to block out the frigid, biting pellets of rain, trudging ankle deep through sludge to find her roust outside the gates of the Noble District where, soaked to the skin, she would stand waiting, listless. On any other day, she could stand there for hours, picking apart senseless, shallow conversations of passersby, finding little of worth, if anything at all. Graciously, it seemed no one was terribly keen to be traipsing about, a pair of guards her only companions. As she approached, she immediately picked up on the hurried, haggard tone of one of the men.

"True to life, I say… Saw him with my own two eyes. Could practically smell the taint on him. Bastard waltzed right past, buggered off into the city."

"Hell, they didn't close the gates to keep out the rats, right?"

"You reckon we'll see more, then?"

"I reckon they mean to… Oi!" Words suddenly truncated by the exclamation, the man pushed upright from his lean, head cocked in the direction of the path up which Cordelia had come, down which now came a young woman, dragging a hefty cart of covered wares. Tucking back into her small crook, Cordelia tipped her gaze in the same direction as the small, drenched blonde paused mid-step.

"Just come t'pitch my cart, I did. Same as last w-"

"You're best to move along, Welp. No one's to sell here, anymore."

"But I always…"

"I said move along!" At the guttural growl, Cordelia tensed, but blinking stupidly, the young woman shrugged and backing up, turned away, down the path. Frowning, Cordelia shifted from her hovel and moving swiftly, followed in the poor creature's wake.

After several more stops, her final journey for the day carried her to the butcher. He was a pleasant enough man, if not a little dreary - these days, one was hard pressed to find anyone in Windfeld who wasn't. With a congenial smile, Cordelia approached and looking up, Calter Black shook his head, "One of these days, I'm gonna get a real customer and ain't gonna know heads or tails what to do with 'em…"

"Now, now, darling… That's not entirely fair." Reaching into the bag slung around her shoulder, Cordelia pressed a few coins to the counter, "Whatever's good for stew." He turned away, and returned a moment or two later with a small package wrapped in brown paper. Accepting the package, Cordelia dug into the bag again, and produced a rectangular card and setting this beside the coins, she met the butcher's gaze, "...You take care, Mr. Black."

Turning, she moved to the door, slipping out. The rain had slowed to a spattering drizzle, mist cool and musty rising from the sodden, muddy earth. From the butchery, it was a short walk back to the inn, and through the inn to the back room she occupied. Inside, Cordelia slipped out of her cloak, hanging the dripping thing on a peg by the door. Crossing the space, she pulled a pot down from above the small wood stove, a wooden board from a shelf in the corner and a basket of root vegetables, busying herself for the next several minutes on piecing together a stew.

It was simmering, filling the small room with a comforting, pleasant aroma when the knock sounded and smiling faintly, she turned to glance over her shoulder at the swarthy young man who stepped inside. Stirring the stew with a long, wooden spoon, her features warmed, "...I thought I might be seeing you, soon. Have a seat, Love. I take it you've seen the--"

Another knock interrupted and she looked up, a brow quirked at the sight of the blonde following Sothal inside, "Kylar, sweetie...Hmm. I think I'm going to need more chairs."

TAGS: @Effervescent, @RiddL

Doctor Jax · Dec 22, 2016

xxxxxTamerlinxxxxx

The children were inside today. The rain often drove them in doors, away from the courtyards and playgrounds of the rickety manor set near the water. On days when the weather was kinder, the smallest of them would be playing in the mud while the older ones played at Pirates. Today, however, the downpour prohibited such tomfoolery. Only a dark figure remained outside, clipping the hedges under the brim of a large, oilskin hat.

The groundskeeper heard the sound of a squeaking gate as he opened to his left, and he leaned out curiously to see who the intruder happened to be. A mangy looking child with a dirty face, unkempt hair, and ragged fingernails leered at him with a cleft lip, as unsightly as a half-starved cat. It was hard to tell the sex of such a creature, but of course that wasn't what mattered. Some of the children were much like barn cats -- content to use the shelter and warmth of a building when it dumped buckets, and quickly vacating to more open areas when the weather was fairer. This one, the groundskeeper was at least semi-familiar with.

The child attempted to cross the threshold, but a pair of closed gardening shears blocked its path. They skittered back a step in the mud, looking up at the diminutive groundskeeper.

"Ah -- you know the rules."

The child drew into itself, stuffing freezing fingers under barely lukewarm armpits. Green eyes peered out from a heavy brow.

"Fine -- Fishmonger Bailey's been getting his fish from the Black Wind, 'stead o' the right folks. And it stinks, too," the child muttered sullenly.

The garden shears lowered, and the child scurried towards the house, where no doubt there awaited him a helping of stew, some bread, a warm spot by the fire, and a blanket. The groundskeeper looked after the child as he put the clippers to the hedges again, his brow furrowed. A pity that the child chose not to stay, but there was little he could do about that.

After completing his hedge, he wandered back inside of the manor. At one time, it might have been a handsome place, but for now it was merely warm. Indeed, it was nearly an inviting space, full of the laughter of children and the sound of bare feet. He'd told them time and again to put shoes on, as there were splinters, but none of them listened. As he entered, several of them surrounded him, chattering about this or that, the usual complaints, stories, and begging.

"And then Chim pulled my hair--"

"Look at the dolly I made, Tommy--"

"And it was this big--!"

Tam was nearly swamped in the bodies of three or four children, himself being quite small, and he smiled a bit as he tried to wade through them.

"Easy now, easy now. You want lunch today, don't you?" Tam said as he made his way towards the kitchens, sending off them off to another part of the orphanage to run wild. Had the day been fairer, this would be their recess time, but as it stood, they were cooped up. It must be driving the headmaster mad.

Tamerlin made his way into the kitchens sitting at the very bottom of the manor, nestled in the basement. As he began to pull things out for soup -- they had soup nearly every day, as it was perhaps the only thing Tam could cook and not make inedible -- he heard a knock on the door. He looked up curiously, and he nodded to the dark-skinned Maldviri in the doorway to his realm.

" 'lo, Asif."

"Tom."

"Driven down here by their nattering, are you? I can imagine in your position, it's hard to escape them," Tam joked as he cut an onion and dumped it into a pot.

"Something like that," Asif said as he walked towards the island in the middle of the kitchen. He picked off a single, limp piece of celery and inspected it dubiously while Tam went about his duties. "The Noble's Gate's been shut today."

The knife stopped.

"One of our strays told me as his fare for the night," Asif stated with a thick accent. "Bit of an unusual thing. Doesn't happen every day, does it?"

Tam lay the knife down.

"Odd indeed. Can you take over for dinner tonight?"

Asif eyes widened as he gestured to himself, and Tam nodded. Asif scoffed and looked about the kitchen perplexed before saying, "Tomasello, you do not pay me to cook."

"But I do pay you," Tam said quietly with a smile. "It's easy. Cut things up, throw in half a cup of salt, toss it on the fire and call it good. I've just forgotten something, is all. Give them some chocolate from your stash if you get desperate, and I'll be back to feed them later."

Asif was about to protest, but it was too late -- Tam had already whipped his coat off the stool, tossed it on, and headed up the stairs. The Maldviri looked into the empty kitchen with a hand to his forehead and muttered, "Bugger."

In the meantime, Tam had a feeling he was going to need to see Oracle. The Noble's Gate rarely closed, not unless there was a grave contender, and the fact that Tamerlin didn't know about it was a bit unsettling. The lack of knowledge set his teeth on edge. He walked down into the corner market where a little old lady was feeding a large pack of crows, and he sat down on the bench beside her. After a short exchange, he asked her for her calling card, and with a toothless grin, Mag handed him a playing card with a lion enshrined by thorns. Seawatch Inn. Not a bad place, all things considered. Could be worse. Could be Quinn's place.

It took him a short walk to get there, the smell of brine shoved firmly into his nostrils. After nodding to the barkeep, who sent him in the right direction, he made his way into the backroom where a young Fallenite woman with bright eyes was sitting. Kylar and Sothal were already there.

"Great minds think alike. Good afternoon," Tam said softly, nodding his head to those in attendance.

rissa · Dec 23, 2016

Romilly Lecadre

In the salty spray off the Glassy Sea, Romilly Lecadre walked down the wharf with the smell of salt, sweat, fish, and whale clogging her sinuses. She wore a heavily patched cloak, two sizes too big, a pair of leather breeches and soft soled, calf high boots. It was well into the afternoon, the wharf was busy, and even without wards she was damn near invisible. Weaving her way through the throng of people in her way, Milly searched for one greasy faced whaler among the hundreds in her line of sight. Thankfully, the one she searched for was the tallest, ugliest, and foulest of the lot. He'd been a friend of her father's, though the half-blind fool wouldn't have recognized her from any other snot nosed Fallenite brat. She'd gamble on the fact that he wouldn't even remember her surname if she happened to spell it out for him. Still, the whaler knew her as Arianell Maran, not Romilly Lecadre.

Slipping through a tightly packed group of people throwing their coin and fists for fresh fish and a tub or two of oil, Milly found her whaler as he tied The Maiden to a side dock. She walked to the man on soft feet, then, getting closer, forced her footfalls heavier to announce her arrival.

"You sure are one heavy footed mistress, Arianell."

Despite being half-blind, when Romilly pulled out the small drawstring pouch full of copper pieces, the man looked at her and then the bag with a rather befitting greedy glare.

"That there sounds like more than you owe me."

"Maybe there's something new worth the extra coin?" Arianell asked quietly, her voice barely projecting over the din of so many voices within the wharf.

The old man scratched his peppered beard, glanced up at the sky and mumbled something about rainshowers. She watched him carefully as the man finished tying off his boat and then proceeded to unload his daily haul. She was half tempted to walk off with what she "owed" him when he grunted and pointed his thumb toward the noble district cocooned safely within their walls.

"Somethin's goin on in there." The man said mysteriously, and Arianell sniggered despite herself.

"When isn't somethin' happening within those gates old man?" Arianell replied, laughter lacing her voice.

"Aye," He replied sternly, "But that ain't what I meant… And how many times I gotta' tell you to not call me old man?!" He grumbled and grunted under his breath, the hair over his lip bristling from the force of his grunt and she held back another snigger. "What I was tryin' to say, before you went and insulted me -- was that the gates are closed."

"Wha-what?" Arianell said quickly, her mind reeling with long learned instructions. Her heels itched to get moving and she almost lost her grasp on the subtle accent she applied to Arianell's voice.

The whaler smiled triumphantly, knowing damn well he'd just earned the extra bit of coin. It'd last a week, if he was careful and didn't spend it all on spirits and prostitutes whenever his sealegs walked onto shore. She tossed the coin pouch in his direction, and, despite being half-blind, caught it deftly with one gnarled hand.

"Thanks for this Nell," The old man said and she was momentarily taken back by the genuinity in his voice.

"I'll be back by in a week or two, old man. Take care of yourself."

With that, she took off down the wharf, gliding through the crowd of people with quick, nimble movements. It wasn't until she slid on the soaked cobblestone that she realized it was raining. No wonder the stench is so bad today, Romilly thought absentmindedly, picking her way through the last throng. It would have been easy, pickpocketing the fools who left themselves easy targets, but where was the fun in that?

It took her all of twenty minutes to reach the small parlor by the name of Crabby Dale's. The place was a hellhole filled with harlots, thieves, and drunken old men. Not necessarily a place that'd she fit in, but it made do. The women here were as loose with their lips as they were their legs and a copper here and a drink there made for good business. Nonetheless, she hadn't come for information, at least none that they could offer. The bar was in the back of the room and Milly, soddened with rain and saltwater spray, made her way towards the parlor's namesake. It was hard to believe that the portly man behind the bar was once a member of the Cult of Thieves, but he was, and she had come for answers.

"What would ya' like darlin'?" Crabby Dale asked without looking at her. With her hood covering her face and her slim stature, it was no wonder he didn't recognize her. She smiled, preferring it that way.

"The card of the day." Milly replied simply.

Dale looked up with a jerk of his head and only then did Milly lower her hood. He smiled at her, a few of his teeth missing, and slapped something down onto the bar. Depicted on the card was a lion wreathed in thorns. Realization came immediately and with a thanks and promise to return for a drink whenever she was free, Milly made her way back from where she came. She'd past the Seawatch Inn on her way to the parlor, and after a glance of one of the Oracle's calling cards, she knew that's where she -- and the rest of the Cult -- would be. She raised her hood once more as she trudged through the grimy streets of Windfeld and lowered it once she was walking into the Seawatch Inn. The innkeeper, without having to ask, pointed down the hall. Nodding, Milly traced the path in which she pointed and knocked twice before entering.

Sothal, Kyler, and Tam were already in audience with the Oracle, and Milly took a seat in the far corner on the wooden floor. She wrung out her cloak as she waited for whatever came first -- the stew or whatever information Oracle had about the noble district shutting its gates. She couldn't help but vote for the prior.

Red Thunder · Dec 24, 2016

~Quinnis Travers~

"No means no, dammit. Stop asking!"

"C'mon, Rist; think of those poor children! Er, colloquially speaking."

Rist glowered at the Baladuri before him. Spear in hand, sword at his side, beclad in an armor of leather jerkin over chain mail hauberk and helmed in the best iron he could personally afford, the guardsman usually felt yards tall. He took pride in his work, in his assignment, respecting the efforts those before him had made to ensure the position garnered respect, immediate and unquestioning. Beyond what others had done, he'd earned the commission, and dammit, the Faledrin man deserved the respect.

And then Quinnis showed up.

It had been a mistake, that raucous evening at the Laughing Eel last week. A night on the town at a tavern filled with lovely women and freely flowing Baladuri ale had been well spent, though in retrospect Rist was never perfectly clear on where the entertainment had come from. Neither he nor his fellows had much cared: the prices were greatly reduced, the supply of alcohol was seemingly unending, and the ladies were especially loving. It was a dream come true.

It was possible, he later admitted to himself, that he'd let slip things he oughtn't have. Perhaps he'd undermined ever so slightly the perceived integrity of the southern nightwatch captain, making known to...somebody (honestly, the amount of ale he'd consumed made it difficult to remember exact details) that there was more to Captain Lorco's late night "patrols" than he claimed to his wife. He might have also mentioned that he was the only one to know this, which meant the captain would know exactly who it was that had spilled the beans, should it ever come to light. It put him in a rather uncomfortable position; Quinn probably wasn't the one who'd heard all that.

But what if he was? The thought wiggled irritatingly in the back of his mind as that very man stood before him, just as soaked with the downpour as was Rist, a huge and apparently full sack of...something slung over his shoulder. Toys, the man claimed. The dull red cloak trimmed in a dirty white that managed to deflect most of the rain from the blonde Baladuri looked ridiculous in the setting. Rist gestured at bag with the point of his spear.

"I am! That bag looks like it could fit a child in it no problem!" The splatter of water drops upon cobblestone, mud, wooden shingles, and metal helmet caused quite the noise, and the two men had to practically shout at each other to be heard, despite the single stride that separated them. "No, I simply can't allow that possibility!"

It was a weak defense, and Rist knew it. He was sure that Quinn knew it. The other's face certainly grew distressingly bemused, and the guardsman found himself worried: not that Quinn might actually kidnap a child, of course. Again, the implication was ridiculous. But Rist was worried that Quinn might actually reason his way into the noble's district in spite of Rist's obvious desire to prevent him from doing so, which would mean a serious loss of respect.

But Fate it seemed smiled on the poor man, for a shout, recognized from training despite the complete novelty of its actual use, rang out from the wall. With a deep solid thud the gate closed, ending quite thankfully all debate about the matter. Rist glanced briefly over his shoulder before looking back to Quinn.

"It's not my call anymore. On with you, Travers; the gate will be open some other time."

"Damn," came the reply, honest and forthright, and Quinn turned on his heel. "Now where will I find children for my sack?"

He trudged off through the muddy street, hunched forward from the apparent weight of the bag's contents, the wet cloak reflecting what little afternoon light managed to pierce the cloud cover. Rist watched him go, the relief that washed over him nearly causing his knees to buckle. He had nothing more than a feeling of distrust that his time of dealing with the malcontents of Windfeld had instilled, but all the same, he found it hard to dislike that man. That was the scary part to him: Rist wanted to let the Baladuri in, before the gate had closed, and it was only its fortunate timing that had prevented his eventual entry. Shaking off the worry, he turned to address some ignorant street rat that had gotten to close, chastising him for his foolhardiness.

Quinn kept taking turns as he led the gate farther behind him: left, right, right, left, right, left, left, left, right, right. Stragglers, tails, weren't terribly common outside the Cult, far as he knew, but he wasn't taking any chances. Not where he was going. The less chance anyone had of associating him with Dusk's Welcome, the better. With a final turn left, he upturned the sack to free its contents: soiled rags and hay. Filler, to be replaced later by finery from the land of the rich. So much for that idea. Now empty, the bag was tied around his waist as a kind of sash, and Quinn strode on.

Solace was the first to greet him, per the usual. A half-elf of black hair, green eyes, pale complexion, and generous proportion, Solace had become his absolute favorite companion at the brothel. It was uncanny how she always knew when he approached the place; he might have chalked it up to magic, but the girl made no secret that she'd been stripped of her magic at a young age. So somehow or another she always knew, and that meant Eswayt did, too.

"She's upstairs," Solace cooed as she ran out to greet Quinn, placing a hand on his upper arm. "Wants a talking."

"Now?" Quinn sighed as he crossed the threshold, stripping his cloak and hanging it on a nearby peg. Dusk's Welcome was opulent, or as opulent as the poorer citizens of Windfeld knew the word to mean. The receiving room was wide and long, if perhaps still claustrophobic thanks to a low ceiling. A few wooden tables and chairs sat about the place, decorated in old but clean linens and cloth, the reds and golds giving the appearance of luxury. A multitude of candles lit the place well, placed as they were around strategically, though not so well as to ruin any potential mood. The few windows in the building's front were flung open to receive the cool moist breeze the rain had brought. Several of the ladies there sat about, conversing; the downpour had likely driven away potential clientele. Quinn looked back at Solace as she followed him in and smiled. His arm reached out and caught her around her middle, hand resting on her hip suggestively. "I'd really looked forward to some time...alone."

The half-elf laughed playfully but flicked him on the nose.

"Now. Can't wait. Usual thing." It was an odd manner of speaking, the way Solace talked, one Quinn had never heard before. He believed himself that it was a side effect of her loss of magic, but given that she came to Dusk's Welcome in her middle teens from some place she couldn't articulate, it could very well have been a cultural influence. Solace pointed to the stairway, her happy face beginning to turn sour. "Work now; play later."

"Certainly." With a grin, Quinn released her, but not before giving her bottom a passing squeeze with his hand. "I look forward to it."

Solace gasped. Lifting one foot, she pulled the sandle free and began slapping the retreating Baladuri repeatedly across his back, though without any real force.

"Hey! No good! Big trouble! Hurry up!"

"I'm going! I'm going!"

Hands up in mock surrender, Quinn hurried forward and up the stairs, not reacting to but taking immense satisfaction in the mixture of giggles and gasps falling from the lips of Solace's brothel sisters. But Solace was right: he was past due for his meeting with the old lady. Taking the stairs two at a time, he ascended them quickly and was soon at her door. He knocked once and pushed in.

While the reception room below was outfitted well, quite possibly to the point of unwise spending, Eswayt's study was completely its opposite. Clearly designed to be more utilitarian in nature, it contained little in the way of furniture and absolutely no decor. Multiple shelves lined the walls in rows, each filled with many books of records. A gray wooden table sat perhaps two yards from the doorway; the old woman sat at it upon a matching chair facing the door, curly white hair pulled back revealing the points of her ears as she poured over a new record book, quill in hand. As he entered, Eswayt glanced up.

"Well?"

"Well what? It's a stupid tradition. It's not like it's actually a 'daily' thing anyway."

Eswayt continued to stare at him, unmoving. When he emulated her, arms crossed, the old half-she elf merely placed her quill onto the table gently, folded her hands together by interlocking her fingers, purses her lips, and looked directly into his eyes. And Quill quailed. Raising his hands, he groaned.

"Fine. Fine! Damn. 'May I have the card of the day?' I may as well be asking for a cup of water."

Apparently satisfied, Eswayt lifted pages of her book to a particular place and pulled free a small square of parchment. On it was the picture of a lion, its regal pose undermined by the cage of thorns that encircled it. Quinn frowned as he swept it up.

"See? How much easy would it have been to just tell me? No paper, no chance of interception from gods know what 'enemies' we have."

"I'd think that after a decade of doing this, you'd have come to appreciate some small amount why we do things the way we do." Eswayt picked up her quill and bent back down over her work. "But then, maybe you're more in a 'playful' mood, hm?"

Quinn rolled his eyes.

"Relax; I'll go straight there. Damn. You're retired, Essie; stop trying to run things in your old age."

"If I could trust you to not stumble about," she remarked, her voice tinged with a chiding humor as she gave Quinn a dismissive wave, "I would."

Grumbling under his breath, the Baladuri stalked out. A quick goodbye and a promise of later return was all he could manage to Solace before he donned his cloak yet again and strode back out into the rain.

The Seawatch. The gods damned Seawatch. It always felt wrong to him, anytime they met someplace other than his own tavern. The Laughing Eel had plenty of space for clandestine meetings, and the patronage was certainly more varied. Not to mentioned it drew a bigger crowd. So why in the gods' damned names-

He'd be lucky to gather a crowd like this, even Quinn had to admit to himself, though what drew them to this piss excuse of a tavern he couldn't guess. Proximity to the water, maybe? Damn real estate. The Baladuri pushed in through the door and glanced at the innkeeper. With a mutual scowl, they turned away to their own business, but not before the keep had nodded to a back hallway. Following the gesure, Quinn pushed through until he heard the sound of voices.

"What a damn fine day," he commented jovially as he pushed the door open and stepped in. The cloak he shed with a bit of a flourish, tossing it Tamerlin's way carelessly. "What's that,Tam: you will? Thanks. You're a pal."

He glanced around; there seemed to be no more free seats. Shrugging, he crossed his arms and nodded to Sothal.

"Boss. So what's with the gate? Ol' Rist wouldn't or couldn't tell me anything, and I got the card before I could look into it further."

Dovahkiin · Dec 28, 2016

MOIRA NYNES

Many-a-time, curiosity had gotten the better of Moira -- and on rainy days such as these with nothing to occupy her mind save getting herself into trouble, she let it.

She'd seen the dog wandering about the city's alleyways for months, mostly shoving its nose through garbage and shrinking away from people who passed him by. It was difficult to tell how old the scrawny thing was; he moved with the lethargy of being close to death, but being deprived of basic needs was a fair enough cause for sluggishness. Mud-laden coat stretched over his skeletal body, Moira half-wondered what its original color what been, had it not been for the grime, as she trailed after him with quiet footsteps, careful to avoid sloshing around in the rain puddles. He rounded a corner into an alley. Moira lost sight of him.

Hidden behind the corner of a building, Moira held her breath and dared a peek into the alley. Nothing. The usual trash lined its walls, but that was all it contained. She spent a moment with her gaze stuck down the alley, as if the dog would somehow know to make a reappearance. Of course, he did not. Furrowing her brows, she stole a glance at the pieces of jerky tucked snugly into her fist. She gave something akin to a half-chuckle half-scoff, shaking her head, before she snapped her attention ahead. Maybe I could learn a few tricks from this mutt.

Moira took a step forward only to see a flash of matted fur dashed across the alley's exit, and she recoiled, a curse slipping beneath her breath. Holding a hand to her fluttering heart, she chuckled airily, getting ahold of her hammering pulse. "Little shit," she breathed. Moira ran a hand over her face and, with newfound determination, she slinked after the dog once more.

Her makeshift espionage mission was short-lived. Frenzied shouts rang out in the distance over the pattering of rain, and it took only a moment for Moira to break into a dead sprint toward the chaos. Through the cover of alleyways, she made it to the scene, and when she managed a look at the cause of the commotion, her mouth went dry. They... actually closed the gates? she thought, and wariness took a grip of her nerves. Odd. Her mind fled to worries about her old friend Alfred's well-being, and she shook her head like she was trying to shake them loose. Get answers first, worry later. And with that, she hastened further into the slums.

Ferris was an easy enough man to find, being the only one not throwing in coins to bet on a street squabble as he leaned against a wall, demeanor passive and calm. People around him, roaring with excitement, huddled around a duo of men who couldn't be much more than twenty.

"Get 'im!"
"C'mon, don't take that!"

There was a pound of fist on flesh, and the onlookers' response was a concoction of exasperated groans and cheers. Moira couldn't help but give into the former. She couldn't count on both hands the number of times she'd have to drag Alfred out of fights like these -- with his untamed tongue and hot head, it was all too often. The other people hadn't minded. On the streets, fights provided a good source of entertainment, and she supposed she could understand it. Any momentary distraction from worrying about survival was a welcomed one.

Moira's approach was met with a smile. She did her best to return it.

"Ferris," she greeted. The mute man bobbed his head, his grin stretching to reveal his abnormally white teeth. "Card of the day?"

Ferris tapped his scarred fingers against his lips in faux pensiveness, and Moira quirked a brow. Trade? he mouthed. His eyes fell onto her fist, and her eyes followed. Taking a glance at the scar-faced man, she lifted it, allowing it to unfurl before him. Deft fingers were quick to snatch the jerky, and a chuckle bubbled from Moira's throat. "It's, ah... It's not the best, but you can have it."

He smiled and nodded his head, before reaching into a ragged pocket and retrieving a card, placing it face-up on her palm. After taking a look at the card, Moira patted Ferris on his shoulder. "Stay safe. Something's going on with the royal gobs up there." She started off down the street, then halted to throw the man a smile from over her shoulder. "Oh, and enjoy your jerky."

Eventually, Moira reached the Seawatch Inn and even from outside its doors, she could hear its patrons. She opened the doors to reveal a mass of people inside, drinks in hand and conversation on their lips, and Moira wondered if they knew about the noble district's gates closing. It'd make sense to remedy their worries with a bit of alcohol. She debated on grabbing a drink herself, but it was a fleeting thought, pushed aside just as quickly as it came. Skirting around the crowd, she looked to the innkeeper. He tipped his chin down the hall, and Moira hadn't hesitated in following his directions with a small, thankful nod of her head.

With rain-dabbled hands, she peeled open the backroom door. A number of familiar faces beat her to the meeting, and she bit back the release of a relieved sigh. They're fine, at least. Her gaze shifted to Oracle and her anticipation for hearing her knowledge about the gates closing grew, cold fingers fiddling with the fabric on her cowl. Drink after this, maybe.

CloudyBlueDay · Dec 30, 2016

LEONA MONAGAN

Leona loved the feeling of sunlight upon her skin. Every morning she would climb atop the roof and wait for the sun to rise, until it began to dance upon her fingertips. The flesh upon her hands was scarred and mutilated, but that did not stop her from enjoying the morning sun's warmth. Leona closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. There could simply be nothing better than --

"Leona!"

She snapped to attention. She always did lose track of time up here. Leona pulled her gloves back on and disappeared down the hatch that lead to the roof, back into the house. Muller's furrowed brows and frown awaited her.

"Six years in the cult and you still act like a child. I'm impressed." He said with a huff, turning around and shrugging.

"I hardly did anything." Leona said nonchalantly, trying to play off Muller's distaste.

"While waking up before the sun is certainly a wonderful thing, wasting your head start doesn't do you any good. You were to sweep, were you not?"

"Well.."

"Come. We'll have breakfast and start the day." Muller disappeared down the stairs, and Leona could hear him quietly chuckling to himself. Leona sighed.

She pulled tomatoes from the garden and cracked and stirred the eggs. Muller, despite all his finesse, was a terrible cook. Leona handled their meals and the both of them enjoyed her cooking greatly. After they had both eaten, Leona began her chores and Muller went out to attend his business.

By the time he had returned, the place was spotless. She had dusted off every nook and cranny, organized every loose paper. "How about that, huh?" Leona said proudly. "I even rearranged the drawers. Alphabetical. Admittedly, I got a bit carried away." Leona searched Muller's face, wondering why there was no reaction. He brushed past her with a grunt and sat down at the table.

"The gates closed," He said matter-of-factly. Leona's face tightened in confusion and thought.

"Without any warning?" A nod of approval came from the veteran.

"Do you perhaps have the card of the day, then?" She said, inching closer. From the folds of his coat he procured a single card and handed it to her. Leona smiled at the image of a lion, wreathed in thorns. "A card just for me, huh?" She said with a smirk. She knew the symbol instantly -- The Seawatch Inn. "I'll gather my things." She told Muller, and disappeared up the stairs.

She left her bow and arrows, but her belt with daggers and her khopesh's was a must under her cloak. To not have a weapon on oneself at all times was a certain death sentence, she knew from many years of experience. Once she had gathered all her things, Leona headed back down, gave a short nod to Muller in goodbye, and headed out the door.

The Seawatch Inn was not far off. Despite the time of day, the place was packed. Jeers, shouts, and clinking of beer glasses were most of what she could pick up from the place. She narrowed her eyes in search of any clue of where the meeting was to be held. Catching sight of the innkeeper, she made her way to him, and he made a subtle gesture to the direction she was supposed to go. Offering a small smile as thanks, Leona headed down the hallway.

The room already seemed to have quite a few people, but nothing seemed to have started. She recognized the faces and Leona kept her smile up as she stepped further into the room. "Ah, good." She said with a breath of relief. "I'm not late."

Effervescent · Dec 30, 2016

Inside the Seawatch Inn

The thrash of waves against the stone walls of Windfeld could be heard among the spattering of rain upon the window of their ever smaller room. Sothal greeted everyone who entered the room with a nod of his head, his hands reaching within his dampened jacket for a simple flask kept filled with spirits. He downed a swig of the bitter drink and welcomed the smooth heat down his throat. Meanderig over to the pot, he cast his dark eyes to look into its contents. They were blessed even to have Oracle's stew on such a weary day, and it was not many who got a hot meal.

Those within the Cult of Thieves were not typically that of prosperous nobility. There were days where they all must have questioned whether they would even get another meal. That is what mostly drove Sothal's resolve in their affairs. He would do what he felt necessary to balance out the injustices so that Faledrin could find some semblance of better equality. Their king was an awful tyrant who was sure to favor his prosperous court. Sothal came to appreciate even the simplest of meals, though out of the lot he felt almost displaced; as if he did not belong to their caliber.

"More chairs," Sothal said thoughtfully, "and more spoons. Unless this is all for scent alone. I certainly would be remiss."

He pointed a finger at Quinn's quip as the Baladuri entered with his typical flare, though did not correct the man. After all these years he had given up on such an endeavor. It was likely the man enjoyed watching Sothal take the jest too seriously, for there was a day when he would have reminded Quinn upon every remark that he was not at all their boss. Hopefully Tam never doubted their equality within the Cult of Thieves. Being the freshest of the crew, it was important to Sothal for such qualities to be remembered and enforced.

Milly and Moira elected to be the silent of the crew, and had he felt more lively he would have prompted conversation. But whatever caused the gates to the Noble District to close greatly troubled him. He knocked back his flask once again to keep the buzz upon his body afloat and shook his head in contemplation. Sothal spared a glance towards Oracle before looking over to Leona upon her entry.

"Perhaps Arthur has not thought to venture," he said to them all. He offered his flask to Kylar, the cap unscrewed and dangling from a tether. "If all are in favor, we can commence regardless. I'm eager to know if any of you have news of what could have caused this. Perhaps Oracle was able to garner some insight? I personally did not catch the reason for the gates closing. Considering the last reason being a murderer, I don't doubt their cause for concern this time is just as grave."

@Doctor Jax @Red Thunder @rissa @Elle Joyner @Gossamer @RiddL @CloudyBlueDay

Elle Joyner · Dec 31, 2016

no-lightbox

As anticipated, the room had filled up remarkably fast, member after member making their appearance. While the tiny room wasn't entirely designed for so many to fit comfortably, it was encouraging to note so many had come, and so swiftly. She had been right, then, to send out the cards… Her intuition had not let her down in the past, and it seemed it would not start to, that day.

As the occupancy of the room stretched to the uttermost, Cordelia moved to the stove and from the shelf overhead, pulled down a stack of wooden bowls, peering over her shoulder at the organizer's comments with a small chuckle, "Now, Sothal… You know that I wouldn't tease you. Do hand these out, would you?" Filling each bowl, she held them out a pair at a time, to distribute among the others. There was nothing spectacular about the stew, apart from having had ingredients to make it, at all, but it was warm and rich and on that especially miserable day, would fill quite nicely.

"Here we are, then… The gates." With the last of the bowls passed, she pulled out a wooden chair from her desk and settling onto it, curled her bare feet beneath her, hands neatly in her lap, eyes moving among the assembled members, "I wish I had better news, but it won't do to be coy about it. You were all right to be concerned. Just this morning, I was able to confirm a rumor that has reached my ear. There are Tainted within Windfeld."

A sigh escaped, as she plucked at a fraying strand of lace on the hem of her skirt, "What's more… it would seem they are not an unknown entity at least where the Noble District is concerned. There has been at least one sighting of a Tainted, leaving the gates, shortly before their closing. The guards are aware, and giving their increasingly volatile behavior, I cannot imagine this is something any of us should take lightly."

TAGS: @Effervescent, @RiddL, @Doctor Jax, @Red Thunder, @rissa, @Gossamer, @CloudyBlueDay, @Dovahkiin

Red Thunder · Jan 3, 2017

~Quinnis Travers~

At the news of Tainted, Quinn began coughing violently. It didn't help of course that he'd taken a bite just before Oracle had mentioned it, nor that he hadn't taken the precaution of checking the soup's temperature before shoving the spoonful into his mouth. The heat scalded his his tongue, not to mention the bit of his windpipe he'd misdirected the broth into with his intake of surprise, and what was most certainly a delicious dinner was lost on the man. The vaguely formal atmosphere, carefully tended by Oracle, Sothal, and others there was rent by a stream of curses that fell from Quinn's mouth under hot breath.

But food had suddenly dropped a rung on his priority list. He managed to regain his breath as their hostess finished articulating the situation, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he shook his head violently.

"Tainted? You've got to be joking. C'mon; Tainted? When's the last time anyone ever heard of one in a civilized town?" He paused a moment, considering the implications of what he'd said. "Yeah, okay; fair point. All the same. This has got to be some nobleman's rumor, designed to send the poor masses scurrying. For...hell, I couldn't say why."

Scoffing, he looked back to his soup. No, better let it cool a bit more. Mouth pulled tight in skepticism, Quinn tilted his head.

"Who saw this thing, and are they trustworthy? Not that I don't trust you, Oracle, honey, but this information could change things significantly, both in our circle and in the city abroad. We gotta make sure it's legitimate."

@Elle Joyner

rissa · Jan 3, 2017

Romilly Lecadre

She accepted the bowl of stew gratefully, and ignoring the spoon that'd been pressed into her hand, she simply tipped the bowl and swallowed the warm stew bit by bit. The vegetables were soft, if a bit stringy, but the meat was cooked thoroughly and pleasantly spiced. She hadn't eaten a proper meal in days and the stew, in her starving opinion, was good enough for a king. In between bites she glanced about the room, taking in the faces of her fellows. Memories danced behind each face, some more than others and each was recognizably unqiue in their own way. She took another savory bite, the warmth heating her belly.

Halfway through her ravenous eating however, the Oracle gave way to the reason they'd all been summoned and if she hadn't such a tight grip on her bowl, it would've clattered to the floor. It seemed she wasn't the only one who shared in the hair-raising surprise. She watched idly as the owner of the Laughing Eel, her every-few-days "boss", went through a coughing spell.

"Tainted?" Milly asked numbly. "I-In Windfeld?"

She made to stand, fear tingling it's way up her spine, but the room was at it's max capacity and even within the corner of the small room, Milly'd be bumping elbows. Instead she sought the gaze of the Oracle, a sinking resignation filtering through her. She waited until Quin was finished with his rambling before speaking to Sothal and Oracle.

"What are we to do?"

@Effervescent @Elle Joyner

RiddL · Jan 4, 2017

Kylar accepted the drink and poured a little into his bowl before handing it back to Sothal, nodding his head in thanks to the man as he started eating with a gusto. His eyes watching everyone as he ate, watching for anything out of the ordinary, it wasn't that he didn't trust them, he just tended to do that in any situation.

Kylar didn't even pause his eating as Oracle gave the news, "Tainted huh? This should be interesting." He thought as he Quinn started couching and spluttering as he took a bite of his food. "Die quietly would you Quinn, some of us are trying to enjoy a good meal" He said in his head while his mouth answered both Quinn' and Romilly's question, "The threat is real enough Quinn, the guards are more forceful than usual that even a simpleton could tell that there is some serious trouble. As to you're question Ms Lecadre, It's simple..." he said, his eyes locking on and alternating between everyone in the room before resting on Sothal' eyes. "...We relocate the poor soul where it can't hurt anyone, or we kill it. Simple but not easy. Am I right Sothal?" He said as he put down his bowl.

With his piece finished, he reached into the satchel on his side and pulled out what looked like a dead, dry leaf. he broke it up to a dust in his hands and threw it all down his gullet. The leaf would sharpen his senses and remove whatever weariness might be through his muscles. He puled out another leaf, this one green and freshly picked, and handed it to Romilly, "This will help with the nerves, but chew and don't swallow." He said placing it in the young woman's hands.

He reached back and grabbed his cloak, placing it on his lap. ready to leave as soon as this discussion on what was to happen was finished.

@Effervescent @Red Thunder @rissa and

Effervescent · Jan 5, 2017

Inside the Seawatch Inn

A feeling nagged at the back of Sothal's mind as he considered what was presented. This felt off more than usual, and it all redirected back to the strange actions of the nobles. If the Tainted came from the Noble District, thereby prompting the guards to close the gates before the rest of Windfeld even knew of a threat, then it would seem the Tainted would either be a noble or one of their hired help. Judging by the lack of consideration for capturing the Tainted to keep things quiet among themselves, it was likely the latter. Even then, their hired help was just as closed off as the rest of them, forbidden to venture outside of the gates in fear the help would catch disease. Signs pointed to a nefarious Shadow Caster among the Noble District intending to incite chaos.

Then again, Quinn could be right. What if it was a nobleman's ploy? He worked through reasonings as to why someone would fake a Tainted in Windfeld to the point of closing the gates to the Noble District. Either way, it reeked of ill intentions, and he was not so quick as to dismiss Cordelia's information. She said there was a sighting, and so he would presume nothing less. He drank from his flask and looked over to Kylar as he proposed a solution to the conflict.

"If we manage not to kill him, I want to interrogate him," Sothal said. "I find it curious it was sighted leaving the Noble District. I want to know why, and I think that is the easiest way to go about it. Of course, if we find we have to kill the bastard we know how to-"

Sothal's voice slowed to a stop mid sentence as he honed in on the noise he was hearing outside the Seawatch. There were cries and calls echoing not but a block away, and he pulled back the drapes that covered the window to see if he can peek at the commotion. Through the rain and clusters of buildings, only a few runners could be seen fleeing from Caterly Street. The unmistakable roar of a Tainted billowed through Windfeld.

"Donne your cowls," Sothal said to the crew as he turned to face them.. "It looks as though the Tainted has conveniently come to us. If you're fit to fight I would appreciate the help."

He raised his mask from beneath his weathered jacket to conceal his face before disappearing in an inky black cloud. Sothal was known to transport himself in such a manner, his form now outside the Seawatch racing towards Caterly Street.

Currently: Now that the Tainted has revealed itself, your characters are faced with the next step. They can either help Sothal take it down by taking part in close combat, or they can use their resources and skills otherwise. There are many types of poisons that could be used to subdue a Tainted, though it will take significantly more to bring them down than just a regular dose. Your character must decide if they want to keep the Tainted alive and render it unconscious or to kill it and be done with the hassle.

If you feel your character would not engage in combat, PM me and I will assign a scene for your character to take place during the duration of the fight that will involve gathering more information into the appearance of the Tainted.

If you choose to have your character fight against the Tainted, you may write your character entering Caterly Street and exacting an attack against it. Bear in mind it won't die with one hit, and write in the Tainted fighting back! If your character is within melee range, your character will need to mind the Tainted's long and sharp claws as well as its teeth. Everyone must read posts before theirs so that they can know what attacks have been done. Too many people in melee range without writing in that the Tainted has moved away will make it a clusterduck and isn't a very good tactic.

Get creative, and feel free to collaborate with each other for portions of the fight if you'd like. Just wait for me to write in either a death or the Tainted falling unconscious. I will determine the outcome based on what you guys write!

@Doctor Jax @Red Thunder @rissa @Elle Joyner @Gossamer @RiddL @CloudyBlueDay

Elle Joyner · Jan 5, 2017

no-lightbox

The reactions around the room were, in essence, what Cordelia had anticipated when she had initially discovered the information herself. It seemed almost to bear a sense of absurdity when said out loud, and she wasn't surprised really, when at least one of them suggested there might not be complete truth to the rumors. But she was nothing, if not thorough in her information gathering, and they were all of them aware of her gifts… If they wanted more proof, that was certainly something she could provide. It would require a bit more risk on her part, but risk was all a part of their job… their daily lives, and some more so than others.

Sothal spoke up before she could, to assuage Quinn's doubts and sitting back, Cordelia listened, nodding along with a small, wary frown. His point was one that she had not considered, but certainly wise enough. If they could manage to find the poor creature, to capture it, they could get the information they needed. But capturing a Tainted would be no easy task, and that was only if they could find the--

At the sound of screams, she straightening in her seat… At the bellowing howl, she was on her feet, her eyes shifting to Sothal, who had already begun to instruct the others. She was no fighter, by any rights, but she knew where she would best serve the assembly. Reaching for the peacock blue cloak where she had hung it to dry, she swung it on before turning to the others.

"I'll see about finding a way through the wall. We need more information, and we won't be getting any on this side of the gates. Be--" In a fog of black smoke, Sothal was gone and shaking her head with a smirk, Cordelia looked to the rest of the crew, "Careful…"

Pulling up her hood, she moved to the door, but paused. Normally, she'd have concerned herself with the safety precautions to keep her location as private as possible, but there was hardly time. This would unfortunately be her last use of the Seawatch Inn. Turning back to the desk, she reached for the satchel that hung beside it. Into this, she put a small wooden box, several rolls of parchment and a black sack, tied with string. From the wall above the desk, she grabbed the ring suspended from string on a hook. This, she hung round her neck. With the satchel across her shoulder, she retraced her steps and slipped out.

At the Seawatch entrance, Cordelia moved away from the commotion happening a short distance away, heading instead around the back of the inn. It took some work getting around the mess on Caterly Street, but a history of dodging marks had given her a decent mind for the town's layout and a few minutes from the Seawatch,she had arrived outside the gates. The guards stood outside, still, their demeanor darker even than it had been that morning. She supposed, though, that their disposition had something to do with them being on this particular side of the gate. Bypassing them with only a glance, she continued on her way and when she had put enough distance between her and the guards, she edged closer to the wall, eyes on the stonework, searching carefully for any juts that might serve as foot and handholds.

She'd made it a quarter of the way along the wall when the sound of voices grabbed her attention and pausing, she leaned up against the cool stone.

"It'll be nice, after all this nonsense, to have a bit of fun…"

"Oh, certainly. And Lady North's estate, too. She's just had the drapes redone, you know. I'm dying to see if they're better than the last. Those gaudy purple things were such a tragedy."

"Indeed, they were. Have you heard, though? Who might grace us with his presence?"

"The Prince. I had heard as much. Not that we'll know with it being a masquerade. Still, exciting!"

"Very exciting! I'll need to have Charmane start on a new gown… The lace on my old one is such an outdated pattern, and I've absolutely ruined the hem."

"At least you won't need to have the waist taken out. Have you heard about Lydie?"

"Heard? Have you seen the girl??"

With a burst of raucous giggling, more hen than human, the voices carried off into the distance. Smiling faintly and filing the information away, Cordelia pushed off the wall and continued on her path.

TAGS: @Effervescent, @RiddL, @Doctor Jax, @Red Thunder, @rissa, @Gossamer, @CloudyBlueDay, @Dovahkiin

Doctor Jax · Jan 6, 2017

xxxxxTamerlinxxxxx

One by one, members filtered into the room. In the meantime, Tam's eye was drawn towards the pot sitting over the cookfire, and his stomach garbled quietly. He crossed his arms in front of his rebellious stomach, remembering the missed meal he'd left to his second in command Asif. First in came Milly -- sweet, the laughing kind, the sort he liked to work with -- and then Quinn.

He should have known better than to stand near the door without Quinn in attendance already, and he was paid his due when the man threw his sopping cloak on the man, just as Tam was about to reach for a bowl of soup. The cloak fell across him of course, and underneath it, those who were present would only see a slight shrug as Tam heaved a long-suffering sigh. Quinn was well known in the business, and Tam had had the privilege to work with him. He was used to his antics by now. Heaven knows, as long as he didn't leave him holding someone's child like the last time.

He shrugged off the cloak and made a point to put it on a coat hook farthest from the door -- petty, he knew, but the best he could do was inconvenience on short notice -- and then stand to wait for the others. Then in came Leona -- another sweetheart -- and at that point, it seemed no one else was coming for the day. With that, Sothal began the meeting, while Oracle ladled soup out to the members of the room. Tam, as was his wont, waited until last to get himself a bowl. He liked to see others eat first -- not that he didn't trust Oracle, of course -- as the food in Windfeld could be... treacherous.

It was a good thing he didn't take a bowl first, though. With the mention of "Tainted", Tam swallowed hard. It explained a lot, if he was honest. The "strays" were suddenly coming in a lot more often, and there'd been whispers among them about how there was "something different" in the city, though not anything that Tam would've called out of the ordinary for them. He knew that now and again, they came and went, like the ebb and flow of the Glass Sea. This time, though, the fact that the Oracle professed a Tainted was within the walls of the city only added to the recent surge of skittishness in his "regulars".

He did have to admit, though, despite the seriousness of the situation, it was a little funny to see Quinn cough up half his soup. Tam hid a grin as he grabbed a bowl at last and waited for it to cool. He was more the listening type as it was, and he eyed the faces around who questioned the news, only for Sothal and Oracle to assure that it was true. His gaze bounced around to the other faces to see their expressions, their reactions to this news, and he saw a mix of bewildered, frightened, and -- in the case of Kylar -- interest. With that, Sothal quickly told them that they needed to either take it in or kill it off. Personally, Tam would've liked them to keep it alive (for practical reasons more than personal -- it was just good business, if they were a noble), but he of course would not be fighting it.

Just as he was about to take a bite of his soup, now that it had cooled, there was a shriek somewhere outside the inn, and, in a flash, Sothal was a black blur -- literally -- going out the door. He nearly dropped his bowl of soup, and quickly, he scarfed it down, making a motion towards the Oracle that it was, indeed, good. Glad for the hot meal, he quickly headed out the door after her, though taking a different route... As much as he wished he could be more help with the immediate problem, he knew his place. He'd be more hindrance than help.

"Good luck, friends," he said with a grave nod to those who were heading out to... deal with the beast.

No, it was better he looked after his own flock for now. Other than that, perhaps they could give him some more information.

He went out into the pouring rain, not deigning to give the others a farewell salute. Immediately he went to the fish market square to talk to the usuals there, and found nothing out of the ordinary, everyone accounted for. A quick jog down the docks found the same, though some of the orphans working under Halfhand, a blacksmith, said that some odd word had gone around about something beastly in the streets. Tam's look grew darker as he visited each subsequent part of the city, from Seamstress Place, to Butcher's Ferry, to the Seven Fountains.

He did not encounter real dread until he began towards the Bridge, which - for whatever reason - was just called The Bridge by the children, despite there being more than a single bridge in the city. Underneath was a rather large assortment of orphans who made their homes around the supports of the rather large bridge.

"Timothy!" shouted a young voice, a quick and lithe body clothed in rags attached to it. A young girl, no more than ten, popped out from a hut made of refuse and rotting boards. Tam smiled at the girl and crouched down to her height, fishing in his pocket for a small coin. He put it in the bowl he'd pilfered from the inn, and he asked, "Sophia, you been alright? How are the others?"

"F'me?! Thank yee much, Timo, you din't have ta! Yeh, everyone 'ere's... well, they's themselves, you know?" said Sophia, scuffing her bare feet against the hard gravelly ground. However, he could see in the way she hesitated that something was not quite right, despite her professing that things were normal, or as normal as they could be for her type.

"Alright, I just wanted to check up on you. I know it floods when it rains this hard. You know where to go if you need help," he said softly, standing back up.

"Tim... wait a second, wait! I... No' everything's been fine. Um... Jo ain't been back," she said, her words dwindling as she looked around for others who might hear. Tam's eyebrows drew together. Jo was Sophia's older brother, almost fourteen years old. She was smart not to bandy this fact about. Children could be just as cutthroat as their older counterparts. Tam's heart thudded.

"For how long?" Tam asked. "Jo goes into wandering spells sometimes, you know. He tells me he has walking feet."

"Yeah, I know, I know, but it's been two nights and I ain't heard back from 'im. Gettin' antsy, you know? It's not just me neither, Timmy! Greta from Baker's Block? I ain't heard from her in five days."

It was hard to take the 'wandering patterns' of beggars as fact that they were missing, especially orphans, as there were a number of things that could've happened, but he knew that Sophia was relatively in touch with most of the street rats. Greta was even more troubling than Jo. She was born with clubbed feet and could barely walk. If she had fled from her spot in Baker's Block, something serious had to have happened.

"I'll keep an eye out, Sophia, and I'll ask my own kids if they hear anything. You just keep warm out here. If the water gets too high, don't worry about coming in. I'll give you a discount. Just show that bowl," Tam said with a reassuring smile, ruffling Sophia's curly mop of matted hair. She smiled at him and hugged his waist, forcefully, sending the smell of human sweat, feces, and trash to his nose. He swallowed and patted her tiny back before he began to climb out of the gully the Bridge sat in.

It looked like he was on the trail of something else. Tainted, afoot-- the street children, scared -- two of them, missing. It was not looking to be a pretty picture.

@Red Thunder @Elle Joyner @Effervescent @CloudyBlueDay @rissa @Riddlr

CloudyBlueDay · Jan 7, 2017

LEONA MONAGAN

Now that Leona had settled into a spot in the room, no longer rushed or worried about missing any of the meeting, she found that a wonderful scent of something brewing filled her nostrils. She seemed eager to be handed the bowl, and immediately tipped it to her lips, the thick broth filling her up nicely. She kept her eyes on Oracle, waiting for the news as she drank the stew until the bowl was emptied. Luckily, by the time she had finished it, the news was out; Tainted. Quinn did not seem to be so lucky, and was quickly coughing and sputtering. Leona spared a small chuckle at his misfortune, before Oracle's words finally settled in on her.

..Tainted?

Quinn seemed to be in denial; Milly was straight to the point of asking for the plan of action. Kylar seemed to have a sturdy idea, but it was one without the steps to get there. Relocating a tainted was not an easy matter. Sothal wanted to interrogate it, if they could manage to keep the Tainted alive. Leona nodded silently in agreement. It was the best option to discover the meaning behind it's origin, but no one could predict the outcome. But before Sothal could finish his thought, he paused midway. With the newly found silence in the room, she could hear past the Seawatch Inn, and the frightening noises that came from somewhere around it. A worried look came across her face -- this had to be the very Tainted they were discussing.

Leona pulled her mask from her cloak but did not put it on just yet -- As Sothal disappeared in a murky cloud, and Oracle and Tamerlin headed out through the door, Leona also retrieved from her cloak a small vial and one of her khopesh blades. The vial contained Giant Spider venom -- perfect for paralysis. She coated the khopesh in it -- though it would likely take more than one stab at the Tainted to bring it down, this was certainly in the direction Sothal wanted to take. She had never fought a Tainted before. First time for everything?

With a quick nod to the remaining in the room, she fastened the mask on and set out for Caterly Street. It was pure havoc, people running and screaming and fleeing. Leona had always appreciated the thrill of heading the one direction everyone else ran away from, and with the venom doused blade clutched tightly in her fist beneath her cloak, she felt prepared. She could see Sothal ahead -- and soon, the Tainted.

It was a monstrous sight, of course, fitting for a monster. The Tainted rummaged about, letting out awful roars as it chased citizens and destroyed whatever lay in it's path. How do I approach this? The best place to strike would be the heart, but the Tainted's sharp teeth and claws blocked her way to it. Leona spared a glance towards Sothal as she ran from cover to cover, inching closer and closer. She would wait for the perfect opportunity -- perhaps Sothal would help her with a distraction.

@Effervescent, @RiddL, @Doctor Jax, @Red Thunder, @rissa, @Gossamer, @Elle Joyner

RiddL · Jan 9, 2017

Kylar was out of the room, throwing his cloak to the Inn keeper as he ran out of the Inn. He ran past the people fleeing in the other direction, his mask covering his face and his hair in a tight pony tail, using his athletic abilities he leaped over, dodged around and snaked his way to where the beast was causing carnage, its body glistening with the rain and light. Taking a deep breath, Kylar leapt into action when the beast turned his back to him, jumping on a nearby crate and jumping onto its shoulders. He used his momentum to push it into a wall and flipped off of its back, landing softly on his feet and throwing his rope spear out, piercing the beasts right arm.

The Tainted let out an ear piercing roar of pain as Kylar ripped the steel blade out of its arm, throwing it off balance and making it trip over its own feet. "You angry big guy? Because that is only a small taste of what i am going to do to you!" He said loud enough for those still around to hear. The Tainted slowly got back to its feet and turned menacingly towards Kylar, bearing its teeth and claws in a threatening gesture. In turn Kylar smiled, an expression that usually terrified people when he used it, and rolled his shoulders, blood and rain dripping off of his rope spear and his hair slowly loosening out of its pony tail.

The Tainted roared and charged, swiping and hitting air as ducked under its claws and jabbed it in the throat, using the confusion of the strike to run towards an abandoned alley to keep any bystanders out of the way. He heard the heavy footsteps of the beast rapidly approaching on the puddled ground and sprinted towards a wall, turning as he reached it and throwing the rope spear again, but this time the Tainted was ready, grabbing the rope spear by the blade and wrenching it out of Kylar' hands.

"Well, that's just rude..." He muttered under his breath as he pulled his long, slender stiletto out of its sheath. He held it up blade facing down and ran at the Tainted, leaping acrobatically over it and turning, slicing between its shoulder blades as he did so and burying the blade in the joint of its elbow.

"If it's anything like a normal creature, that should limit it's..." Kylar never got to finish the thought as the Tainted beast answered his attack with a giant backhanded strike to his chest sending him flying back into a nearby wall and slumping on the ground, semi-conscious.

He was out of the fight for now.

Red Thunder · Jan 9, 2017

~Quinnis Travers~

Martyrs. The lot of them. Though I guess she was right about the damn thing. Hate that.

Quinn watched, nonplussed, as Cult member after Cult member rushed outside, apparently all too eager to confront the beastie that raged outside. And he shook his head; what were the likes of them going to do against a Tainted? Thieves, con men, fast talkers, and an assassin or two. That was all they were. Maybe in the Cult of Thieves heyday, sure, but now? He scoffed to himself as he finished his bowl, recalling his first few years in the Cult, when Sothal, Oracle, and he were the newest of the lot. Even then, he'd have mocked such an endeavor. It was foolish, arrogant even, that they should get involved directly.

Indirectly, however...

Tilting up the bowl, Quinn used the spoon to shovel in the last bit of vegetables and broth before standing and setting both down on his chair. A quick glance at where Tam had been sitting made him chuckle; the bastard had repositioned Quinn's raincloak on the far side of the room. There ya go, lad, he grinned to himself as he retrieved it. Throwing it around his shoulders, he pushed out of the room to execute him plan.

The Seawatch was no good: it may as well have been a brothel for the amount of fornication going on. He might have been tempted to partake, any other day. But there were no boozed up, violent types here. Poets, artists. Lovers. He rolled his eyes as he shoved through the masses. No, the patrons of this place would cower at the word 'Tainted'.

But the ne'erdowells of Paulson's Pub were a rowdy, tempestuous lot. Open and loud, with little in the way of forced restraint, 'the Pub' as people called it attracted those of harsh employ and worse demeanor, and it was an odd thing to not see a fit under its roof. Grinning at the thought as he stepped out into the rain, Quinn began slogging through the muddy streets while the monster roared naught but a few blocks from him.

The Pub was only the next block over, as if the two places worked in tandem, assisting each other with their business. Quinn smelled it before he made it to the door; the stench of body odor, spilled alcohol, and vomit was distinct even through the rain smell, and it was encouraging. It meant that the patrons were in a more raucous mood than usual. Good; they'd need it.

Pausing to jump and thrash about to work himself up, not to mention get some mud splattered on him, Quinn threw the door open with a shove, panting as if he'd just run a mile, head sopping wet from the precipitation. Several faces turned at his entrance, and a few even shouted a greeting. For his part, the Baladuri made a beeline for the bar, muttering curses under his breath with just enough force and vehemence as to be heard by those nearby.

"Whiskey. Rum. Hell, a strong ale. I need something to remove a bad memory, Jules."

The barkeep, a rather distinctly out of place Sur elf of generous waistline among this crowd of degenerates, shrugged.

"What's the matter, Tavers? Run out at your place?"

"Hell no. But I'm not about to try to get past a Tainted just to get drunk off my ass."

Jules froze, dropping the clay mug he'd gotten to give Quinn his drink. It cracked against the wood plank floor, but he didn't care.

"T-T-Tainted?!" he sputtered, eyes wide with fear. About the room, everyone had frozen at the news, ears pricked for any more info. Quinn scoffed and pulled out his pipe to light it.

"Yeah, a Tainted! On Caterly Street! Took out a whole guard patrol, too. No sweat. Ten hells, even the gods damned captain is quaking in his boots. Says that if his patrol couldn't get it done, nobody could."

A local sidled up to Quinn. He didn't recognize the man, an odd fact itself, but the stranger was an impressive specimen: arms as big around as Quinn's thighs, he bore an angry expression and smelled distinctly of a blacksmith's fire. And, more importantly, of large amounts of alcohol. He looked down at the seated Baladuri, frowning.

"How big...izzit?"

"What, the Tainted?" Quinn scoffed incredulously. "Don't even think about it, friend. Even if the entire place... There's what, twenty-something of you? Even if all of you went out to take this monster on, it'd still win the fight."

The smith's frown deepened, and his brow followed suit. He glanced back to the crowd, which had been murmuring amongst themselves just prior. He looked as though he might say something, but instead he picked up a barstool. Quinn grabbed his arm.

"No you don't. It'll kill you all."

The smith looked down at him and back at the crowd. And he smiled an exceedingly foolhardy smile.

"Probably not all of us."

Brandishing the stool above his head, he bellowed a Huzzah! The other patrons took up the cry. With another shout, the smith charged out the door and into the rain. And the crowd followed him, except perhaps for one or two yellow bellies who knew better or perhaps who weren't yet boozed up enough for such bravado. And with them remained Quinn, smiling to himself.

Work with the talents given you.

Best not let Oracle know. You sent them to their deaths! he knew she'd say.

No, he thought in reply to the supposed chastisement as he took a self-congratulatory puff on the pipe. I sent them get a taste of life.

Elle Joyner · Jan 11, 2017

no-lightbox

Of Spiders and Flies...
Part One
It was a quick search, but as thorough as Cordelia dared, yet ultimately fruitless. There were ways over, certainly, but none that she dared attempt, at least not so early in the day, and short of Sothal's disappearing act, there was little more she could do. Quickly, then, Cordelia traveled back in the direction she'd come from.

And she might have made it to Caterly, were she not stalled by a small stream of burly, less than sober men, streaming from the doorway of Paulson's pub.

A few odd winks and caterwauling thrust in her direction might not have been much of a clue, but the raucous chorus struck up by a few of the men of, 'gonna gut me a Tainted, hang his ugly mug up on me wall' was a sing-song giveaway as to their destination.

The pub, however, was far too far from the chaotic discord near the Seawatch, the men too drunk to even notice the affair. How then…

A peek through the door was all she needed. Her expression split between a smirk and a disapproving frown, Cordelia leaned against the door frame of the pub.

"Quinn Tavers… you rotten scoundrel." She chided, though with very little actual conviction, "You'll get those poor fools killed, you know."

Jules had actually regained enough of his composure to get him that mug of ale, which though Quinn didn't actually need, he was still very much enjoying. At Oracle's halfhearted scolding, he set down the mug and wiped the froth from his mouth.

"Not all of them," he replied simply, shrugging as he placed his half smoked pipe back into his mouth. Having given the man his beer, Jules had fled, lest the Tainted get too near the Pub, and the few less intoxicated patrons who'd remained had done the same. It was just the two of them. A small smile appeared on his lips. "At least, probably not all of them, as I was so vehemently instructed. They did seem rather confident in their own abilities, and who am I to judge their personal evaluation in that regard?"

It made him laugh inside, that he'd predicted her response so accurately. A stream of bluish smoke filtered into the air above his head as Quinn released it from his mouth, and he smirked.

"Besides, it'll be one hell of a story for those that survive, oh Oracle of the Bleeding Heart."

"You should've been held more, as a child..." Rolling her eyes, Cordelia pushed off the door frame, adjusting the hood to her violently blue cloak down to her shoulders, "You do know we're meant to be the good guys, yes? C'mon, then, you clever dear. You have given us the perfect window of opportunity." Finger crooked, she gestured rather pointedly for him to follow, before stepping back out into the mud sodden street.

"'Good' is a matter of perspective, Oracle. What is good for the spider is bad for the fly."

Moreover, he mused to himself, knowing it likely wouldn't be taken well if spoken aloud, if a few die to save the masses around them, how is that a bad thing?

At Oracle's beckoning, Quinn sighed dramatically. Who was to say what the vaguely mysterious woman wanted? He had his pipe and his mug, and a nice warm fire; he was hardly of a disposition to follow her back out into the cold rain, and likely toward danger.

"What opportunity could be better than the one I have now?" he called after her. But whether because of the noise of the rain, or perhaps because she was simply ignoring him, Oracle didn't answer. He clicked his tongue and draining his mug before stomping out after her, throwing the hood over the top of his head as he passed the doorway.

"Well, what?" Quinn muttered through clenched teeth, the pipe still lodged there firmly. "I did my part, lass; what more could you want from me?"

Laughing softly, not mockingly, but as one sharing a joke, Cordelia shook her head, drawing her hood back up over her hair, "Dear heart... we've only just begun our part. Now then... where do you suppose we'll find a large, heavy net?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise as Quinn crossed his arms in front of him.

"I wouldn't really know; I'm not much of a fisherman. Though I'd guess there's a few at the docks nearby." Damn rain; they couldn't have discussed this inside? If felt like he was getting wet even through the oiled cloak, and his pipe had long gone out; it was at this point merely a comfort to keep it in his mouth. He thought about asking 'why', but then considered that he probably didn't want to know the answer. Surely not to throw onto the damn creature.

Surely.

"The docks it is, then..." And as if it were the most perfectly normal thing in the world to go traipsing off through rain and muck to steal a fishing net, Cordelia hooked an arm through the crook of Quinn's elbow and started forward.

"We'll need to be quick, of course. Those poor souls won't last long at all against it, and it won't do to try and catch it when it's not distracted." Chuckling softly, she shrugged, "That would be disastrous."

Gods damn it all. Oracle was getting involved, and actively? Hell's bells. Which meant he had to also; his pride wouldn't allow him to simply let her wander off into danger by herself. But he grinned, placing his hand on hers and allowing himself to be led.

"You don't say? I'm glad you told me; I'd have blundered off into the beast's path, likely tangling myself up in the net in the process." Quinn coughed a laugh as he sidestepped a puddle. "Quite the head you have on your shoulders, lass. Knew we kept you around for something, besides that smile of course."

"Oh, is that it, then? I wondered what kept me relevant after all this time. Good to know at least some of it's superficial. A girl tries, after all." With a wink, she returned the smile, but as there often was with Cordelia, there was something subtle behind the expression... She was amused, but she hadn't quite forgotten the mission at hand.

The docks, as they often were on days like this, was nearly abandoned, save for a few stragglers and the odd stray dog. Waves smacked against the wooden pylons with a heavy force, enough to make the entire pier quake, spray rising ten, fifteen feet into the air with each crash.

Retracting her arm from Quinn's, Cordelia set her hand above her brow and squinting through the torrent of salty water, she searched down the line for any sign of a net, "There!" She called loudly over the cacophony, pointing to a rather heavily weighted throw-net, tied down to one of the rails, "That'll do, I think!"

"Great!" Quinn replied in kind. "What the hell are you waiting for, then? Afraid of getting more wet?"

Despite his words he slipped past her, holding tightly to the rails against the force of the waves, grumbling at the ineffectiveness of his oil cloak; the Baladuri felt like he was carrying at least 10 pounds of water in his clothing. A particularly tall wave crashed onto the pier, almost sweeping the man off his feet and out into the ocean. Water was everywhere, and he couldn't breath. As it was, it ripped his pipe from him out into the boundless ocean, and he growled to himself as he made contact with the wooden planks once again.

Pressing on, Quinn came to the net at last. Still gripping the rail like a vise, he pulled his sword free and cut the ropes that held it in place. Then, grabbing the middle of the thing, he began pulling it back to shore with him, always holding onto the railing. Finally he arrived and dropped the net at Oracle's feet.

"Hell's bells," he sputtered, still coughing water out of his lungs.

TAGS: @Effervescent, Collab with @Red Thunder

The Cult of Thieves

|| Perpetual GM ||

Tia mi aven vadin isainde Moridin.

Moop.

Disease Empress

the clairvoyant pterodactyl

A Warrior in a Garden

Dovahkiin

Guest

consistently inconsistent

|| Perpetual GM ||

Moop.

A Warrior in a Garden

the clairvoyant pterodactyl

Tia mi aven vadin isainde Moridin.

|| Perpetual GM ||

Moop.

Disease Empress

consistently inconsistent

Tia mi aven vadin isainde Moridin.

A Warrior in a Garden

Moop.