Ms. Tilly Vanderbilt
Established
Roleplay posts: 37
Age: now now, it's rude to ask a woman her age
Appearance: From her flaming locks to her sultry hazel eyes, Miss Vanderbilt is an extraordinary woman. She is of average height at about 5'5 and weighs about, oh that's a secret. The boys usually have a bad habit of looking at something other than her eyes. Her body is well maintained and often compared to that of a dancer.
Equipment: She wears black sleek clothing that hugs her curves and a pair of long gloves to avoid touching things with her bare hands. Tilly is the type of person who enjoys adding a little bit of color to her outfits. Her favorite piece of clothing is always the fur shawl she wears if the day isn't too humid. Along her hip sits a rapier finely polished and ready to pierce whatever is in range.
Skills and Abilities: Tilly comes from a family of merit and from that family learned to efficiently use her rapier. Her rapier a gift from her late father just before his passing. She hones her abilities of agility and elegance similar to a rose. People see her beauty but not the thorns that will prick their skin. It's not their fault there, Tilly can be quite the sweet talker and often talks her way out of tight corners.
Biography: Matilda Vanderbilt born into a wealthy merchant family is now off on her own. She dreams of one day owning a boat with her own crew. The wind in the hair, the smell of salt in her nostrils, and the freedom of adventure. She was never meant to have a desk job and sit around all day. Tilly currently is in the business of handling other people's money. She dreams often about the sound of coins clanking together and hoping one day those will be her coins.
Registered: Mar 24, 2021 15:54:47 GMT -5
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Post by Ms. Tilly Vanderbilt on Apr 18, 2022 13:49:53 GMT -5
"there's always an opportunity for business. I'm trying to impress no one yet everyone at once. You don't look too bad yourself Captain" Tilly tilts her head ever so slightly and sniffs the air. The flavors pooling in her nose could almost make her salivate, she was ready to dig into whatever delectables were being served tonight. "I have been told that business is usually settled the best over a full stomach"
Tilly will look about the ship to see how the banquet is set up. "So Captain would it be rude of me to inquire if I will be seating at your table?" She glances at down at the goblin as they walked. "Do you enjoy wearing finer dress or do you prefer the comforts of your sailing clothes?" Tilly has even brought a small matching black purse for her coin bag along with some other smaller items.
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Fran'garaz "Frankie"
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Age: 30
Appearance: Frankie stands at a small 5 foot even. This is of course taller than most goblins, who average out at about 4 feet to 4'4 feet, but shes far shorter than those of her father's race, as orcs tend to average 6+ feet.
She's unmistakable as a half Goblin however, by her green skin and short darker green hair, her long, pointed ears, and her long, mischievous grin. However, some orc does creep into her features, most notably by the small tusks that jut up from the bottom of the jaw. They're small enough that they're only noticeable when she smiles.
Her face is slightly more attractive than most goblins, with high cheekbones, large orange pupiled eyes, and a slightly upturned button nose. Her hair is mostly unkempt on top with similar bangs that droop down at the top of her jaw, but the back is usually pulled into a small, messy ponytail.
Finally, she sports a handful of golden rings through her ears, as well as a ring through her septum.
Though she could be considered relatively attractive, she's still prone to goblin hyperactivity from time to time which twists her features. In such a state, her eyes and grin seem to grow larger and slightly crazed, but this state is usually one of joyfulness and mischievousness, and rarely ends in injury. Instead, it's more likely to result in mere property damage
Equipment: Frankie is a merchant vessel captain first and foremost. To keep up appearances, she can usually be found wearing a white silken shirt, a big red belt with a golden buckle, and a pair of navy pants that match her captain's coat and tricorn hat.
However, she never really forsook her tribal heritage. When out in the wilds or jn private, she sometimes can be found in her a light, leather and fur top that covers her from half way up her midsection and up to her neck, leaving her midriff and arms exposed. This is coupled with a matching skirt that reaches just above her knees, and finally a pair of wraps that cover her shins and ankles, then wraps around the middle of her feet, leaving the ankles and toes exposed, giving her better purchase when in the brush.
Frankie is an expert with a knife and always has one on her for personal protection, but she is also a great shot with a bow and arrow, having been taught by her mother. Though her father always wanted to teach her how to wield an axe, being an orc, she found that she had trouble with the weight of such weapons, and decided a quick, versatile fighting style would keep her alive longer.
Finally, though not equipment, she owns her own trade ship. A fairly large boat for a goblin, the ship is one part her home, one part transport hauler, and one part store front. She's spent a good few years collecting and trading that the hull of the ship is mostly full of all sorts of goods.
Skills and Abilities: Frankie is a merchant first and foremost. Goblins tended to do most of the trading in her mixed tribe, as the orcs weren't as charismatic nor crafty enough to trade efficiently. The goblins however used their stature and the stereotypes of their kind to their advantage, allowing their trade partners to think they're ripping them off, when the tables are actually turned.
As a half Goblin, Frankie is able to use a handful of tactics from both goblins and larger humanoids, as well as her looks. She's a fair merchant, but has a keen eye for an excellent deal. She's one to take advantage of whatever situation she comes into, and usually ends up on top.
Being the daughter of a goblin ranger and an orc warrior, she also knows how to hunt and fight with great skill, choosing range and a knife as well as her own two hands.
Finally, like most goblins, she is prone to Goblin Hyperactivity. When this occurs, starts to think, speak, and move at great speeds, often running and climbing from one thing to the other, and it usually ends with great joy and mischief as well as likely property damage. There's no time to consider not breaking something when there's fun to be had, stuff to climb, and things to do.
Enemies of the goblins often consider this akin to a berserker frenzy, but those who are friends of the goblins either join in the fun or stay out of the way.
Registered: Jan 9, 2022 23:34:33 GMT -5
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Post by Fran'garaz "Frankie" on May 7, 2022 20:02:50 GMT -5
The half-goblin couldn't help but laugh at Tilly's formality and lust for business. "Nah, no business tonight princess," she says as she lets go of Tilly's hand once she'd made it onto the deck. "Sorry to disappoint, lady, but we gobbos like to party after a long shift at sea. There won't be any money to be made until I get something hammered out with the cat anyway."
As they walk across the deck, the muffled sound of chatter and music waft up through the wooden planks beneath their boots, indicating that the party had well and truly started, but the lack of clinking and chimes of cutlery and cups may have suggested that dinner had not yet been served. "You're my personal first, Fussy-b," Frankie says with a sly smirk. "I ain't gonna put you down with the crew, you're at the head table with me. Usually it's reserved for my top crew, but tonight it's just you and me." She looked up at Tilly and gave her a little wink before changing direction and heading towards the stairs down, situated in a large open hatch near the middle of the ship. The sound was only getting louder.
"I love dresses," Frankie admits with a wonder-filled smile. "I got a few in the hold just for me, but I never get a chance to wear 'em. Only fancy stuff I get to wear is my dress uniform." A green hand pats down the sides of her nice-looking great coat, then one rubs over the buttons that ran down the front. "It's got my shiniest buttons, so it works for occasions like this."
She stops at the top of the stairs and takes Tilly's hand once again to help her down, though it's not particularly necessary. "C'mon, you gotta be starving."
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Ms. Tilly Vanderbilt
Established
Roleplay posts: 37
Age: now now, it's rude to ask a woman her age
Appearance: From her flaming locks to her sultry hazel eyes, Miss Vanderbilt is an extraordinary woman. She is of average height at about 5'5 and weighs about, oh that's a secret. The boys usually have a bad habit of looking at something other than her eyes. Her body is well maintained and often compared to that of a dancer.
Equipment: She wears black sleek clothing that hugs her curves and a pair of long gloves to avoid touching things with her bare hands. Tilly is the type of person who enjoys adding a little bit of color to her outfits. Her favorite piece of clothing is always the fur shawl she wears if the day isn't too humid. Along her hip sits a rapier finely polished and ready to pierce whatever is in range.
Skills and Abilities: Tilly comes from a family of merit and from that family learned to efficiently use her rapier. Her rapier a gift from her late father just before his passing. She hones her abilities of agility and elegance similar to a rose. People see her beauty but not the thorns that will prick their skin. It's not their fault there, Tilly can be quite the sweet talker and often talks her way out of tight corners.
Biography: Matilda Vanderbilt born into a wealthy merchant family is now off on her own. She dreams of one day owning a boat with her own crew. The wind in the hair, the smell of salt in her nostrils, and the freedom of adventure. She was never meant to have a desk job and sit around all day. Tilly currently is in the business of handling other people's money. She dreams often about the sound of coins clanking together and hoping one day those will be her coins.
Registered: Mar 24, 2021 15:54:47 GMT -5
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Post by Ms. Tilly Vanderbilt on May 18, 2022 10:27:55 GMT -5
"Just you and me at a table eh? Think you can handle spending dinner with me? Jokes aside, what do you usually eat when you're out on sea?" Tilly has an awful habit of not talking about business but tonight she'll try to make an exception.
"I think you'll look stunning in a dress, but it would take a moment to get used to as I'm sure many of your crew are more accommodated to you wearing pants."
As the pair walk Tilly will graciously accept the goblin's hand as they approach the stairs. It was a kind gesture that she didn't need but it can be appreciated anyways especially in the heels she's chosen to wear tonight.
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Fran'garaz "Frankie"
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Age: 30
Appearance: Frankie stands at a small 5 foot even. This is of course taller than most goblins, who average out at about 4 feet to 4'4 feet, but shes far shorter than those of her father's race, as orcs tend to average 6+ feet.
She's unmistakable as a half Goblin however, by her green skin and short darker green hair, her long, pointed ears, and her long, mischievous grin. However, some orc does creep into her features, most notably by the small tusks that jut up from the bottom of the jaw. They're small enough that they're only noticeable when she smiles.
Her face is slightly more attractive than most goblins, with high cheekbones, large orange pupiled eyes, and a slightly upturned button nose. Her hair is mostly unkempt on top with similar bangs that droop down at the top of her jaw, but the back is usually pulled into a small, messy ponytail.
Finally, she sports a handful of golden rings through her ears, as well as a ring through her septum.
Though she could be considered relatively attractive, she's still prone to goblin hyperactivity from time to time which twists her features. In such a state, her eyes and grin seem to grow larger and slightly crazed, but this state is usually one of joyfulness and mischievousness, and rarely ends in injury. Instead, it's more likely to result in mere property damage
Equipment: Frankie is a merchant vessel captain first and foremost. To keep up appearances, she can usually be found wearing a white silken shirt, a big red belt with a golden buckle, and a pair of navy pants that match her captain's coat and tricorn hat.
However, she never really forsook her tribal heritage. When out in the wilds or jn private, she sometimes can be found in her a light, leather and fur top that covers her from half way up her midsection and up to her neck, leaving her midriff and arms exposed. This is coupled with a matching skirt that reaches just above her knees, and finally a pair of wraps that cover her shins and ankles, then wraps around the middle of her feet, leaving the ankles and toes exposed, giving her better purchase when in the brush.
Frankie is an expert with a knife and always has one on her for personal protection, but she is also a great shot with a bow and arrow, having been taught by her mother. Though her father always wanted to teach her how to wield an axe, being an orc, she found that she had trouble with the weight of such weapons, and decided a quick, versatile fighting style would keep her alive longer.
Finally, though not equipment, she owns her own trade ship. A fairly large boat for a goblin, the ship is one part her home, one part transport hauler, and one part store front. She's spent a good few years collecting and trading that the hull of the ship is mostly full of all sorts of goods.
Skills and Abilities: Frankie is a merchant first and foremost. Goblins tended to do most of the trading in her mixed tribe, as the orcs weren't as charismatic nor crafty enough to trade efficiently. The goblins however used their stature and the stereotypes of their kind to their advantage, allowing their trade partners to think they're ripping them off, when the tables are actually turned.
As a half Goblin, Frankie is able to use a handful of tactics from both goblins and larger humanoids, as well as her looks. She's a fair merchant, but has a keen eye for an excellent deal. She's one to take advantage of whatever situation she comes into, and usually ends up on top.
Being the daughter of a goblin ranger and an orc warrior, she also knows how to hunt and fight with great skill, choosing range and a knife as well as her own two hands.
Finally, like most goblins, she is prone to Goblin Hyperactivity. When this occurs, starts to think, speak, and move at great speeds, often running and climbing from one thing to the other, and it usually ends with great joy and mischief as well as likely property damage. There's no time to consider not breaking something when there's fun to be had, stuff to climb, and things to do.
Enemies of the goblins often consider this akin to a berserker frenzy, but those who are friends of the goblins either join in the fun or stay out of the way.
Registered: Jan 9, 2022 23:34:33 GMT -5
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Post by Fran'garaz "Frankie" on Jul 15, 2022 23:54:54 GMT -5
"Just you and me, princess," Frankie confirmed with a sly smirk as she looked up at her firey haired guest. "Think I can handle you? Oh doll, are you sure you can handle US?" She gave a little goblin chuckle at the very thought that she could be overwhelmed by the company of such a woman. Not when she and her crew had a reputation to uphold, at the very least. "Oh, and uh, fish. We got some greens and stuff growing at the back, some non-trade supplies preserved, but mostly fish." Her gloved hand gripped at Tilly's, not too tightly that it was uncomfortable, but not too lightly that the gesture wouldn't be respected. It didn't matter if it was a handshake after a deal, or just holding someone's hand so they didn't slip, a firm grip was always mandatory. "You're right, they ain't used to it, but if you play your cards right, Boots," the half-goblin continued as she stepped down into the guts of the exceptional trading ship with Tilly. "I might just let you see me in a dress." Or out of one… Continued here.
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Nina
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 289
Registered: Apr 4, 2021 10:46:08 GMT -5
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Post by Nina on Jul 31, 2022 2:06:10 GMT -5
Nina was diving for treasure.
Water glimmered around her, and it felt like sinking into a blanket of stars. Again and again, she went from up above, where the sky was stained-glass blue, to the strange silence below and the soft white sand under her fingers, the smooth kelp against her toes. To the people on the docks, the girl was no more than a wood-coloured flicker darting up every now and then by a floating basket the size of a thimble, in the middle of the calm bay.
The storm that had struck Port Argentium days before had left no trace. Almost. It had capsized one of the smaller ships, Nina had been told, just as it was returning from the Depravity with additional supplies. No one knew for sure where its contents had fallen, or if they existed at all. The captain had drowned. The remaining two sailors didn't want to talk about it, possibly, as many suspected, because their salvage mission had not been fully above board; possibly, because there had been alcohol involved. It certainly beggared Nina's belief that anyone would have chosen to sail in that weather.
It was a grim duty. Yet the girl had chosen it, instead of washing Mess Hall bowls with sand or tending to the community garden, because water was her element. She had found, in her swimming, if not unambiguous signs of the wreckage, at least solace. Solace, and a few trinkets likely washed away from The Silver City that, either by trade or directly, could make their lives easier.
'Their.' Nina had to break for the surface, and press a fist against her chest. The word had an ache to it. Resting against the basket, coughing, she blinked water out of her eyes and looked at the shore, at the labyrinth of docks and gangways that could have only grown by colliding a strong leadership with haphazard self-initiative. She looked for a particular shade of grey, the exact nuance against which blood splatters would be difficult to see. The exact tone of which the mind mistook for a shadow. When Nina caught it, arm shaking, she waved. She folded into herself then, glad that she hadn't been seen.
Just as mechanically, the figure in grey waved back. But the naked girl was already on her way back down.
They still hadn't had a proper discussion.
On the shore, there was a man in a dark grey cloak. His hair was dirty-white, but he seemed both older and younger than that. His steps were both firm and broken, like a machine that had run itself ragged. Despite the summer heat, clothing covered the man fully, from the tips of his brownish-black gloves to the toes of his dark-brown boots. If anything, at points, he occasionally shivered. If anything, he looked disconnected from the world around him. So much so, that most people forgot he was there despite his ambiguous understanding of personal space. It's not like the man had a tendency of getting too close; rather, beyond not stepping into people, he zigzagged through the bustling crowd as if it was naught but smoke.
It was a market day on the docks. A shipment of logs had arrived from upriver. Moreover, a ship had arrived from the Twin Cities after weathering the storm in Helsreach. While the captain was in the tavern to negotiate larger trades with the government, everyday Argentians were looking forward to small exchanges that could make their lives better, and had flocked to the market area in greater than usual numbers. Fish sizzled over firepits, and a few intrepid bards would tell stories. A brawl almost started, and was only stopped by one of the combatants being dragged off by their ear by their mother. Among the crowd, the man in the dark grey cloak moved like a ghost.
On his back he wore a large, one-and-a-half hand sword. Around its hilt, hung a heavy coil of rope. On the rope, carefully pinned, was a piece of fabric that had been written on in charcoal:
“Rope to order. Magic or supernatural problems? Can solve. For hire.”
((ooc: For Ruh))
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Maggie Sawfish
Established
Roleplay posts: 21
Appearance: Blueish-grey skin with pallid pink scar tissue and gums, solid red eyes that become paler the longer she goes without blood, messy stringy white hair. Prominent fangs, wears a dark blue jacket and become hat.
Equipment: Two bottles for general use and one bottle exclusively for alcohol, three vials of fermented blood, a corpse fisher net, a broken ship wheel handle. A metal breast plate.
Skills and Abilities: Comparable strength and agility to a trained soldier, very good swimmer, no need to breathe or eat though she does enjoy eating, only needs to consume blood or ichor to sustain herself.
Practitioner of esoteric vampire magic known as the twisting which can be used to wring a living thing out like a dishrag to harvest an ethereal fluid called ichor produced by the living when they are violent, self indulgent, guilty or cruel.
Practitioner of necromancy, capable of raising multiple corpses as thralls provided they are waterlogged with saltwater. More power can be channeled to mutate a suitable corpse into a more monstrous form even if severely damaged. This however is draining and saltwater must be absorbed into the body or ingested in order to maintain the binding or recharge.
Skilled with using polearms with an emphasis on sweeping and cutting (halberds, partizans, etc)
Knows how to fermented blood and brew grog.
Biography: Press ganged into an Undead pirate lord's crew as a deckhand and bloodbag, the admiral took a liking to her and eventually turned her while forcing himself on her. As payment for this Maggie later staked him with one of the ship wheel's handles. After some time of sweet freedom and adapting to a new life (and finding that blood and ichor taste horrible.) The floods eventually came and dragged Maggie away.
Registered: Mar 2, 2022 19:08:30 GMT -5
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Post by Maggie Sawfish on Aug 14, 2022 3:56:21 GMT -5
Wandering in to the portside settlement was the somewhat clumsy gait of a woman, at least at one point she could clearly be identified as such without much ogling, white grains of beach sand shook off of her boots with eacb step. The slight heel of her boots, combined with the faint hold thread trim around the cuff and the shiny dark leather did suggest she was nobility or at the very least someone very well off. A pair of tight cloth trousers with kneepads of similar dark leather with that gold trim seemed to reinforce the idea that this woman was rather well off, but that was deeply contrasted by the coat she wore, a large brown naval coat, heavy and scratched, pock marked with stains of all sorts and torn in ways no storm could've done.
Around her waist was was a similarly ragged piece of red fabric, kept in place by a few knots and a sturdy belt, from which a few trinkets dangled, bottles half filled with a fine, orange-gold coloured liquor, a waterproofed pouch filled with something knotted, and what appeared to be a handle from a ship's wheel, snapped off at a point, with flecks of dried blood still stuck to its jagged timbers.
Her shirt was (contrastingly) pale, a creamy white coloured silken shirt with a few stitches just visible, suggesting holes that had been darned shut. A few additional stains were visible, clearly indicating a messy lifestyle. At her shoulders was a sturdy bandolier of hardened leather, holding three small vials, each containing a dark red liquid. Her neck was partially covered by a pseudo gorget of that gold trimmed dark leather.
Her face and skin were simply quite foul to look at, gaunt and haggard with salt stained messy white hair, her skin itself was pallid, cracked, criss-crossed with scars and had an almost blueish tint. A pair of exhausted red eyes peered out from the mess of hair, pure red, there were no rings of colour or a little black dot, just tired eyes of pure red. Completing this truly bizarre appearance was the presence of a battered tall tricorn hat.
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 125
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Aug 29, 2022 13:13:26 GMT -5
Every person in the crowd had a story. Many of these wove together in a sense of shared joy, shared suffering. Some, like Nina and Gray, orbited together at a cautious distance from each other and from others. But there were also stories that were deeply personal. One of them was carried by a man named Perkins. Tick, thonk, his steps sounded on the dirt streets. Anyone looking at him might guess the reason for his difficulties, right before looking away. Gazes parted before him like waves in a breeze. He kept a small smile about him like a talisman.
Pirate, corsair, some children shouted in the distance; they laughed. They had started using his daily walk to tell the time, and he didn't have the heart to say that as a honest working man it hurt him to be compared to such villains.
At a corner, he stopped to rest his wooden leg, and pointed his remaining eye on the street ahead. It was, he thought, a beautiful day.
He still woke up in cold sweat, dreaming of the monster which some called a doctor had returned. That its masked visage had somehow found a way past his house's bolted door. He dreamt of being tied to a table, of the smell of blood and sweat and leather digging in his flesh, and of that sharp voice saying that the infection had spread, that he would have to cut it out. Again and again, on some nights. Piece by piece, cut apart, until he was not even bones. Some night he dreamt of white arms crawling with maggots holding him down.
Yet he struggled, every day, to make his walk down the shore. He did not move, for a while, after his eye was cut out. It did not seem worth it. No one understood how much it took of him, and when he tried to speak of it, he was avoided as a crochety old man. But a man with a prodigious moustache had brought bread to the infirmary, scattering flour and zest for life all around him. Though mostly one-sided, their discussion had changed Perkins. It brought him back to his feet, if mainly from the wish to see that stranger again. Perhaps, he thought guiltily, he might even be able to trade for a small gift of gratitude from the western foreigners, though he did not have much to trade. Though he did not know the stranger's name.
Yet some days the past was closer than usual, and if he looked through the eye no longer there, he was back in the endless labyrinths of the Depravity's hull, with the rotten fingers of what used to be his comrades reaching towards him from the edges of his vision. He would look at the sky then, as close to the sun as he dared, hoping for light to erase the nightmares. After a minute, Perkins looked back down, and prepared to be on his way.
Then he saw it. That white, dead skin. Those greenish veins that no living being should have. Walking among them, like something dragged out of the depths.
“Unclean.” He struggled to get out. Dread clenched his heart. “Unclean!” He shouted.
His walking stick shook in the direction of the tricorn-wearing woman. Perkins was dimly aware that he was drawing attention, that he could not possibly outrun what he feared most.
“Dead, rotten thing, strung together by worms! That corpse is diseased! It's going to infect us all!”
The crowd pulled back from around them.
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Maggie Sawfish
Established
Roleplay posts: 21
Appearance: Blueish-grey skin with pallid pink scar tissue and gums, solid red eyes that become paler the longer she goes without blood, messy stringy white hair. Prominent fangs, wears a dark blue jacket and become hat.
Equipment: Two bottles for general use and one bottle exclusively for alcohol, three vials of fermented blood, a corpse fisher net, a broken ship wheel handle. A metal breast plate.
Skills and Abilities: Comparable strength and agility to a trained soldier, very good swimmer, no need to breathe or eat though she does enjoy eating, only needs to consume blood or ichor to sustain herself.
Practitioner of esoteric vampire magic known as the twisting which can be used to wring a living thing out like a dishrag to harvest an ethereal fluid called ichor produced by the living when they are violent, self indulgent, guilty or cruel.
Practitioner of necromancy, capable of raising multiple corpses as thralls provided they are waterlogged with saltwater. More power can be channeled to mutate a suitable corpse into a more monstrous form even if severely damaged. This however is draining and saltwater must be absorbed into the body or ingested in order to maintain the binding or recharge.
Skilled with using polearms with an emphasis on sweeping and cutting (halberds, partizans, etc)
Knows how to fermented blood and brew grog.
Biography: Press ganged into an Undead pirate lord's crew as a deckhand and bloodbag, the admiral took a liking to her and eventually turned her while forcing himself on her. As payment for this Maggie later staked him with one of the ship wheel's handles. After some time of sweet freedom and adapting to a new life (and finding that blood and ichor taste horrible.) The floods eventually came and dragged Maggie away.
Registered: Mar 2, 2022 19:08:30 GMT -5
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Post by Maggie Sawfish on Aug 30, 2022 14:20:28 GMT -5
The Vampire had only just began to aquaint herself with the uncomfortably bustling port, too many people walked around, it's not like she wasn't used to busy ports, it's just usually there weren't so many heartbeats around, less sunlight too, oh how Sunlight was consistently irraitable. Even then with all the noisy beating hearts, the disgusting breathing, and that foul stinging sunlight, there were still more issues to come.
Someone, perhaps a town drunk or priest, worse maybe a hunter was yelling. Sailor's clothes, so maybe not a priest, didn't look to be holding weapons so might not be a hunter, though it was equally likely that he had a sliver blade or some other superstitous bollocks hidden in a sleeve. Maggie only half listened to the yells of this man. A part of her was already thinking about sinking her teeth deep, deep into his throat. The more rational side reminded her that people consitently taste awful no matter how long you've been a walking corpse.
Another issue arose, the fine people of this port had seemed to be listening to this screaming peg legged loon. Worse still he was calling her diseased! Diseased, the utter cheek of that man.
"Oi!" Maggie shouted her voice slighty croaky due to thirst "D'ya have something you'd like to say you twig legged washed up piss drinker? Because I think my dead rotten ears are a touch hard of hearing!"
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 125
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Sept 5, 2022 14:34:35 GMT -5
“Ya batty wench, don't deride yer elders-”
Something broke through the fear in Perkins's eyes. His mouth shut. Opened.
“The corpse wench is a'talking.” He spoke.
He went still, and the crowd went stiller still, nothing but scarves and shirts shifting in the breeze, as he whispered on:
“That ain't meaning she might'n't infect us all.”
A buzzing built around the crowd, too loud to ignore, too quiet to make out in detail. From a nearby stand selling wild vegetables, finally someone spoke. He was a polished older man, with a moustache like spun sugar and once-elegant clothes darned within an inch of their lives. A butler of the Great House?
“Some people who live beyond death are quite the lady – or, as the case may be, gentleman -...” The glance he threw the undead figure suggested she doubtfully counted as either.
“Mommy, is the doctor undead? Is that bad?” The high-pitched voice of a child made eyes turn. The mother, a young woman in a ragged dress, wrapped her arms around her little girl and lifted her eyes.
“The doctor – the new doctor – she's been nothing but helpful and kind.” She firmly spoke. “She's...”
“Sewn together! Like a doll.” The little girl exclaimed. She wriggled her arm out from the embrace and fist-pumped the air. Around her wrist, delineating a hand that was slightly the wrong colour, there were stitches. “Got me a bracelet.”
“Isn't this one...of...of the old...heresies?” A tiny old lady tutted shyly, mainly to take attention away from the now quietly sobbing mother. “That the unliving are breaking the natural order? I'm sure,” she said, glancing kindly at the stranger, “that you're a perfectly peaceful person, perhaps, are you not?
“I have nothing against the unliving from Old Isra.” Perkins lifted his hands defensively, after a moment. “But this world is dangerous. How many of us have disappeared in the night, eh?”
There was pain in his voice. Gritty, genuine feeling.
“We can only harm those we've lost by fearmongering. Live and let...” Another speaker gestured widely, “whatever she's doing, I say.” The voice came from a small wooden stall. It was the man selling grilled fish on sticks, sprinkled with one's choice of herbs and sauces, and his booming voice carried. It was strong enough to sent the crowd shambling back on their way. More quietly, he added. “Though I wish some of those mages from the seminar would be around so we'd know for sure. Never there when you need 'em, I say.” He laughed.
“I'm here.”
It's not that Gray had been in hiding. The fish-seller's eyes went wide, and someone who nearly walked into the assassin sketched a ward against the evil eye. He stood in the relatively empty space that passerby had just begun to fill, looking at a honey stall, looking as if he had been there all along. As if the mind just hadn't registered him before he spoke. He turned and left, soot-colored cloak trailing behind.
“Oi, you ain't gonna do nothing?” The fish-seller frowned.
Gray stopped.
“Stalk an innocent person due to suspicions that she may rip you all to pieces later?” Gray's eyes pinned the man to the back of his shack. But his silence was worse. “Not for free.”
He moved purposefully towards the fish stall. Gestured and whispered.
“Acceptable?” He asked. The seller nodded.
Grilled bream with the sharpest sauce he had, sprinkled with rosemary, on a stick; another, plain, with a dash of honey. And the third-
“Keep one for Nina.” Gray said, as he left to follow the undead sailor. He'd seen this man return to Nina a bead she'd lost in the dust; he'd be unlikely to spit on her food.
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Maggie Sawfish
Established
Roleplay posts: 21
Appearance: Blueish-grey skin with pallid pink scar tissue and gums, solid red eyes that become paler the longer she goes without blood, messy stringy white hair. Prominent fangs, wears a dark blue jacket and become hat.
Equipment: Two bottles for general use and one bottle exclusively for alcohol, three vials of fermented blood, a corpse fisher net, a broken ship wheel handle. A metal breast plate.
Skills and Abilities: Comparable strength and agility to a trained soldier, very good swimmer, no need to breathe or eat though she does enjoy eating, only needs to consume blood or ichor to sustain herself.
Practitioner of esoteric vampire magic known as the twisting which can be used to wring a living thing out like a dishrag to harvest an ethereal fluid called ichor produced by the living when they are violent, self indulgent, guilty or cruel.
Practitioner of necromancy, capable of raising multiple corpses as thralls provided they are waterlogged with saltwater. More power can be channeled to mutate a suitable corpse into a more monstrous form even if severely damaged. This however is draining and saltwater must be absorbed into the body or ingested in order to maintain the binding or recharge.
Skilled with using polearms with an emphasis on sweeping and cutting (halberds, partizans, etc)
Knows how to fermented blood and brew grog.
Biography: Press ganged into an Undead pirate lord's crew as a deckhand and bloodbag, the admiral took a liking to her and eventually turned her while forcing himself on her. As payment for this Maggie later staked him with one of the ship wheel's handles. After some time of sweet freedom and adapting to a new life (and finding that blood and ichor taste horrible.) The floods eventually came and dragged Maggie away.
Registered: Mar 2, 2022 19:08:30 GMT -5
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Post by Maggie Sawfish on Nov 6, 2022 7:53:30 GMT -5
"Look mates, I'm ugly as sin, probably can't breathe anymore, and stink ta high hells." The extremely tired vampire started. "That bein' said. I'm still alive, still thinkin' and still very much feelin'. So unless you're going ta toss me some lunch, hows about you go on your merry ways?"
Maggie turned back to look at Perkins, her eyes narrowing as she approached. "Now you. You caused a right proper scene there. Anything you'd like ta say?"
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 125
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Nov 9, 2022 14:57:00 GMT -5
“Ah-”
Perkins' wrinkled face flushed on and off with white.
“Ah only tried to do right by ever'one.” He mumbled. The world was spinning round him like a ship in a storm. “Seen too many good men become rabid corpses.” He would have stepped back, if there hadn't been a wall in the way.
“You're afraid.” Someone said.
Soot-coloured cloak. White hair. Had that person been there before? Perkins' eyes narrowed. The fellow stood somewhat off to the side between him and the undead. Remarkably motionless. Looking down at some food in his hands.
The stranger's words seemed to strike a cord in the old sailor.
“Ma'be that wasn't right of me.” Perkins admitted. “If ya don't mean anyone harm...my bad, wenc-” He bowed slightly to Maggie. “-missus.”
The stranger moved. Something sharp in his hand cut the space between Maggie and Perkins, just before the former could go any further.
“Fish on a stick?” The stranger asked her.
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Maggie Sawfish
Established
Roleplay posts: 21
Appearance: Blueish-grey skin with pallid pink scar tissue and gums, solid red eyes that become paler the longer she goes without blood, messy stringy white hair. Prominent fangs, wears a dark blue jacket and become hat.
Equipment: Two bottles for general use and one bottle exclusively for alcohol, three vials of fermented blood, a corpse fisher net, a broken ship wheel handle. A metal breast plate.
Skills and Abilities: Comparable strength and agility to a trained soldier, very good swimmer, no need to breathe or eat though she does enjoy eating, only needs to consume blood or ichor to sustain herself.
Practitioner of esoteric vampire magic known as the twisting which can be used to wring a living thing out like a dishrag to harvest an ethereal fluid called ichor produced by the living when they are violent, self indulgent, guilty or cruel.
Practitioner of necromancy, capable of raising multiple corpses as thralls provided they are waterlogged with saltwater. More power can be channeled to mutate a suitable corpse into a more monstrous form even if severely damaged. This however is draining and saltwater must be absorbed into the body or ingested in order to maintain the binding or recharge.
Skilled with using polearms with an emphasis on sweeping and cutting (halberds, partizans, etc)
Knows how to fermented blood and brew grog.
Biography: Press ganged into an Undead pirate lord's crew as a deckhand and bloodbag, the admiral took a liking to her and eventually turned her while forcing himself on her. As payment for this Maggie later staked him with one of the ship wheel's handles. After some time of sweet freedom and adapting to a new life (and finding that blood and ichor taste horrible.) The floods eventually came and dragged Maggie away.
Registered: Mar 2, 2022 19:08:30 GMT -5
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Post by Maggie Sawfish on Nov 11, 2022 18:05:18 GMT -5
"Why thank ya most kindly, d'ya have a name ya'd prefer ta' be called sir?" Maggie responed, with a slightly softer tone in her salt roughened voice. Before she turned back to perkins, her expression a scowl, but not one brought out of malice, with a closer look at her stark red eyes the woman was exhausted. Even despite her deathless nature she looked as though she hadn't slept for at least a few weeks, or at least not slept proplerly.
The vampire gave a long heavy sigh. "Can't be helped I suppose, shoulda expected less of a welcome come ta think of it."
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 125
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Nov 23, 2022 14:42:01 GMT -5
“Gray.”
The shadow spoke. To Maggie's seashell-red eyes, he affixed a gaze the colour and weight of a glacier.
He seemed to be weighing her, breaking her up into details.
“You?” He spoke, breaking eye contact in order to gingerly bite into his fish. Then:
“Are you new to the City of Silver?”
Some way away, Perkins sighed, nodded once more in apology, and went on his way, peg leg and cane tick-tocking in tandem.
“I have never met people of your kind.” Gray added to the newcomer. “Yet as one with experience with the supernatural, I feel responsible,” he said. “Maybe I could help?”
That, and he had literally been paid for it.
He shrugged, and his cloak clung to one of his elbows as it swept around him, making him look a bit like a magician.
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Maggie Sawfish
Established
Roleplay posts: 21
Appearance: Blueish-grey skin with pallid pink scar tissue and gums, solid red eyes that become paler the longer she goes without blood, messy stringy white hair. Prominent fangs, wears a dark blue jacket and become hat.
Equipment: Two bottles for general use and one bottle exclusively for alcohol, three vials of fermented blood, a corpse fisher net, a broken ship wheel handle. A metal breast plate.
Skills and Abilities: Comparable strength and agility to a trained soldier, very good swimmer, no need to breathe or eat though she does enjoy eating, only needs to consume blood or ichor to sustain herself.
Practitioner of esoteric vampire magic known as the twisting which can be used to wring a living thing out like a dishrag to harvest an ethereal fluid called ichor produced by the living when they are violent, self indulgent, guilty or cruel.
Practitioner of necromancy, capable of raising multiple corpses as thralls provided they are waterlogged with saltwater. More power can be channeled to mutate a suitable corpse into a more monstrous form even if severely damaged. This however is draining and saltwater must be absorbed into the body or ingested in order to maintain the binding or recharge.
Skilled with using polearms with an emphasis on sweeping and cutting (halberds, partizans, etc)
Knows how to fermented blood and brew grog.
Biography: Press ganged into an Undead pirate lord's crew as a deckhand and bloodbag, the admiral took a liking to her and eventually turned her while forcing himself on her. As payment for this Maggie later staked him with one of the ship wheel's handles. After some time of sweet freedom and adapting to a new life (and finding that blood and ichor taste horrible.) The floods eventually came and dragged Maggie away.
Registered: Mar 2, 2022 19:08:30 GMT -5
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Post by Maggie Sawfish on Dec 18, 2022 15:49:54 GMT -5
"Aye Mister Grey." The Vampire said with her clearly accented speech. "Washed up on tha shore not to long ago with tha mother of all hangovers. Fortunate enought to still have me limbs." Maggie rolled her arm about as if to jokingly prove her claim. "And don't worry to much on not being familiar with my type, as I understand there are more types o' bloodsucker then there are types living folk."
As she spoke she put a mocking overly dramatic inflection on the word bloodsucker thinking nothing of it, clearly having had quite some time to get used to this undead existence.
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 125
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Dec 24, 2022 12:49:10 GMT -5
Intriguing.
“I would be surprised,” Gray spoke between delicate bites. “I have heard rumours of snake-people, made-people, even little green people.”
Such a strange nation. Not that this woman was Isran, likely. “Excuse me, your name?” Where Gray's vowels were measured, like a alchemical components cut to perfectly even spoonfuls with a dagger, hers swelled like rich loaves. Gray missed bread. Blood, he thought, that had vowels. He surreptitiously threw a glance at her neck. The only bloodsuckers he knew were myths, women who at night detached their heads, hunted, and licked lamp oil.
Dangerous, he thought. Lamp oil was expensive.
“The mensa, excuse me, Mess Hall.” Gray raised his arm and pointed away from the docks, somewhat sunsetwards. “They offer food, though not...” He smiled, “...specialities.” He stared at his interlocutor. “Have you managed to find sustenance?”
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