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Laeliana Regnatos

The Blind Apothecary; South Bazaar. "I say to you, man with gilded edge and bloodied creed, let me bear you deadly fruit for your enemies."

0 · 421 views · located in The Bazaars

a character in “Daggerford”, originally authored by mombie, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Image


n a m e s a k e :
¬ Full |birth| Name: Laeliana Regnatos.
¬ Spoken |used| Name: Liana.
¬ Acquired |aliases| Names: The Blind Apothecary.

n u m e r i c a l :
¬ Appearing Age: XX.
¬ Factual Age: XXII.

s o c i o l o g i c a l :
¬ Classes: Alchemist.
¬ Alignment: Neutral.
¬ Marital Status: Single.
¬ Faction: Neither here, no there.

b i o l o g i c a l :
¬ Height: 5'6
¬ Weight: 137 Lbs.
¬ Hair: Blond
¬ Eye: Brown
¬ Body Art: None.
¬ Scar Tissue: None.
¬ Genetics: Human.


m e n t a l l i t y:
¬ Demeanor: Warm-hearted, Quiet, Timorous, Wise
¬ Tendencies: Too Trusting, Quick to Flee, Danger Prone, Experimental

p o l e m o l o g y :
¬ Feats:
--Adept with herbs & poisons.
--Knowledge of ailments and cures.
--Creation of Hallucinogenic Compounds.

a r s e n a l:
¬Due to a physical handicap, she may not wield a weapon.

a t t i r e :
¬ Casual: (e.x)
¬ Feet: Brown leather sandals.
¬ Legs: Loose White Harlem Pants.
¬ Hands: None.
¬ Upper Body, i: Brown short sleeved blouse.


a c c e s s o r i e s :

A silver necklace with Angel wings.
Brown book rimmed with fur that holds her concoctions and formulas.

p r o f i c e n c y :
¬ None

So begins...

Laeliana Regnatos's Story

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Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
The ephemeral sheet of night was cast aside by a new virgin morn. The heavenly beyond held a dismal sheen, and sweeping gales ghosted across the Southern Bazaar with blood and wickedness beneath their wings. Daggerford, for as long as the fair-haired Apothecary spend dwelling in its silent carnage, was but a frail creature tucked ever so dangerously within a land of great chaos. However she remained as an unwatched phantom, she could not fathom. Perhaps it was by the stroke of luck that she was unscathed by the surrounding loose moral of Assassins, and other depraved souls. If there was ever true neutrality left here, it was in remnants, and of those who saw no truth from the pools of spilt blood.

A small smile stretched across the pallor softness of her facet, as she was moved sweetly by each wakened day. Truth, sight had not fallen in blessed hue unto her, instead, Liana gazed into the cold cruel abyssal depths of nothingness. Yet she could feel the fresh beading of morning dew on her skin, and the fragrances of a rising day remedied her most profound fears. Phobias she had by the plenty, as each new day brought many a horrors to be seen or heard. There was nothing magnificent about the dainty doe, only that she had managed to walk amongst the streets in safety and comfort. So few were the days that brought her adversity, at the most, perhaps a stolen remedy or two. Of course, that was not cause for panicked concern. Life was cherished, even by the most weak of creatures, and she would like to keep her own in tact.

People, in bountiful numbers, began to stretch and yawn to waking, and filtered from their homes into the wretched field of the ominous unknown. Liana was one of them, shrouded in a meager satin gown; roped belt at her slender waist. A threat could hardly be seen in regards to the female, so maybe that was why she moved without turning heads. Pale hair spiraled down the length of her back in an unkempt frivolity, unfettered and careless. Feet softly pattered against shadow laden veins of the Bazaar as she used swift senses to guide her. Not inhuman, no, but senses that naturally became augmented when there was a lack in a pertinent area. Occasionally, a small rounded shoulder brushed against another, but not a soul paid in attention.

The routes were known to her quite well, and she, more often than not, would drift down the same path each morning. In the beginning, she took herself into the places that danger was far more abundant, but none would mangle a youthful blind lady. That was, by far, her only comfort. It would be pleasant to have svelte tendrils curled about her tapping stick, however, it had been so haplessly misplaced. The Apothecary knew when she was growing closer to her quaint shop; a lively bouquet of fresh fruit fleeting towards her nose. She always stopped there to get her hands on fruit swollen with sweet juices. There were not many pleasantries that she could dapple in, so she was a fairly simple women moved by all-too mundane things. Liana was a lone soul, untouched and unwanted, and that she knew with no dark shade of shame to spoil her easy persona.

A pivot of her heel sent her towards the direction of the stand, and the man that employed it chuckled, and with hearty vocals, "Liana, sweet lady, I already have you a basket woven and filled." Her cheeks flushed in a florid hue, and fluffed with the widen of her smile. When he held the basket up, and she got close enough, he grasped her smooth and spindly fingers to wrap them gently against the handle. Raking eyes over her as she settled her full hand down by her side, he quirked a brow, "Where is your walking stick?" That halo of light gold shook with subtlety, and with a soft whimper of a voice, "I fear it misplaced. I can be, at times, so daftly minded."

The male's vocals tremored like a wrathful thunder, "Jacob!" A small boy scurried to his side, and the vendor parted him with a stern order, "See to it that Liana stays her feet towards the path of her shop." Then he grew softer towards the fragile woman at his front, "Such a ray of sunlight would easily be swallowed by these devious streets." With that, she uttered her most heartfelt gratitude towards his generosity, and the boy's small hand snaked about her fingers. It was at that moment in which she would be led towards her quiet employ by Jacob. He was small, and perhaps no older than twelve at the most. Gently, he pulled her at her own pace through the slowly bustling throngs of the Bazaar with no words, just a knowing direction.

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#, as written by mombie
Laeliana Regnatos

Miniature fingers, those of guiless youth, were so lax upon her own that she swore he would become lost in the unfathomable numbers of a crowded street. One small collision with robust features could certainly put an end to her guided path. It would appear as though paling chestnut orbs aimlessly wandered the streets, and that her mind was neither here nor there. Simply, she could not comprehend why it was taking longer than usual to get to her shop. Soon enough, the soft pads of the boy's digits swept free of her hand, and all she could hear was the hastened duet of small feet scampering away. As he did, Jacob beckoned her to stay her place whilst he sought innocent drink at yet another vendor. This direction to her dwelling, and employ, was riddled with fascinating distractions. Voices rang through the air of merchant's sales, heralding supposed goods of rare designs and outlandish prices. Truth be told, many of the items found here are only guised as special to bloat a man's pocket. Liana was aware of this, but she needn't much to sustain her well-being. As though on a swivel, her head turned to and fro hoping to catch some sensory glimpse into where exactly she stood.

The woman, whom seemed as frail as rose petals; one touch, and all is left to die away, made the daft decision to go ahead. However, she knew nothing of the direction she faced, only that she had managed to turn her feet and shuffle from unease of being so out in the open. Daggerford was not fashioned in a way to ensure the survival, or innocence untainted, towards a mere girl of her phobic caliber. Each nearness of bodily warmth too close for her comfort made her bosom rise with a choking breath. Most of the time, Liana just held onto that small glint of hope. Hope had no longevity in a place like this. Through the infinite bleak of her sight, she knew that it was a carnivorous world out there. The plea that she was but a blind female was to run out of her reaped pile of excuses sooner or later. She thought that if she minded her own, she would find safety. It had worked thus far, but something gave her festering feeling that it would end. Just because she was blind, often wayward in her thoughts, or silent, did not mean that she was an ignorant fool. Blood ran hotly upon these grounds, and each passing day the scent grew hazardously thicker.

Her patience was small, expecially amongst the crowds of wolves, which caused her feet to liven in cautious animation. With woven basket in tow, she began to take the most careful and well thought steps. Or so, that is what she had so stupidly imagined. It was hard to feel that florid rush of embarrassment as her flesh, speckled in small bumps from the gelid air, found that of another. The other may look to her and scoff in irritance, but she would never know their face. That meant she could feel no shame of it. There were days where she could make her handicap seem flawless and easy, and then there were the times like today where she felt troubled by her missteps.

An emptied hand was lifted slightly, just above mid-belly, and she made the vain attempts at feeling out where she was heading. Fingers swept through naught but cool air, and by the time she was nearing someone, it was too late. The Bazaar was over-crowded this morning, which made it especially harder for the fair woman to make her way through. Every so often, more than she could stand, the sour and pungent odors of fermented fruit married with sordid breath assaulted her nostrils, forcing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. Unfortunately, such stimulants are loved by most of the citizens here. How could it not be? Even in the daylight did the darkness linger relentlessly, and sometimes the only way to excape it was to fill bellies with strong drinks and enjoy the relaxation of merry carousal. One never knows just when their life has seen the last rosey fingered dawn of the birthing day. It was best to enjoy the fine establishments catered to the needs of both men and women until one can do so no longer. Not her. Not ever. It was near impossible, despite the fact that she could quicker find a raunchy brothel or the cacophony of a tavern than her own silent and solitary home. All by the smell and sound of them, which is the reason for such assumptions.

With feet in planned gaits, few friendly and knowing voices found her ears in greeting along the way. Many came to see The Blind Apothecary, for she was quite skilled, even for a sight bereft human-being. Assassins were few, but the plagued and mared were many. Liana had opened her business to all, regardless of affiliation or motivations. That was how she kept a decent living, and her life. The fear was so strong a life within her that she wouldn't dare deny anyone of their wishes.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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T H E I N K E D R O G U E



♦♦♦♦♦♦

Ice dwindled beneath a raven cowl; lids shuttering and vision wavering. Air sifted through his nostrils and filled his lungs; the scents of the city ignited a sense of nostalgia. Memoirs of Daggerford filtered through his mind. By the time he had arrived, the sun had long since surrendered to the moon and the winds were void of warmth. Lunar rays illuminated the City of Daggers in the evening; gracing the city in a silver trim. The distant sands of Eri took on the hue of a blue veil, and moon-light stretched and sprawled over each breast. The dunes looked like rime – no longer sultry, but frozen.
Though Abel had relished the flavours of sea during his journey, he had oddly missed the familiar stench of penury. He had missed the throng of beggars and thieves festering in city’s veins, and the vile blood that splattered the walls each new moon. As soon as his feet had left the Sea Bitch and skimmed across motionless ground, he had disappeared from the docks and entered the city, leaving behind the insistent groaning of wet-licked wood and tumbling waves. He had an engagement that night, one he could not afford to miss...

♦♦♦♦♦♦

Her spindly digits skimmed over his inked flesh; raking sharp enamel across the surface. Malice dripped from the whore’s lips, masked by a fabricated smile. Her bottle-green eyes glanced up at the rogue, peering intently behind a thick veil of charcoal lashes. Her nails glided down the length of his spine and in-between the shallow dip of his muscles. Such firm meat – such vigor. “You have beautiful body...” the vixens cooed, her voice laced with honey. The candor went ignored. The rogue did not stir; he kept still on the flat of his stomach, sprawled out and languid after a long session of sin. Raven hair cowled his face from view – but he was alert. Pheromones and sweat seeped into his nostrils; flavoured with the scent of her perfume. Her eyes retreated to his back, scanning the onyx design that branded his hide. She followed the ink with her fingers…"and such a lovely tattoo. What is it?” she queried – innocently; but not innocently enough. His eyes – icy blue in hue – opened and he turned his head away.“Don’t know,” he answered. The whore pursed her cerise lips.

“How do you not know?” she asked with a flustered chuckle. “You must know what your own tattoo is...” The courtesan appeared genuinely curious, like a child – sweet and angelic. But he remembered well the acts he had performed upon her, and she had begged for more and relished each moment. She was no seraph – he knew what she truly was. “You are not a whore…” the rogue said; his voiced muffled in his pillow. Heat bubbled in her veins, but she pretended to not hear him. “Come on, you can tell me! “She exclaimed, playfully prodding his back. Her other hand was slowly reaching for her discarded clothes, silk garbs that she had kept close, but it was the tool within she needed. Animation suddenly sprung the man’s bones. One arm pushed up from the mattress, whilst the other reached for a dagger beneath his pillow. He rose to his knees, but did not reveal it. She had the briefest moment to react, managing to grasp the handle of her own knife – before a flash of silver emptied her eyes, and sent her careening rearward into oblivion. He rocked back on the balls of his heels, swivelled, then launched off the bed; sweeping his dagger vertically across her throat. His stiletto sliced clean through the flesh and the cartilage of her larynx, and spilled her blood and air. When he landed on the floor – nude and unshaken - she sat still for a moment, gurgling and choking, before falling limp like a doll.

“You are an anathema to me...”

♦♦♦♦♦♦

The following morn, the assassin's leather boots padded against cobble and carried him limpidly through the south bazzar. He was shrouded; a lumbering figure cloaked in a long black mantle, dwarfing most that passed. Though many did not bother to keep themselves in masquerade, he often found it needed. For a reputation as abominable as his, heads often turned unless he was cloaked. Youth and fledglings regularly aspired to kill him for fame and reputation - and that was irritating. He ambled silently, weaving between bodies, avoiding junction without fault. The man sneered beneath his hood – none of these impoverished peddlers had anything worth seeing. And then, in the corner of his eye, he found a jewel; a luster stone embedded in a heap of colorless rubble. She was lithe and slender, willowy and pale, adorned in flaxen locks and alabaster cloth. Even from such a distance, he could see the aura that cloaked her; potent with light and other chaste notions. She was disgusting – yet positively succulent. He pivoted on his heel and paced for her vicinity, tracking her footfalls through the cluster.


-fin.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
Laeliana Regnatos

It would be to her surprise that someone took notice of her being; especially in a crowd livened by obscene perfumes, and voluptuous women. The apothecary could hardly think herself worthy of attention. With her hindering derangement, she could only be taken advantage of, and that was it. That was the only future that she saw for herself, even through the dismal spell of unshakable, and incurable blackness. Regardless of all that made her far below the steps of the renown, in secret, she was one of the best alchemists known to step feet into Daggerford. Perhaps not of the guilds, but the common citizens of Daggerford. That had yet to be determined. A person in sound mind would think more than once to come to her, and usually, she was the last attempt at gaining potions, toxins, narcotics, and the likes. Yet her pocket was not as grievous as the vendors that would proverbially, and proudly, paint their items with gold. Liana was no diamond among unpolished stone as she took to the streets of the bazaar each wake of the morning. She was awfully predictable; each path taken in the same, and every action having no contrast into the next day. None would bother her, not even the wretched-hearted men. The only names made for herself were The Blind Apothecary, or the Blind Girl. As she meandered through the crowds, people would ghost 'poor woman' upon their lips, or question her ability to be so out in the open.

Her loss of sight had not been a burden ill-fated to her in a womb, but one born by none other than an err on her part. In a moment of experimental mixing, two ingredients were coupled together that should never have been. Without precaution, she had gone ahead into stirring it, and with no warning it had caused her eyes to become horribly blurred. Hoping that slumber would wash away this unwanted ailment, she woke up with the belief that she had gone into the great beyond of the afterlife. Unfortunately, that had not been the case at all. Stumbling, like the whelp of a doe with slender and wobbly limbs, she descended the steps from her place of rest, to that of work. When she felt the sharp pain of her mistakened step, her mind awakened to the reality that she was henceforth blind. Not all was as hapless as firstly thought, for she knew each smell and feel of her ingredients. It was to the point where it was easy enough to accomplish her work without the need for true sight.

So thickly rolled the horrid odor of whetted desire, and bellies pregnant with frivolity. Her senses warned her that the way of the apothecary shop was far lost, and now she stepped into the ugly regions of the bazaar, nearing the maw of the tavern district. Knowingly, she turned on her heels and rerouted her steps back from whence they came. It was in this new direction that she would, deprived of a wary mind, near someone that held the veiled visage of quiet hands brimmed in gore and vile. Inwardly, the convolutions of her brain would bid her to turn around, or maybe even take flight without true direction. Still, she did not know a soul that would try to corner her into their misplaced wrath. There was no darkness that surrounded the girl on her exterior, as she was humbled by an overwhelming purity and devout neutrality. The only void of black inhabited those soft paling chestnut eyes. There was also a duo of men, both with lips smacking at one another like blood kin with fouled words; Kilel Niordan, and Saren Niordan. She would not pay them much mind, the writhing caution in her head telling her that it would not be very wise to do so. Thus, without much thought, she would just move between them, and hopefully she would go unwatched.

This man, Abel Beth-dagon, was a name that she would not know, if she knew anyone at all save for the plethora of vendors that were sweet to her. Sandals, by which its straps coiled at her elfin ankles in a crossed pattern, stopped short of where she wanted to be. Where she was, she did not know, only the voices of the vendors to comfort her in the way that she hadn't ventured from the Southern Bazaar. "Miss! Miss!" a small cooing rang out; Jacobs own. He ran toward her, shortened breaths heaving his chest. Bending at the knees, he placed hands upon them, "I have been looking all over for you. You shouldn't be out and about on your own. Not in your..." looking down to the ground below, "...condition. In all fairness, Liana, you are without sight. Your shop is not much more but a few steps away." He grasped the smooth planes of her plush palm, "Let's go before we get trouble, miss," the boy would add, eyes venturing toward the Niordan brothers, and furthered toward Abel. Something just told him that this was no place for her right now.

Deep inside, she knew this to be truth as well. With the nod of her head, she allowed herself to be once again guided.

The setting changes from The Bazaars to Southern Guild Ward

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos Character Portrait: Lunora Tre'vani
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Kilel Niordan

As the crowd bustled around them, Kilel arched an eyebrow at Saren. "Relax brother, this may be no vacation but it is still morning and I have already picked up what we need so don't worry so much." Shaking his head, Kilel continued down the street with his brother. Sidestepping a woman who walked right through the crowd as if sensing it rather than seeing it, he remarked, "There is much work to be done still. We have to secure ourselves here, find...consistent work." He did not say more, even, or perhaps especially, in the city of thieves and murderers it was prudent to be discreet when discussing such things. Killing for small time individuals was okay work, but it would get them nowhere quickly. If they were to get into the city big-leagues, where there was gold and respect to be had, they would need to make a name for themselves with the guilds.

But how to go about such a thing? Kilel was fairly sure that the guilds weren't so desperate to kill each other that they would just take anyone who wondered through the door, that would be a foolish risk to security in a city where loyalty was something given to the highest bidders. He supposed that was the inevitable difficulty to be faced while living in a city like this. That said, he had a few ideas of where to look to start with. He had heard pirates might be in need of extra hands, though spending a good deal of time cramped on a boat with a multitude of louse-ridden simpletons was not something that particularly struck his fancy. As far as he knew, the bounty hunters' guild openly posted some bounties, so he could potentially take advantage of that, bringing in some bounties to increase his renown, while making some cash in the process. Tracking down fugitives in a city of fugitives would prove rather challenging though, and would require him to increase his knowledge of the streets far past what he knew now. The other option was to question the locals more thoroughly. He was sure the local apothecaries, especially those of the guild, would have some information on the two assassins' guilds in the city, though it would probably be extremely difficult to convince them to divulge any information on the operations of such dangerous organizations and individuals. Prostitutes were the other locals who he felt would be good sources of information. People tended to loosen up with their sexual partners, letting slip things they might not otherwise share. For the right price, he was sure they would be willing to share what they heard.

As Kilel finished contemplating their options, the woman who had passed through them earlier and a boy who was holding her hand turned to look towards him and his brother. Well, the boy looked at them at least, the woman didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. It seemed she was blind, though he wouldn't assume it just by looking at her. Though the boy definitely seemed to be the one leading her, not the other way around. It seemed as though they were headed towards an apothecary building. It would be worth checking out, later on perhaps. Beyond those two, there was an unusually well dressed woman entering the bazaar, he briefly wondered who she might be as he continued on towards the other end of the bazaar. This was much easier said than done. As the morning had worn on, the guild had become more and more filled with the humanity that inhabited the city. It was really a pain, pushing through the crowds while watching out for pickpockets and other unsavory types. This was rather difficult and bothersome since the overwhelming majority of the types here were unsavory. Finally though they made their way to the end of the bazaar where they found an archway separating two wards. They found themselves at the Southern Guild Ward.

Turning to Saren, Kilel said, "Come on, lets go check out the Southern Guild Ward. Word is they are one of the main power hubs in the city. If we make good progress today, you can take a break from working later." Truthfully, he couldn't keep Saren from goofing off if he was intent on it, but he hoped the promise of a later reward would motivate him to at least be somewhat productive today.

Looking through the archway was almost like peering into another world. There were far fewer people wandering about in this ward. There was a distinctly dangerous, unwelcome air about the place, more so than that which already permeated most of the island city. Looking around as they walked into the ward, Kilel decided to go through and check out some of the guilds, see if they had any promising work. One of the guilds he was particularly interested in Sethur's Hand. While he knew outsiders were not exactly welcome in this part of the city, he was hoping to at least get the chance to approach a member of that particular guild, preferably in a non violent manner. Though he had only been here for a short time, he had already heard from many people that they were one of the most powerful guilds in the city, and he felt it could prove worthwhile to at least check out the guild.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Saren Niordan Character Portrait: Kilel Niordan Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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Saren

Saren hadn't really expected his words to soothe his brother, Kilel was as he knew nowhere close to a morning person and generally wanted things done his way, something Saren was quite use to. That being the case he had done as he always did and brushed it off knowing that, while Kilel may raise his voice at times, he had yet to ever take it farther or even enforce it, at least that much could be said for Saren. For others it was just a matter of what kind of mood Kilel found himself in at the time. So he didn't pay much mind, still humming a soft tune and letting his eyes roam about, not really focusing. That was until a rather beautiful woman passed right between himself and Kilel. His interested was peaked immediately, most any woman with a nice figure could arouse his interest but this one particularly so since she seemed rather strange. Not strange in the sense that she was weird in appearance but her movement and the air about her was unique to that of others he had encountered in Daggerford thus far.

"There is much work to be done still. We have to secure ourselves here, find...consistent work." Kilel as usual began going on about work and such, things that while being important interested Saren very little. Instead of being attentive to his brother, his eyes followed the person of interest that had just passed them by. He watched as the woman continued to walk a ways before being intercepted by a young boy of all things, a rare sight indeed within Daggerford, and while Saren did just hate to eavesdrop he found his curiosity overpowering. Unfortunately hearing what was being said proved difficult for several reasons, one because Kilel continued to walk in the opposing direction leading him farther away and two because the voices of merchants and customers alike drowned out the young boy almost entirely. Straining his ears allowed Saren to catch enough information though, managing to make out the name Liana and something about her being without sight. Perhaps it was not enough information to know her life story but it was plenty to satisfy his wandering curiosity. It was a good thing too or he would have been thinking about it all day because soon enough she was being led away, the boy only looking back for a moment to which Saren responded with a large smile and small wave before turning about and continuing to walk with Kilel.

It was only once his curious nature had been appeased that he turned his full attention back to his brother and the task at hand, finding as Kilel had called it 'consistent work'. Saren knew consistent work would be easily found in Daggerford, the city itself was full of people to kill and others who would pay for those services, a perfect place for the brothers to go about their trade. Of course they had one problem with that course of action and that was the guilds of Daggerford. While guilds could provide its members with ample job opportunities it seemed that they didn't like other people stealing their business, who would have guess. So, since the guilds in Daggerford seemed especially powerful it was fair to assume two lone men like himself and Kilel would not be allowed to simply do as they pleased for long. That left them with only two real options, one was to find a guild to associate themselves with, something he was sure Kilel would be displeased with until researching the best options thoroughly, or trying to muscle their way into some other guilds territory. Neither of these were exactly Saren's style and they sure as hell weren't Kilel's. The two brothers much preferred to stay out of sight, hidden from the eyes of anyone powerful enough to cause them trouble for convenience sake, but that just didn't seem to be an option in a city where people such as themselves were so numerous and influential. No, they would have to pick one or the other and if he knew Kilel it wouldn't be settled with something easy such as a coin toss, no, it would be an arduous process, of that he was certain.

Now despite the brothers having been in the city for a time Saren had not done any research on exactly which guilds were powerful or even which guilds would provide what he and his brother were looking for, he had only heard a few names at best. The research, or boring, aspects of their lives was something he left to his brother as he explored other parts of the city and had his fun. That meant while he knew the streets quite well he still knew rather little on the people who actually controlled them. Saren realized, as they approached an archway that separated the Bazaar and Southern Guild Ward, that Kilel would be leading him on a boring field-trip in search of the 'consistent work'. "Come on, lets go check out the Southern Guild Ward. Word is they are one of the main power hubs in the city. If we make good progress today, you can take a break from working later." Brother, trying to encourage me with promise of time off? Well I swear, you know me all too well. He hated to make himself look easy though and proceeded to let out a loud sigh and an elongated, "Fine..." Because who knew, maybe after a lifetime of never slipping anything past Kilel his excitement at the idea of having some time off wouldn't be so obvious.

His attempt at deceit aside he didn't hesitate after that, following Kilel into the ward and deciding to actually be a tad serious, walking at a decent pace and passing up the guilds that looked too small or unsuited to the needs of him and his brother. He stopped at a couple places, looking over each candidate with Kilel. There was a bounty hunters guild that had seemed alright until walking inside and seeing a bunch of rather idiotic looking men with the same guild crest punching the hell out of each other for what seemed like no reason in particular. Then a thieves den that had very amateur thieves, most of whom looked unreliable and untrustworthy even for thieves. It more or less continued like that for some time. Only a few guilds seemed to have experienced members and even fewer had promise. All of them had the same feel to Saren, they were all rather mundane.

He was getting restless, looking around at every little guild was boring and as far as making progress and earning himself some time off, as opposed to simply slipping away, there had been none. It was at this point he just stopped in the middle of the street and turned to Kilel. "Enough of this endless wandering, let us simply skip ahead of all the small fries because frankly I am bored beyond measure. Now I know you brother, you would not come looking unless you had at least one guild in mind already. So for the love of all things holy let us get to the real reason you brought us to the Southern Ward." When he was done he continued to look at Kilel without a care for who heard him or anything else for the moment, he was just ready to get on with the 'work' portion so he could move on to the more enjoyable bit before going mad.

The setting changes from Southern Guild Ward to The Bazaars

Setting

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Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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T H E I N K E D R O G U E



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Ice eyes flickered in their sockets and swept over the doe, drinking in all her forget-me-nots and allure from behind. His peer was lewd beneath the cowl of his hood. The woman's flesh was like cream, spiced with dribbles of honey and vanilla, and her tresses were like wheat. The harshness of the streets was evident on her person; stained into her clothes and smeared across her skin, yet to him, she was still an utter charm. It was not the shell that enticed him, it was the sense of piety and purity that drenched her. He continued to observe, watching the way her hips swayed beneath her garbs - triggering his mouth and loins to ache. Abel's stalk was prudent and in no means obscure, yet she seemed entirely oblivious to his existence. No, not that. Like she felt him, but could not see him. His gait was quick and strides nimble; avoiding the clusters of bodies that hindered his trail. In time, he began to notice a peculiar fault in her steps. Even at her rear, he began to realize that her movements were triggered by sound and not by sight. Before long, however, even that primary perception betrayed her. The woman grew awkward and graceless at first, then entirely disorientated. This perplexed him further.

She had almost breached the Tavern District before she stalled, tried to grasp her bearings, then subsequently turned around and paced back the way she came. When her body swiveled and stumbled past him, his gaze briefly seized a picture of her visage. Her face was angelic and perfectly sculpted, yet the gems embedded in her sockets were hollow empty, void of life and sight. Of course, she was blind. How a beautiful woman - who appeared to have no extraordinary talents - managed to live in Daggerford was an absolute wonder to him. By having observed her, he also discerned that there was no tone to her muscle, therefore she wasn't a fighter. He had known blind warriors in his day, and she was not one. There was something else, though, something he had allowed to slip past his keen nose: medicine. Her skin gave off the unmistakable scent of herbs. An alchemist, then? She wasn't a member of any of the guilds, therefore even if he had heard of her, her existence prior would have meant nothing to him. This was interesting, -very- interesting. An insidious grin stretched long across his lips and he sneered in delight. He continued to trail and watch her from a distance, glancing at a boy that later rushed to her aid. A frown marred Abel's brow; she had a child as well? It was rare for children, let alone individuals with handicaps, to survive long in the city. It was during this very thought that a large disturbance not far off snared his attention.

A street urchin had attempted to steal a bard's coin-purse, only to have a cross-bolt puncture his gullet by none other than Drake Sigurdsol. Abel knew of him, there were few who didn't, and the Pirate Lord's guild had been occasionally affiliated with the Achaz. The bazaars were in no-means a secure place, but it was generally out of 'etiquette' that battles and conflicts were kept to a respective minimum. This was an 'informal' policy that Rakkath often liked to enforce: he did not like the distribution and trade of goods badgered. Of course, their enemies and many others didn't have mush regard for it. A sigh slipped through Abel's lips and his brain seethed. He would have to deal with this, to his dismay. The apothecary would have to wait - but he was surely going find her again. She was being guided into her shop when his eyes adverted back to her. He knew her place of residence now. Abel's grin broadened, then he vanished into the fray.

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The crowd was surprisingly quite infuriated when the boy was slain. Abel reckoned the common-folk grew tired of the perpetual acts of murdered that only seemed to be increasing these days. Still, one would think they'd be use to it by now. Evidently not. The man was irritated and vexed by the whole thing. He made his way towards the pirates with less grace in his steps, and he practical began -tossing- people out of his way by the time he breached the edge of the crowd. A few peasants fell over and scrambled to get out of his way when he broke through the throng. "Alright," he started, grasping the brim of his hood, allowing it to fall rearward against his nape, "...everyone shut the hell up." He felt shudders course through many, followed by several alarmed gasps and whispers. 'The Achaz...' from some, 'shhhh' by others. The crowd instantly grew quiet and many dispersed when he made himself apparent. Two elites from any guild entering a confrontation was clue enough to 'get the fuck out.' So they did. Abel's visage could not be mistaken, his stark black-hair, brilliant ice eyes, and vivid facial scar, distinguished him well. Drake, however, was even more so. "The Sea Monster," the rogue's lips peeled back and he flashed him a toothy smile, "how good it is to see you again." Whether or not it was a jest...was irrelevant.

-fin.

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Character Portrait: Abel Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Annon Character Portrait: Drake Sigurdsol Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos Character Portrait: Ceres Landros
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Annon sat peacefully in the bazaar for quite some time until his interest was piqued by a small crowed that had gathered under a tree. Instrument in hand he stood up and placed his lockbox upon his back. Plucking the strings as he walked along he managed to cut a way through the crowed in time to see a rough looking sea farer shoot a child perched in a tree like a common crow. He raises an eyebrow as the crowd murmurs incoherently. He sighs taking a drag from his pipe, this was probably going to hurt sales for the entire bazaar at least for a short time. Glancing at the man who took the shot he plucked at his guitar idly walking off to the side and taking another seat. He was a performer of some sort after all and without attempting to jest he started to pluck away at an old song he had heard on his journey to this country. The sailors that taught it to him were a rough lot but he found the song humorous “ Come friends, pass the bottle around. For our time is short remember, For soon the grog will stop and our spirits will drop as we sail away in September. But tonight we will be merry and tonight we will remember, yet when the sun rises we will sadly be sober” His song was light in the air as he packs his pipe full the aroma drifting under the tree, he found it odd not a person even bothered to bury the boy, yet being an outsider he remained silent. Once the crowd dispersed he realized it was a common occurrence.


As he glances at the group under the tree, an apparent pirate with crew in tote, an elf, and a human he was curious as to what would unveil he had moved himself in earshot but was far from eavesdropping only listening to what was said loud enough for passer bys to hear. It had been a couple of hours though and he was starting to become tired of the looming sun and was curious as to where the best places in town to acquire that certain company could be found, and something strong to drink to go with it. His pipe was practically red hot to the touch with the cherry that had burned inside for the last two hours, if anyone knew what the divine was around here they could tell his clothing was permeated with the scent. He smirked to himself though pulling his hood up shielding his head from the sun, he had made more coin today from people thinking he was a begging musician all he had done today was give out free samples he was going to have to find a better market to sell in. Perhaps a local bar, in his home town that’s where he made his first fortune selling it but he had sunk a good half of his money into procuring more and the trip to this place.

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Character Portrait: Laeliana Regnatos
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#, as written by mombie
Ere breaching the threshold of her employ, something caught at the thin husk of her heart. Turning swiftly, she asked the boy what had taken place. Yet, she needn't his sight to entertain her curiosity, only her ears. The populace uttered words, aghast and bewildered, then were silenced by the authoritative tongue of another. Jacob shook his head, and then yanked the woman like a rag doll into the safety of her shop. She prayed heavily with an unmoving tongue, that mercy not stay too far out of reach. Not known for her daftness or ignorance, she was well aware that a boy's eyes were stolen of morning sunlight, and cast into an eternal pool of black; his blood yet another imprint of the cruelty that was so becoming of Daggerford, pressed into the cobblestone laden streets.

This city gorged from the meat and life essence of the weak, by which her own survival was a curious thought embedded in the minds of most. She was, after all, at a rather impeccable disadvantage. The only weakness she dare portray, for it could not be evaded so easily, was that she ambled not as gracefully as feet stuttered across rugged streets. It was but by the pity of the gods, that she had been thus far nurtured in safety. Now within the confines of the apothecary's building, she moved as though naturally enlivened with the ability to see. The boy, Jacob, while her sandals whispered across wooded planks, muttered his dismissal and goodbyes, and she her thanks and gratefulness.

Inside of these walls were tall shelves with emptiness sated by rows of well known herbs and remedies for both ailments of common and rare demeanors. Books that detailed aids to wounds and recipes for simple concoctions also lined the shelves. By no means was her shop so scantily stocked, as she had no other business aside from mixing and writing. Not even personal or leisure time bothered her. She knew none that would come and speak to her, and only in her morning escapades through the bazaar did she make conversations in small spurts with vendors. It did not bother her, though, as much as some people would think. She was quite at ease in her solitary life, and depended on it to ensure her continual existence. She trusted too much, and in the end, it was to be her downfall. So, she preferred to be out of sight, and out of mind.

The belly of the quaint establishment was left bare, once full and lined with more shelves than she had now. It was to ensure that she could maneuver without hurdles throughout. The door was shut, and had a bell that was big enough for her to hear if someone came in. Void of windows, as she believed in security from the vast network of thieves and assassins, she hardly thought anyone could enter without her knowing.

Assassins were stealthy, but they were no match for her bell. Even when the door shut, it chimed with acknowledgement. Most thought it irritating and laughable, but of all the things people thought about her, Liana's comfort of security was no joking matter. She was a woman of science and rationality, whereas others filled their chest with thoughts that the gods would save and stir them in the right direction. However, she did have faith as well. An alchemist she was, and an inventor, she had been once. The girl was fluent in all that was philosophy, history, algorithms, and chemistry. No stone of education had gone unturned, and no ocean of wisdom too steep to dive into. She was intelligent, wise, studious, and dependable but overlooked time and time again. She was beginning to think the future held no merit for her...

This world, once glorious and vivacious, was now a place where even angels' wings were fettered, and dreams in shards. To rise and become renown, in any way, was to become marked in bloodied greed and pulls of power. There was no longer a struggle for notoriety, but one to remain voiceless and faceless. She was no different.