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[TC OPEN] Ebonhawke: A Rock Opera

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OOC Information: Like any good opera, there's many a twist and turn and plot thread throughout the entirety of the story. And like any good opera, there's music. So here's the rules for this forum role play.

This is a rock opera. The setting is Ebonhawke. All actions and such are to be described by each player (if two players want to collaborate and make a post, go for it, then there can be a duet!). And each post MUST contain a musical piece. At some point in the description, the player's character must break into song while performing their actions.

Seeing how this is a rock opera, only rock/hard rock/heavy metal pieces will be allowed (though, a good R&B would suffice as well). As I don't expect everyone to be able to rattle off a rock lyric the likes of Led Zepplin, Queen, Meatloaf, The Who, or the Rolling Stones, previously recorded pieces are allowed as long as they compliment the actions that are taking place. At the end of the post, make a notation of the song used, and even add a youtube video if available.

As stated before, two players may collaborate on a post, as long as there is a song at some point in the action that makes sense with the actions taking place. Players are also allowed to bring in random NPCs to suddenly do backing vocals (and if you want to play the confused player who doesn't know what's going on, that's fine (then you can play the "how does everyone know the lyrics to this song" card). But at some point, that player must have that character break into song.

Multiple plot threads can be used here, if each player wishes to add some different directions, and always make sure that if a player wants to collaborate with another during the flow of the story (which, to be honest, I have no clue how it will play out), make sure to contact that other player and work to create a post.

I'll be making the first post here tomorrow night.

Time for....
Attached Images
Posted Mar 31, 15 · OP
Pania Alow appears in pink - Mandrel Alow appears in purple

The last of the supplies had been unloaded by wagon to a relatively posh looking dwelling on one of the streets of Ebonhawke. The heavier items had been moved into the apartment, but there was odds and ends that hadn't yet been taken up the stairs. Two figures stood before the two dozen boxes that contained knick knacks, books, heirlooms and other odds and ends. One was the noblewoman and Durmond Priory historian, Pania Alow. The other was her brother, a roguish man who was only two years older than she, and considered himself rather talented in the art of story and song, Mandrel Alow. He was also rather charming and considered himself quite the ladies man (or even man's man, should he so desire on any particular night).

"So Pania," he said with a slight smirk as he looked over the boxes left over. The remaining wagons and work crews had moved off, now that they had been paid. "I guess it's a wee bit o' elbow grease, hmmm?"

Pania perked an eyebrow and returned the smirk with one of her own. "Really, Mandy, ye think that we cannu move this without callin' on some aid from from the ... as the Asurans say ... eternal alchemy?"

"If an Asuran were here," Mandrel replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Some may say that we abuse the use o' the eternal alchemy."

"An' why's tha'?" Pania said. "We are a family o' mesmers. 'R have ye fergotten that, oh brother o' mine." Mandrel just rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Pania was already snapping her fingers to produce a portal to make things that much easier to move her things.

It's a kind of magic,
It's a kind of magic,
A kind of magic,
One dream, one soul, one prize,
One goal, one golden glance of what should be
It's a kind of magic

Mandrel huffed slightly as he picked up a box and strolled through the portal himself, adding his own opinion to the discussion.

One shaft of light that shows the way,
No mortal man can win this day,
It's a mind of magic,
The bell that rings inside your mind,
It's a challenging the doors of time,
It's a kind of magic

"Books in the study," Pania said as Mandrel stepped through the portal. "An' knick knacks in the livin' room." She then proceeded to walk back through the portal as she broke into song once again.

The waiting seems eternity,
The day will dawn of sanity,
It's a kind of magic,
There can be only one,
This rage that lasts a thousand years
Will soon be gone

Mandrel placed the appropriate boxes into their proper places, took note of the fading portal, and created a new one. He walked through and appeared before his sister with a swarthy grin.

This flame that burns inside of me,
I'm hearing secret harmonies
It's a kind of magic,
The bell that rings inside your mind,
Is challenging the doors of time

Pania merely huffed and pushed a heavy box of books into Mandrel's arms. "These in me bedroom," she said and turned to give a warning finger. "An' no snoopin' through me unmentionables!"

It's a kind of magic

"I were 12 last time I did that," Mandrel called out as he stepped through the portal. "Are ye plannin' on remindin' me o' that 'til the day we die?"

It's a kind of magic

"Only ta pester ye, dear brother," she replied with a grin as she picked up the final box and strode through the portal for the last time. "'R maybe when we retire, never know."

This rage that lasts a thousand years,
Will soon be will soon be,
Will soon be gone,
This is a kind of magic,
There can only be one,
This life that lasts a thousand years,
Will soon be gone

With that, the pair set out to putting away books, baubles, trinkets, knick knacks, and odds and ends. It didn't take long, after all it seemed like

Magic - it's a kind of magic,
It's a kind of magic,
Magic, magic, magic, magic,
It's magic,
It's a kind of magic.

"An' now with everythin' done," Mandrel said as he took a slight bow to his sister. "I b'lieve it may be time ta see what there is ta see at the Wayrest."

"Chasin' skirts 'r trousers?" Pania called out with a smirk.

"Haven't d'cided yet, luv."

lyrics from A Kind Of Magic, performed by Queen

Posted Apr 1, 15 · OP · Last edited Apr 1, 15
Tonight's performance, the first appearance of Plata Renard, known as The Silver Fox.
Attached Images
Posted Apr 2, 15 · OP
The Wayrest Inn, situated in the somewhat unseemlier side of western Ebonhawke was built of the same severe gray stone that had been quarried from the encircling mountains to erect the sheltering walls of the fortress city. At a brief glance, it might've appeared just another fortification amid a stolid wilderness of other severe gray buildings. However, a lingering look through the windows into the rich, buttery firelight within would display something much less dreary.

It was a rather rowdy night. Nothing tends to make the cup of mirth and merriment run over quite like the threat of impending doom encroaching on all sides. Ebonhawke, at least the portion represented within the tavern, was possessed of a single-mindedness in their dancing on the edge of oblivion.

Fortinbras Carlyle's step was the loping swagger of a man who's spent much of his life aboard a ship; a rolling gait accustomed to swells and gales. When he stepped through the door, his eyes flicking toward a pretty serving lass as a matter of course, he took stock of the crowd, assessing with the shrewd eyes of a pinch-penny merchant. Seven blades. Three knew how to use them.

He stepped toward the bar and laid down his coin, not caring overmuch what the tapman might produce. Instead, his thoughts fell to the rolled scrap of vellum riding in his left breeches pocket. It felt much heavier than the little scrawl of paper had any right.

The clink of glasses and the thump of mugs grew syncopated as his drink arrived, a foaming wooden stein of amberjack. Fort took it with an appreciative nod.

Slowly, under his breath, the words came unbidden. "Ain't turning back it's my time to fly. Too many decisions. And not enough time. But I always did like a thrill of living in the unknown..."

The summons to meet with the representatives of the dispossessed Ascalonian nobles, who's promise of coin had drawn him from his habitual line of work, came to hand, and in an instant his doubts and reservations had left him. Damned be the consequences. How long had it been since he'd felt the pure exhilaration of throwing all to chance and living in a blazing moment, ruin or rapture.

"So pucker up mama, cause, I ain't coming home!" Fort toasted the room at large with a devil-may-care grin twisting his lips and a frothing splash of amberjack. The pounding of mugs and glasses clamored a four-four rhythm that shook him to the bones. The words appeared from somewhere deep inside him. Behind his eyes their fire bloomed white-gold. "Don't hold me back it's my time to fly. The Devil gave me nine full lives. And I say this with a full grin, cause nothing's better than living in sin." He drew deep from his mug, slammed it home to the bar, and in a whirling dance-step he crossed the tavern's floor toward the stunned serving girl and her tray of empty mugs.

"Ain't turning back it's my time to fly. Too many decisions and not enough time." He reached out a hand to pluck the tray from her hands and send it clattering to the floor. "But I always did like a thrill." Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as he settled a hand at the flare of her hip, but they shot yet higher when she found her feet matching his own steps and her fingers twining into his. He spun her about the tavern floor, a blur of black leather and vibrant red hair to counterpoint her white apron and golden locks. "Living in the unknown. Pucker up mama, cause, I ain't coming home."

He released her just a suddenly, turning back toward the bar with only a courtly little nod to belie the oddity of both his action and the alien emotion that had just taken hold of the old scoundrel. He cleared his throat genteelly, taking another swig from his amberjack. But under his breath...

"I ain't coming home, no, no, no."

The patrons about the bar seemed not to have noticed overmuch. All save one surly man of the Ebon Vanguard, having a nip to take the edge off of his previous watch. And even he seemed to let it pass with a muttered "Krytans..."
Lyrics provided by Silvertide "Ain't Coming Home"
Posted May 21, 15 · Last edited May 21, 15
A derisive little snort came from the long, lean blonde at the end of the bar. Glacier blue hues had looked up from her mug the moment the swaggering sea dog walked in. They missed little, you see, and tonight she was waiting for just such a man. Unmistakable once described, the long, red-haired man stood out in a crowd of what was otherwise composed of over excited and equally intoxicated separatists and a few other brave souls.

His attention was elsewhere: the serving girl.

Men. Easily distracted creatures, the Six bless them. She was certainly a pretty little thing, anyway. O mused and rapped her lengthy finger nails on the bar top a few times, having abandoned her mug to murmur condescendingly in her breathy tones, “She moves like she don't care. Smooth as silk, cool as air.”

Angel-hued orbs rolled in their sockets, “Ooh, it makes you wanna cry.”

The bartender and she exchanged meaningful glances as the pair in question took a turn around the old and creaking wooden floors, amongst the other patrons who seemed to shuffle around them as though nothing was particularly out of the ordinary. With the bartender as her audience her tone changed, ringing out in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “She doesn't know your name and your heart beats like a summer rain.”

Clearly narrating the micro drama happening on the makeshift dance floor she goes on, “Ooh, it makes you wanna die.” She fanned herself dramatically for effect and she and the bar tender shared a little chuckle before both returning to doing nothing special at all. He went on cleaning water spots from a few imperfect glasses, and she resumed nursing her ale disinterestedly until the sea dog approached the bar. No one took exception.

The sea dog found a seat after his grand entrance and O slid promptly from her position to idle at his side, all liquid grace and deathly silence. Appearing like a ghost to his right, just how she got there was easy enough to miss if you were not keeping an eye on the lithe creature. She stood garbed mostly in black leather, with her hair a half-braided mess of pale blonde that screamed I’m not here to impress you. She did not bother with introductions, rather she leaned in with the voice of a temptress, “Ooh, don't you wanna take her? Wanna make her all your own?”

And then she was finished, she sat back in the nearest seat unceremoniously, leaning against the bar so that its edge rested just below her shoulder blades. “So. A lady’s man.” She put out an impossibly pale hand, gesturing for the letter that she knew he was carrying.

Verification was everything.

"Maria" by Blondie [Lyrics altered to fit the setting.]

Posted May 21, 15 · Last edited May 21, 15
The grizzled Vanguard watchman's eyes widened ever so slightly as he stared about the bar, looking for just a single soul who was as concerned about this new and undoubtedly Charr-spawned plague that was causing spontaneous eruptions of song. When he finds no one, he slides his mug to one side, drops a couple of copper pieces on the table with a dull tink and makes his way to the door. This was far too much for a good, upright fighting man to bear.

Fort, for his part, was sipping at his drink when the leather-clad she-devil appears at his side to purr liquidly into his ear. He managed not to spit in surprise, but only just. His adams apple bobbed for just a moment as he goes about the laborious process of swallowing amberjack hell-bent on escape. Six be good, but she did sneak about.

Luckily, she turned away and let the matter lie for the moment. She leaned against the bar as though she owned it, sprawling imperiously against the polished surface and brandishing a hand moon-burnt to a graveyard hue.

"I've been called worse, doll." He set his mug on the bar and, after but a moment's hesitation, withdrew the vellum sheet with the broken black and gold seal. His eyebrow arched ever so slightly. She wasn't impressed in the slightest. And that galled.

He pressed the scroll into her hand and offered a courtly little bow, as though to begin again. Once more with feeling.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year. Stole many a girl's soul and faith."

His smile is rakish, good-looking in that slightly dangerous way that called to mind bad decisions that would make for excellent stories some time far in the future. Cautionary tales, every one.

"Pleased to meet you. Hope you've guessed my name. But what's puzzling you is just the nature of my game."

He gestures about him with a grand sweep of one arm, as though taking in all of the tavern, the fortress, Tyria. "I sailed the bank, held a Captain's rank, when the Pact fleet launched and the Risen stank." His smile has grown colder, rimed with ice as bitter memories seem to dance behind his eyes. "I watched with glee as kings and queens fought for ten decades and gods turned away. I shouted out, who sacked Divinity, but after all, it was you and me."

He takes a sip from his mug for emphasis, a hollow social gesture that did little to balm his wounded pride. A lady's man? Such a shallow little world he waded in. "So when you meet me, have some courtesy. Have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well earned politesse, or I may lay your world to waste."

With a shrug of his shoulders he leans in conspiratorially, his full voiced basso rumble dropping to a hushed croon. "Pleased to meet you, hope you've guessed my name. But what's puzzling you is just the nature of my game."

He tosses off the amberjack with a satisfied murmur, letting the dead soldier slide across the bar to the tapman. "But there are some who call me Fort. Let that serve for now."

Lyrics provided by The Rolling Stones (Mostly) "Sympathy for the Devil"
Posted May 21, 15
The vellum sheet that Fort produced found a home in her awaiting hand and she carefully unfolded it, her eyes scanning over its contents, scrutinizing the seal that marked it as having indeed come from the correct source. She could have assumed it was legitimate, it certainly looked to be at a casual glance, but she was thorough. His voice hummed in the background while she considered the message and then, at long last, the man.

All of that and modest too? The high arch of a single brow seemed to betray her thoughts. She looked down again at the vellum. Every motion made without giving up her comfortable resting space against the bar. Okay, so what, do you think you’re Balthazar or something?

“That don’t impress me much.” She murmured absently, letting the half-sung words hang heavy in the air.

Finally, and only after confirming its legitimacy, O pocketed the message and locked eyes with the stranger. She knew only of Fortinbras Carlyle by reputation; he was a man that could get things done. Things that few people were well suited for. That explained what she was doing in Ebonhawke, which was perhaps her least favorite city. Recruiting him, that is; making certain he wasn’t the kind of character that was going to ruin her day.

O, herself, was far better suited to Divinity’s Reach, where she knew every back alley and rooftop, defunct chimney and paper-thin wall. Here, everything was mile-thick stone, and all of the inhabitants were diligent and watchful. It made her job difficult.

Not impossible. But difficult.

O sang slyly, “You think you’re cool, but have you got the touch?” Her brow remained arched in such a manner that she looked to be outright challenging him. If he did not rise to the occasion she was like to grow bored, and quickly, that much was clear. One would think that a woman in her line of work would have a better poker face.

“Don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re all right.” She resumed her casual lounging.

“But that won’t get the job done on a long, cold, lonely night.” The hellcat actually hummed the next few bars before she concluded. “Whatever.”

Her shoulders shrugged a bit as she reiterated, “That don’t impress me.”

In an instant the music disappeared from her dusky voice, “You can call me Saint” she purred, and her newly affected tone implied that there was another name she reserved for different company and he was not going to be made privy. Without missing a beat she voiced the question she had been stewing on all night - a question whose answer was more important than the business itself. “So why Ebonhawke?”

O all but complained aloud with that simple little inquiry: This place is a dump.

(Mostly) "That Don't Impress Me Much" by Shania Twain

Posted May 21, 15
Fort's gaze hardened. He blinked once. Twice. The corner of his mouth quirked into something that might've shared a common ancestor with a smile. A distant ancestor. She was a hellcat. And she was completely unimpressed. More than he cared to count had been cowed with half such a boast as he'd just leveled...not this one.

That was really rather neat.

"Very well, Saint. I won't be so crass as to demand your credentials. But as for the touch. Well, I have that in spades." We waggled a long-fingered hand for emphasis. He lay the hand against the bar, leaning in until he was close enough that he wouldn't be overheard by every looky-loo and eavesdropper in the tavern, deaf though they might be playing.

"As for why I chose Ebonhawke...well, aside from the obvious symmetry," he paused, gesturing ephemerally with his free hand, "beginning our venture at the beginning, you see. Well, let us simply say that I have an unfinished parcel of business to conduct. A friend in town."

His voice was a growl, melodic in a somber, seething way. In an instant the dashing rogue became something a good deal less alluring. Savage, spiteful.

"I've got a fast life and a slow-cutting knife, I've been drinking at a poisoned well." He drew a ragged breath. "No home and a bag of bones and nothing else left to sell. I know why I'm in this Hell, I just don't want to believe. But when you cross that line, you just can't tell. Right now there's someone looking out for me."

He taps the right of his chest with a motion that seems rather casual as he lays the story of his latest scar bare. "I came out of the darkness with the bullet in my hand. I've got one more shot at living, I'm lucky that I can. I got a little roughed up." The patrons of the bar, in a unified hushed whisper repeat his words. "Yeah, he got a little roughed up."

Fort furrows his brow and twists his head around to mark the men who spoke. They've all returned to their drinks by the time he's turned. He mutters a mild oath and returns to his harsh little hissing melody. "But I came out of the darkness with the bullet in my hand."

He pauses to run a hand over his chin, schooling his face once more into a careful mask of business-like neutrality. "I've got a cold stare, wound's still there, but there ain't much left to bleed. Short fuse that I still use," he holds up a forestalling hand, "Yeah, I'm my own worst enemy." He turns away, glaring deeply into the polished surface of the bar. "But I've stared at the faces I once knew lined up just to bury me. There's a cold black cart that's waiting to leave, but right now, there's someone looking out for me."

His voice is the quiet rasp of a stiletto being drawn from a sheath in the dead of night. "I came out of the darkness with the bullet in my hand. I've got one last shot at living. I'm lucky that I can. Because I got a little roughed up."

Again the patrons seem to whisper amongst themselves, repeating his last line. Fort's hand clenches on the bar into a white-knuckle fist and he raps it hard against the polished surface. He otherwise seems to pay it no mind. "But I came out of the darkness with the bullet in my hand."

"So, Saint. That's why Ebonhawke. I assumed that your masters would require my undivided attention. And I don't think I can offer it while my friend has not made Grenth's acquaintance."

He straightens, folds his arms over his chest and levels a look that dares her to take exception or offer argument.

Lyrics provided by Redlight Kings "Bullet in my Hand"
Posted May 21, 15
The Silver Fox appears in grey. Ebon Vanguard Guard appears in gold.
Beggars/common citizens appear in blue.

The evening of Ebonhawke gave way to the early night, when the darkness of the day was greeted by the lighting of streetlamps and candles in the windows of homes. Such evenings had become a familiar thing for one more used to the pathways and byways of Divinity's Reach.

But the Silver Fox had grown used to change, and she accepted it with a smile and a song in her heart.

On this particular evening, the Silver Fox stepped out into the full light of the moon from a back alley into the dwindling market. The few beggars who were still there took note of the jet black thigh high boots, the ornate pistol and rapier, the silver of the long coat, and the jet black mask and tri-corn hat.

The Silver Fox was about to make her mark in Ebonhawke.

She looked about the square of the central market, a sly smile on her face as she looked to each of the faces of those who had become the down trodden. Those forgotten by not only the Ministry, but the Separatists in their attempt to terrorize Ebonhawke into continuing a futile war. It was these people, as much as anyone else, that would be her heralds. And so, she'd reach out to them.
While the sun hangs in the sky and the desert has sand
While the waves crash in the sea and meet the land
While there's a wind and the stars and the rainbow
Till the mountains crumble into the plain

One by one, these seemingly forgotten citizens of not only Kryta, but also of Ascalon took note of this silvery figure. It was almost as though she was reaching out to each one of them personally. They hung onto every word as they huddled in empty doorways and shallow backalleys.
Oh yes we'll keep on tryin'
Tread that fine line
Oh we'll keep on tryin' yeah
Just passing our time

It was as though what she sang was a personal message just for them. A rally cry to come to aid in her cause.
While we live according to race, color or creed
While we rule by blind madness and pure greed
Our lives dictated by tradition, superstition, false religion
Through the eons, and on and on

As she spoke directly to each individual, they nodded and their eyes lit up as though they were filled with a brand new understanding of what they had to do.
Oh yes we'll keep on tryin'
We'll tread that fine line
Oh we'll keep on tryin'
Till the end of time
Till the end of time

The beggars and downtrodden weren't the only ones to take note of the silvery figure. So too did a member of the Ebon Vanguard. This one in particular had taken an interest in patrolling the central market, as she knew many of the patrons, the shop keepers, but also the beggars themselves. She tried her damnedest to make sure the villainy of the Separatists did not affect these people. And so as she entered the square, she at first reached for her sword, but chose a rapier on her hip, more befitting that whom she was about to face.
Through the sorrow all through our splendor
Don't take offence at my innuendo

The Silver Fox smirked as she recognized the action. The slow drawing of a blade, a challenge to a duel. She accepted in kind with a nod as she drew her own rapier. The pair of fighters circled each other, rapiers held high, careful footwork as they each tested the other.

Steel on steel clashed, though each swing and thrust was easily parried and pushed aside. It was only a test performed by each combatant. It would be their own words that would strike home.
You can be anything you want to be
Just turn yourself into anything you think that you could ever be

By this time, the beggars within the square had grown very interested in this battle, and called out on their own, though to which they did so wasn't known.
Be free with your tempo, be free be free
Surrender your ego - be free, be free to yourself

Steel on steel clashed as each combatant swung, thrust and parried. They used the environment to their advantage, climbing on top of boxes and carts as they continued their attacks and defense. Each seemed very capable in their skill with a blade, each thrust making those watching wince as they expected it to hit home only to watch as the attack was parried with ease.

But there was one small opening.

The Silver Fox took it, but did not use it as a killing blow. The guard's sword arm had become exposed, and the Silver Fox used that as an advantage. With a quick thrust, used the tip of her rapier to strike home, stabbing into the guard's wrist. Not enough to permanently damage, but enough to cause the guard to drop her guard completely along with her rapier.

The Silver Fox stepped back and sheathed her own rapier as the guard fell to her knees.
Oooh, ooh -
If there's a God or any kind of justice under the sky
If there's a point, if there's a reason to live or die
If there's an answer to the questions we feel bound to ask

The guard still used her own words, hoping they would hit home in some fashion.
Show yourself - destroy our fears - release your mask

A smirk and a light laugh was all that came from the Silver Fox as she stepped closer to the guard, On bended knee, she looked into the face of the guard, speaking in her usual boisterous manner.
Oh yes we'll keep on trying
Hey tread that fine line
Yeah we'll keep on smiling yeah
And whatever will be - will be
We'll just keep on trying
We'll just keep on trying
Till the end of time
Till the end of time
Till the end of time

With a florish, she rose to her feet, bowed gracefully to the guard, and dashed off into the shadows. The guard, for her part, pushed herself to a sitting position and muttered to herself. "Ebonhawke just became even less boring."

lyrics from Innuendo as performed by Queen
Posted May 22, 15 · OP · Last edited May 22, 15
Personal business, then.

O gave an understanding little nod of her head, though her attention shifted between the bar’s patrons turned backup singers and the rock star pirate to her side more than once, suspiciously. Icy-blue eyes, already too intense by their very nature, narrowed into feral little slits. Whatever strangeness that had settled over Ebonhawke, and turned the town’s inhabitants into members of a musical, evidently afforded some measure of telepathy as well. They all knew the words to the damned song.

When Fort finished the telling of the story everyone returned to their various shades of debauchery and looked as though they had not heard a single word of the conspiracy. She was just beginning to understand the rules of the game, without understanding the why. More importantly, there was someone in need of killing so that she could leave the music-cursed city. If said goal could be met before she well and truly lost her mind; that would be good.

“Well.” O purred, “That is quite a story.” She managed to carefully school her words into an even tone. The first time she had burst into song she hadn’t even noticed a transition. The second time was… strange. Now that she had become aware of it having happened she was fighting down the urge to let another impromptu song put a black mark on her reputation as a stone professional.

When next she opened her mouth to commiserate, she was less fortunate.

“Hell, I know it's all too easy getting caught in the dark, when you're looking for the fix to fill the hole in your heart.” She managed to curse under her breath, but she would be damned if purring the words did not scratch a deep itch. “All alone this kind of life, it ain't no walk in the park, and I know it's gonna take some time.”

She pursed her lips in consideration. It was simple mathematics: two people would work faster than one. And she could better size him up before handing him over to the big-bosses. The question was whether or not he was too proud to accept a purely selfish offer of help. In which case she would force it on him. Forcibly.

She wanted out of Ebonhawke.

But for now, she sang in a sultry sort of tone, better suited to the boudoir. “So I say… When the sun goes down, call my name. When all the world around you's just too hard to take. If it helps you live, I got something for the pain.” O may have been called Saint but she looked more like a sinner. If trouble had an avatar then she was it. There was little room to doubt that she had all manner of remedies for all manner of pains.

…Most of those remedies boasted a wicked blade, or were composed of something nasty in a little vial, but that was neither here nor there.

“Yeah, I got something, something, for the pain.” She murmured. And if she could ensure that he made it back to Divinity's Reach with her, in one piece, all the better.

“It's funny how Grenth is always playin' his part, but you can't keep looking back. I'm in so deep I'm thinking ‘why did I start?’, and when you fall it happens all too fast…”

She stopped short, abruptly, (thank the Six) as an Ebon Vanguard walked in looking a little off her game and rubbing at a recently contracted, if minor, injury.

The blonde hellcat gestured toward the door with a little upward nod of her head, “Now… What do you suppose that is all about?”

"Something for the Pain" by Redlight King

Posted May 22, 15
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