| |
Neutral
|
Please do not post unless your name is in the title, thanks! |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
~Malachi Santoro~ Nickname(s): Mal Age: 24 Gender: Male Sexuality: Heterosexual Appearance: Malachi is an individual faring on the better end of the spectrum of ‘dangerously attractive’. Fronting with a face in the shape of a diamond, his cheekbones still reign higher in a more defined fashion, while his jawline is just short of severe. Running further down, Mal’s chin narrows softly into a fine but not sharp point. The greatest of flaws on Mal facial wise are the faint purplish-blue tinted bags of ever present exhaustion resting beneath his contrastingly lively eyes. These eyes possess darker, straighter lashes atop while the bottom lashes are a bit thinner and curled lightly. The color that makes for the vibrancy in his eyes is that of an alluring green-gold hazel, with prominent flecks of sterling silver and stray flecks of a dark brown that are easily seen surrounding his iris. Above these alluring orbs rest eyebrows that are of a slightly thinner than average thickness, though they form a slight arch just short of the midpoint of the brow. His nose is more aquiline, and dare be said delicately structured; with a neatly straight slope and a soft button type roundness. Below rests an easily defined cupid's bow, which adds a soft flare of definition to his facial front. Mal’s lips are thinner in the shade of a dull rose, though they are almost always upturned into a small, deceivingly sweet smile. Shorter but full sits the lightly curled, dirty blonde head of ringlets Malachi possesses. A near ombre of a more present dustier blonde and a few softer chestnut strands make up his shades of hair, though these colors easily flow into one another rather well. Tapering down to the nape of his neck and both behind and barely over his ears these hairs handsomely thin, though that light curl is still vastly evident. A few wispier curls curtain his forehead, though none are long enough to brave past his eyebrows to impair his vision. When it comes to build, Mal’s is that of a more proportional rectangular type figure. His shoulders are certainly not the broadest, but they square near evenly with his hips that are straighter versus narrowing at all. At a height of a shorter 5”11, the more athletic and nimbly built figure he holds is easy to see. Toning is something that lines most of his body including his upper arms, core, and even thighs. The parts of his body that do without a complimentary show of light muscle are thinner, but not frail in appearance. Overall his skin tone can be regarded as fairing on the lighter side of warm, though he does possess a touch of lighter olive undertones. While there are no greatly defined or overly prominent marks or scars on his body, there are sparse smaller ones littering him in various places. Mostly from training with a sword, while others are from scuffles and confrontations both inside and outside his line of work. Personality: Malachi is certainly an interesting creature. Far from heroic, but just a touch out of complete villainy. There is an alluring danger to his entire demeanor, that akin to a flaming light to an unsuspecting moth. Sweet smiles with a seemingly trustworthy face could very well make up one’s first impression of Mal. Lurking beneath his surface though is where an entity that revels in the joy of faint malice and violence resides. After all, what would an assassin be without a touch of cruelty? It’s as if he was born for the role of a morally grey predator that disguises its wolfish nature beneath authentic sheep's clothing. And this, Mal sees as an enthralling role in his games. Games he enjoys at the very least. To sweetly dance into the lives, perhaps even hearts of many, only to reveal his deceit at a moment far too late for his victim to ever cry wolf. This doesn’t necessarily condemn Malachi to being that of evil, though the word ‘nice’ in itself does not even come close to capturing the better side of him. As per games, Mal enjoys toying rather than chasing. It is possible for him to become bored of games, though once committed, he does not tire of them and will persevere through his boredom. What he starts he finishes, and that is an absolute promise no matter his doings. His inability to conform to basic societal conventions leaves him with a renegade stain to his name, or maybe it’s the fact he’s a fairly unwanted wielder of “magic”, but regardless his skills prove sought after, and thus the way he makes a living. Those skills include being operated by a carefully calculating mindset that ensnares Malachi, though he can be regarded as an individual keen on being opportunistic. Mal’s marvel worthy adaptability usually plays a hand in how he goes about his doings, so how he reacts strictly depends on how he deems his reactions fit for any given situation. A display of a well mannered, agreeable man is his favorite mask. Should one even get a glimpse beneath it, more than likely one can find a smugly amused entity beneath. There is no point in hiding his confidence, but rather he tends to carefully conceal just how vast his ego spans. Although, he is not one to be foolishly arrogant. That wouldn’t serve him well in his line of work, would it? Acting a fool and failing, or dare be getting caught, not likely! With that said, he can be arrogant. Just not exactly to a level others may soar. Petty by nature, sometimes Mal just can’t resist the urge to retaliate. More often than not, his retaliation is done through rather creative acts though. And there is no end to Mal’s creativity within the recesses of his darkly humorous and twisted mind. Loyalty? Eh. There is no obligation he feels to follow through for anyone outside of his society of fellow assassins. This generally makes him a fairly selfish individual, and a selfishness more often than not fueled by his unquenchable greed. The man never can have enough currency, or awe worthy possessions. Prettily crafted weapons hold a special place in his heart, and oh can Mal boast about his plethora of beauties. Even out of the realm of devices of torture, he naturally tends to pine after pretty things, including women… though hardly are his intentions pure. Is there a decent being hidden somewhere within the intricate web of Malachi? Maybe. If so, it has yet to grace himself or the world around him. Of course he can be a better, decent individual, though he just grows bored of mediocrity associated with being a ‘good’ person. Good is so overrated anyway. Subtly, it could be that imprisoning himself with a label relating to kindness would be too constricting in his eyes. Mal is a man that can protect and defend though, maybe even comfort a struggling individual on a good day, but he can’t quite give to others what he’s never had. With that said, sarcasm and wit? There is no off switch. More often than not his insults are sweetly spoken mockings. And from time to time he may surprise one with a deeper, thoughtful bout of words. It goes to reflect his higher intelligence, though one can’t be as good at deceit should they not possess a fair grasp on intellectual capabilities. This can lead him to believe he knows best, sometimes he does, and other times he’s far too stubborn to admit otherwise. Test his stubborn will though, and one can easily be met with a snap -physical or verbal, perhaps both, he’s quite the wildcard when pushed-. Strengths: Combat (Swords and hand-to-hand in particular) Intelligent Charismatic Loyal (to few) Adaptable Weaknesses: Greedy Apathetic Prideful Petty Vindictive Abilities: -Primary- ~Illusion Projection~ Sight: When Malachi conjures an illusion to mess with the sense of sight, he is using a very strong use of focus to channel the illusion into being believable and completely realistic. While first learning his ability he was able to start with simple things; duplicating items, weaving an illusion of invisibility over still items, and conjuring items in spaces it didn’t actually exist in. Over time, his ability in terms of capability has grown immensely. Now Mal is capable of creating the illusion of people, making himself or others look different, concealing himself or others in apparent invisibility, changing a person's entire view of where they are, and he even has nailed creating places and things of complete fantasy. He is bound by his own imagination when it comes to deceiving with sight, as well as focus. While his illusions are so vivid and perfect that they are perceived as reality, if his focus is broken, so is the illusion. It’s the most strenuous part of his ability, and the more complex and large scale the illusion, the more difficult it becomes for him to keep the antic up, but also to keep it looking realistic. Headaches of varying severity are the most common side effect, although depending on his usage and focus, side effects may vary. Touch: The illusion of touch is something that can be a little tricky, since the most authentic illusions of touch he can cast are ones he has felt himself, though he can experiment a bit with this. With that being said, the easier illusions are things like wrist grabbing, warmth, cold, and even giving something like a rock the illusion of feeling as soft as fur. Malachi is also very capable of making others feel pain with something like cuts, stab wounds, and other types of physical pain. While this isn’t necessarily touching, Mal can also give the illusion of internal sensations such as throbbing migraines, or the sense that your heart is beating so rapidly it hurts. The greatest limitation of this is that if his target(s) become greatly aware that what they are feeling isn’t real, whatever he’s making them feel becomes tolerable to the point the target(s) can overcome that sensation. Something may still be felt, depending on the illusion, but it will not be as realistic or hindering. Smell: This is pretty self explanatory; he can conjure the illusion of smell. This is strictly limited by things he has smelt before though. He can pair this illusion with another though; like the smell of smoke before he gives the illusion that something is on fire. Taste: Also self explanatory, and also limited to things he has tasted before. Sound: This is similar to taste and smell. The sounds he produces can be voices to match the illusion of people, music, screaming, water, etc. -Secondary- ~Rapid Recovery~ Simply put, Mal can rapidly heal himself should he be injured in any way. While this doesn’t make him invulnerable, or invincible, he heals so quickly that he can take quite a few otherwise lethal blows and keep going. The recovery process applies to his skin, organs, bones, etc. While he is a rapid healer, it’s still very possible to kill him in a multitude of ways. Mal only possesses this ability for himself as well, meaning there is nothing he can do to heal anyone else around him. Considering the kind of person he is though, this “drawback” doesn’t really bother him. Mal is also fairly capable of healing from things such as disease or various ailments. One thing he cannot do, and quite frankly wouldn't even experiment with, is regrowing lost limbs. No, he cannot regrow lost limbs, and he would rather not learn that for himself. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Esmeralda Valdir • Nickname(s): Es 'The Spider' • Age: 24 • Gender: Female • Sexuality: Bisexual • Appearance: Esmeralda could most accurately be described as a femme fatale, a woman whose allure and charm could get her into trouble- if she were to ever get caught, that is. The sharp jawline of her heart-shaped face tapered into the soft, rounded point of her chin. This drew attention to her full lips, akin in color to the dusty pink petals of a peony- though slightly more earthy in tone due to her tawny skin tone. Her straight, narrow nose had a slight upturn at the tip. If one paid close attention, they would see the faint freckles that dusted her nose and spanned across the apples of her cheeks. Her high cheekbones were set prominently on her face. Just above them, sat Esmeralda’s grey eyes. In certain light, one could see the dark, faded blue that settled in the shadowy parts of her iris, which only made the lighter flecks of silver among the grey shine brighter in comparison. Her eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, and topped by her full- and meticulously groomed- arched brows. Her dark, curly hair fell just to her shoulders, barely brushing along the skin of her collarbones. Though it was inky black, hues of reddish brown could be seen if it were in direct sunlight. Quite a few wispy waves delicately framed her face or brushed along her forehead, even when the rest was put up into a high ponytail. Esmeralda’s hourglass figure was moderately well-endowed, though she had layers of well-trained muscle packed beneath her toned curves. Her light copper-colored skin was mostly clear of blemishes, save for a few scars scattered around her body- mostly minor abrasions, though there are a few significant injuries that have long-since healed. She has tattoo sleeves on each of her arms, depicting symbols and runic text that correspond with the deities of her religion. Each piece of art flows into the next. She has other tattoos, mostly religious, but has a few sentimental ones as well. • Personality: While one could assume Esmeralda was cold and calculating- as many of her peers in the Society did- that was only a face she put on during her work in the shadows. She kept a hard line drawn between her work as an assassin, and her “normal” life as a florist. After she settled her own scores in blood years ago, taking lives was simply just another way to make money to her. Work and play never mixed, and she liked it that way. Those who met her in her “normal” life would likely describe her as very charitable and friendly- if a bit serious when it came to religion. She often donated flowers or money to her Temple, or helped organize events in her nation’s Capital. She made decent enough money through sales and donations at her “day-job” to allow her to live more than comfortably, so nobody batted an eye when she purchased something a bit on the expensive side. She liked pretty things, and had quite a few of them. She took pride in her home, her shop, and herself looking nice, so she was not one to pass up a deal on a finely made dress or sturdy piece of hand-carved furniture. She was a bit of a flirt, and while her charms came in handy to disarm dangerous folks on her travels, it left her with a few pining fellows- and a fair share of ladies- back home. She took a few lovers here and there, but never kept them around longer than it took between her travels. She was a busy woman, after all, and a florist’s work was never done. That, and she wouldn’t want to compromise her more dangerous line of work. She kept her lovers at arms length when it came to feelings and whatnot- she’d been burned before, and it was a rather messy split, one that she’d rather not repeat. With that said, she does have a bit of a temper, though it takes a while to boil over. She tries to counteract annoyance and minor inconveniences with meditation, and for the most part it works. But major slights and betrayals are assured to get an immediate response. She doesn’t always explode in a fit of rage, most times her anger translates into quiet- and a bit irrational at times- revenge. Thankfully for those around her, these instances are few and far between. A surefire way to get on her bad side, however, is to harm someone or something that she holds very dear. Esmeralda is fiercely loyal to her friends, her Gods, and to the Society she works for. Any slight against them is a slight against her. • Strengths: Combat (hand-to-hand, grappling, knife-fighting/throwing) Agile Intelligent Meticulous Hard-working • Weaknesses: Loyal to a Fault Quick to Anger Prideful Stubborn Overly Cautious • Abilities: Primary – Plant Manipulation From the towering trees to the littlest blade of grass, all of the earth’s flora bend to her whims. She can grow, shrink, bend, and shape plants at will, which comes in handy when attempting to enter and escape high windows. She can create plant life from nothing, and take that life away in the same breath. She can extract nectars and oils to craft poisons and other useful substances. Her abilities aide her in both her lines of work- a florist in the bustling city of her nation’s Capital by day, and assassin by night. Her day-to-day occupation keeps her from being ousted as a “Witch,” but every month or so, she closes shop for a week (or two) and leaves out a sign on the door: “Out of Stock Gone to Fetch More Flowers Thank You for Your Patronage” But, in reality, she’s off hunting a mark and burying their body beneath a tree- and for a lot more coin than she got selling flowers each month. Of course, because her targets’ bodies were never found, her services were often in high demand- and high in value. Secondary – Enhanced Charisma A bit more on the subtle side when it comes to the abilities her kind can possess, though it is useful all the same. Her charms can make even the most stubborn man rethink his plans for the evening with little more than a smirk in his direction. While this ability can work on groups, it is limited to only a handful of people, and is less potent/effective than if done on an individual, as her focus is spread out. She often counteracts this by working members of a larger group individually, acclimating them all to her presence. She can make people more agreeable and freely give up information that’s relevant to her hunt, or convince them that following her alone into a dark alley is definitely a smart idea. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Malachi Santoro doesn’t exist. Not outside of the Society, that is. And even then, placing a name to his multitude of faces is a rather difficult feat. It’s rather easy to keep a low profile when he can change into a different person entirely at a moment’s notice, or even ‘disappear’ as he saunters through streets. As an individual that tends to inhabit townley slums in the outskirts of kingdoms frequently, it’s not as if being well known is even necessary. In the places Mal considers temporary homes across the surrounding kingdoms, there is not a soul that doesn’t fare on the shady spectrum of occupations. There are no inquisitions, no stares, no care in these treasured places. While Malachi in name may be practically non-existent, the infamous hustler “Magisto” is an entity known to frequent various cities of Ballira, a kingdom vastly well known for luck and riches. It’s not a crime to hustle winnings from the games Mal lures people into under his stage name, though far too many sore losers rant and rave, sometimes violently, at their losses. Mid-day sun that currently cascades down warm, summer rays onto the people bustling through the crowded market streets. The warmth having earned everyone a dappled dew of sweat to bead across their foreheads. Mal is no exception to experiencing this slight heat wave as he fluidly bobs and weaves through the masses. Currently no illusion veils the blonde, though there’s no use for a mask among so many faces. The off time in the assassin’s life are often spent as Magisto, with no one knowing for sure whether this entity is male or female, young or old, no one ever truly knows until they’ve been played. Some claim he’s a young woman with enticing, saccharine smiles. Others are certain the hustler is an aged wise man. Few have their suspicions that the hustler is of the blasphemous race of ability wielding atrocities though. A tavern connected to a second floor inn is one of the few temporary spaces Mal has staked out as his off season safe places. Courtesy of the Society, of course. If the blonde had the means of creating a solid, stable persona with a legitimate life and line of work, then surely he’d have that kind of secondary life in place. Seems as how the male is a rather restless soul though, that just won’t do. While Mal never questions the Society, he has to applaud the individuals that manage to infiltrate various places of business and whatnot to provide the means for their underground group to survive safely. Slipping through the doors of the establishment after braving through a group of wily young men, Mal was quick to disregard the scene of a few drinkers wistfully nursing their mugs of ale as he ascended the tavern’s rightmost flight of stairs. Taking a hard left down the hall he came to, the same room always waiting for him at the end of the hall is where he approached. Stepping into the room with a content hum, Mal dramatically closed the door behind him at the same time he tossed a small pouch of coins onto the larger oak desk at the front of the smaller, nearly cozy cabin styled room. Allowing his hazel eyes to sweep towards the bed, a small envelope with a red seal piqued his interest at the foot of it. Dusting his arms garbed in a white undershirt and paired with a tighter black vest off, the male took a few steps towards the location the letter rested. It was hardly an alarming sight, as Mal has become accustomed to the occasional messenger simply entering and leaving letters behind. Especially when he resides in places the Society is aware he’s currently inhabiting. Unsealing the letter and skimming over the few words, an intrigued brow raised as Mal’s eyes landed on the reward for this target. It’s always the part Mal looks for first, since he very much will refuse requests he doesn’t feel are worth his while. But this? This was something. “Concerning the one who calls himself ‘Malachi’, Your service of discrete elimination is hereby requested. By lethal means of your choosing, the Archduke of kingdom Dainem, Herschel Ames, is to be your target. Upon your success, expect the full payment of coin equivalent to triple your earnings the year prior to be bestowed upon you without delay. Failure to succeed, however, will not be tolerated. -The One” The letter is highly vague, which naturally inspired some doubt in authenticity to Malachi. However, the letter found its way to him through the careful hands of the Society, so surely someone worth their word to their knowledge is behind the letter. Or not. Mal pondered this as he paced with the letter in hand. Triple his earnings the year prior? Mal made enough last year to buy himself a title in Ballira with how much land he could own. This would be his first Archduke though in all his years of service, and more than likely because this individual was so high profile. Perhaps he should simply toss the letter into a burn pile, whose to say the one requesting this elimination is even worth trusting on their word? Then again… the allure of so much potential earnings was far too much for Mal to overlook. Triple earnings. How would this individual even know how much Mal made last year? Unless it’s to be discussed once the job is done with this mysterious employer. Was it worth the risk? Both in trusting the writer of the letter, and pursuing an Archduke? It wouldn’t hurt to at least do a little digging, perhaps perform a few secretive observations of the Archduke before deciding whether this was truly worth Mal’s while. If the money promised is to be a real reward though, hell, Mal would kill the King of Dainhem and his entire lineage. Who wanted the Archduke dead and for what reason was of little importance to Mal, for all he knew this was a power play on the side of the Society to place one of their own in a seat of power. Which would make sense considering whoever wrote the letter knew to address him by name. It’s not for Mal to know, he supposed. He’s just expected to fulfill the request. Or not. But risk giving up so much of a reward? Ultimately, it’s his greed that made the decision of acceptance. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Well beyond the closing hours of her shop, Esmeralda stood in her living quarters on the floor just above it and stared at the parchment laying on her neatly-made bed, the corners of the once crisply-folded paper flitting gently in the breeze that entered the room from the open window. Her right fist was pressed against her lips, her thumb gently rubbing circles on her cheek as her left arm wrapped in a half-hearted embrace about her torso. The fingers of her left hand plucked absent-mindedly at the ridges of her black corset and occasionally the soft, cornflower-blue fabric of her dress. She couldn't quite tell how long she'd been standing there, but the dull ache that had begun to settle in her lower back and her knees suggested it had been a good while. Es closed her steely grey eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before closing the distance between herself and the lavish bed and sitting her tired body on the plush mattress covered by deep blue blankets. She tentatively picked up the parchment with both hands, once again examining it closely to be sure she had read the entire thing correctly: "Concerning the one who calls herself 'The Spider,' Your service of discrete elimination is hereby requested. By lethal means of your choosing, the Archduke of kingdom Dainem, Herschel Ames, is to be your target. He is to host a grand masquerade ball at his residence on the night of the summer solstice- enclosed in this letter, you will find an invitation to the ball. Be there. I will also be in attendance, and will give you The window of opportunity to do your job- the only safe one you will receive the entire night. Timing will be everything, so keep your eyes on your Mark. Upon your success, expect the full payment of coin equivalent to triple your earnings the year prior to be bestowed upon you without delay. Failure to succeed, however, will not be tolerated. -The One" While the paper itself was real, in her hand, palpable- this offer seemed too good to be true. This... "One" fellow would be paying her nearly twelve thousand gold pieces if she were to deliver on her end of the deal- and she had never failed to deliver before. This, along with her already bursting coffers, was more than enough for what she had been dreaming of all this time- passage on a ship to a faraway kingdom where she could live freely with her magic, and enough gold to set up a new, comfortable life for herself. To live freely, to not have to lurk in the shadows and risk her life by taking on these "side jobs" any longer. Yes, this did sound nice. 'The Spider' could finally be put to rest, and Esmeralda could finally see a land full of magic and the promise of freedom. During the wee hours of the evening, Esmeralda scuttled about her living space, making preparations for the journey eastward to Dainem. She didn't need much in terms of luggage, so she packed what little she could get away with- her simple, black assassin garb for any reconnaissance work she may need to do; a decent commoner's dress the same ocean-blue color as the plush blankets that adorned her bed; and a deep crimson gown that had been carefully tailored to fit her in all the right ways, with rubies and diamonds adorning the bodice- she took great care in packing this item, as it had cost her quite the pretty penny to purchase. Of course, she packed her beloved knife collection, safely wrapped in a folding leather carrier and hidden beneath her dresses. As the dawn came, and the city around her began to stir, she made a great show of taking down her poor, wilting flower displays that stood proudly outside her shop and loading them onto the small cart she'd attached to her horse- a strawberry roan mare by the name of Ginger. Esmeralda said the occasional 'hello,' 'good morning,' and even struck up a few bouts of tedious small talk with the passersby that saw her. She was in and out of her shop, and even made a few trips to the city's modest waste-collection center- a newer facility dedicated to keeping the Capital of Wrynvale from looking like the slums and poorer towns that surrounded it- to dump her dead and dying flowers. When Esmeralda was finally done with the bulk of her elaborate performance, she added the finishing details: She cleaned off Ginger's cart and loaded her meager luggage chest onto it with the help of a blacksmith that had been passing by- who could resist helping a poor damsel with such a heavy load? Finally, she locked up her shop, and hung that ever-familiar sign on the door: "Out of Stock Gone to Fetch More Flowers Thank You for Your Patronage" And without another word, she mounted her horse, and began the long ride to Dainem. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Perhaps if Mal were in a bit more of a theatrical mood, he’d put on a self-boastful show. ‘Oh dearest Malachi, such a sought after man! Is there truly any other assassin as amazing as you? I think not.’ The male really could spend hours pacing his room, spewing one sided haughty conversations. It’s not as if most of his pride isn’t followed by attributes not brag worthy though. His looks? Stunning. Skills? Unrivaled -so he full heartedly believes-. If his mysterious employer is ‘The One’, then naturally that would make Mal ‘The Chosen’, wouldn’t it? And there’s some kind of power of that interpretation he had that allowed his ego to influx higher than usual. Surveying his room through hazel eyes, his knuckles stapling beneath his chin in thought, Mal moved from his brief stationary stance to start putting together items he would place in his worn pannier for the ride to Dainem. Even with a steed keeping steady at a brisk pace, it would take several hours -a day or so- for Mal to see the border. That doesn’t include the timely ride more than likely into the capital, where no doubt an Archduke would fancy himself living. Is there an allotted time frame the assassin was given? Surely someone with so much coin to throw at him would desire the deed done sooner rather than later. Finding himself pining back for the letter, Mal lazily gripped it in one hand as he re-skimmed the words. A ball?! Do his eyes deceive him, such as they surely did the first time? No, in fact they do not. Mal could certainly play the part of an individual worthy of attending such an extravagant function, but did he want to? Not exactly. Would he for bouts of money though? Absolutely. After ensuring he had all of the information of the letter memorized, Mal did burn it. Simply because he wanted no paper trails connecting him to any of his murderous tasks in existence. The separate invitation he clutched closely though, tucking it into the pocket of his pants for the time being. Loading up the few things he deemed worthy of taking with him in a small bag, Mal silently bid his room he had only been occupying for two days adieu. Slinging the tan strap of his near eyesore of a bag over his shoulder, the male locked the door to the room behind him before traveling back through the upper and lower level of the tavern. Making a brisk exit, Mal took the walk to the stables a few minutes walk away. When he arrived, there was no delay Mal had in preparing the pannier he fitted on his beautiful beast of a horse- a flossily coated black gelding of the Fresian breed. Mal was well aware of how to pack properly for travels, having embarked on quests a many, so he was quick in his actions to finish readying himself and the horse. When finished, Mal walked his beast out of the stables before pulling his smaller figure up into the horse’s saddle. The horse had a name of course -Nightshade- although Mal simply referred to the giant hooved animal as ‘Beast’. No one really paid Mal nor his horse much mind as he took to the streets though, just the way the assassin liked it. Of course he would need to be just as careful to look like a figure of no particular interest in Dainem. <| | | | |> Just as Mal had expected, the ride into Dainem’s capital took a little more than a day. Keeping the thought of the summer solstice in mind, Mal took extra time as he had traveled through the outskirts of the kingdom to loosely gain information regarding the Archduke. Seems as how the common class hold a wealth of knowledge about the beings they typically despise -such as noblemen- it wasn’t too difficult to navigate the kind of person he was going for. Scarily enough, Archduke Herschel reminded Mal of an older, prissier version of himself. A man who often makes a great show of his status, with this ball being one of his many ploys to create a playground for the higher class. Situating himself in an inn a shorter distance from where the ball would be held, Mal decided his mask for the night would be that of an ignorant, stupid-pretty son of a distant baron. Nobody cared for baron’s, so should one inquire, Mal already had a wonderful story put together. As much as he wanted to make some kind of grand, awe worthy entrance at the ball too, Mal would refrain for the sake of keeping a low profile. Speak if spoken to, smile and wave, ogle at the host’s glorious residence, things of that sort. At least his dressage would be marvel worthy, even if his personality for the night will be basic. Depending on the opportunities and situations that arise during the event though will determine how he has to adapt himself to getting to the Archduke. As much as he thought about arming himself with a concrete plan, Mal knew better than to base his kill on a premeditated plan that could very well turn useless depending on circumstance. Until his time to shine is underway, however, Mal simply planned to walk the streets of the capital. More than likely veiled by an illusion so when he does arrive at the ball, no one can point a finger and call him the odd fellow wandering the streets. It was a beautiful city, not as comfy as he found more run down towns to be, but a place he could see people of wealth and status being attracted to. It even attracted him. Merely due to the shiny buildings and trinkets, the women garbed in modest yet well fitting dresses tailored to their figures, and the overall cleanliness of the city. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
The two-day trip from Wrynvale to Dainem was… uneventful, to say the least, though Es grew more and more giddy as they crept closer, mile by mile, the prospect of her Final Job causing her heart to flutter in her chest with an unabashed excitement. The long travels never seemed to bother her, though, or even Ginger for that matter, but knowing this may be one of her last treks along this cursed continent was a sensation that felt better than Es had ever imagined. She held that hope close to her heart as she crossed Dainem’s western border, continuing to head eastward towards the bustling Capital City of the prosperous nation. Es set up shop at a rather small inn on the outskirts of the city, with a modest stable alongside it to house Ginger during their stay. While it was a bit on the rough and tumble side of town, it was a known Society-friendly place that she'd been to a few times on similar missions in Dainem. There were places like this set up by the Society all over the continent, at least a dozen in every kingdom across the land- and Es had spent her fair share of nights in nearly every single one of them. This particular one granted her easy access to the Captial City, where she could slip back and forth unnoticed- especially under the blanket of nightfall. She could recall the countless hours she'd spent hopping rooftops across this very town before, dressed in black and cloaked in shadow. It was a typical routine for her, to get the lay of the land before setting sights on her target. It was a routine that she'd always found rather funny, and one of the reasons she'd chosen "The Spider" as her moniker- a creepy-crawly creature skulking around in the darkness before ensnaring its prey in an elaborate web. Es spent her first night in Dainem doing just that- slinking across rooftops at night, re-familiarizing herself with her surroundings. She'd managed to scout out the Archduke's oh-so humble abode on the wealthy side of town, where the nobility sit on their gilded asses and fester in their own gluttony and greed while the people below them break their backs to just barely scrape by. It was sickening, though Es knew she had little room to speak with the hoard of wealth that sat hidden beneath her flower shop, but at least she donated some of her spoils back to the community through the Temple. She'd circled the Archduke's home with great caution, taking note of the number of windows and other exits she may need to use to escape, should she need to make a swift exit after taking his life. Es knew that there would likely be doubled- if not tripled- security the night of the event, so she kept a rough count of the number of guards that stood watch outside, and the few uniformed fellows that she managed to spot through the windows. Once she was content with her findings, she slipped away quietly into the night, back to the safety of the inn. ••• Es managed to get a few short hours of sleep in before the sun peeked through her window, its rays warming her copper skin and stirring her from her slumber. She sat up with a groan, stretching her muscles as she did so- this produced a few satisfying cracks from her back, as well. With a few protests from her tired body, she roused herself and began to get ready for the day. She dressed herself in the royal blue dress she'd packed, the long sleeves hugging her arms and concealing her tattoos from view. She topped it with her black corset, fitting it snugly to her body. While it was a simple dress, there was no doubting the fabric's quality. Es could easily pass as a lady's maid out on the town, running errands for her mistress- the exact kind of ruse she hoped would keep her from drawing too much attention to herself. Nobody of high-status would cast a second glance at the Help- wouldn't want to get their gaudy dresses and suits dirty from the potential eye contact. With a huff, she quickly ran her fingers through her dark curls, making them somewhat presentable for public viewing, before stepping out onto the town, meandering about the streets of the Capital with the rest of the crowd. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The most dangerous part for Mal when it comes to walking any street is temptation. The male’s hazel eyes were already trained to spot people easily taken advantage of when it comes to wits, and it would delight him to make just a little extra coin from games. Should he though? No, not here. As the male passed through a busy side street, he unveiled himself from the illusion of a purposed, well dressed vendor into his mundane self. A familiar white undershirt, this time paired with a light periwinkle blue vest and black slacks. Sometimes he dressed as if he didn’t know what fashion even was, and this was certainly one of those times. Not for the purpose of drawing attention, but more so to repel the public. In a way that didn’t make it so he was concretely remembered by face. His clothes would stand out, but not quite his face. Turning another corner along the seemingly never ending cobbled streets, Mal eyed a multitude of individuals pestering those who passed by. Per usual, someone was making a killing off of their ‘newest’ religious symbols fitted to be worn as jewelry. Malachi never did understand the appeal of devoting himself to such a thing as religion, seems as how most are responsible for the poor view on his ability to wield his powers. It annoyed Mal deeply. Religious freaks are so judgy. Furthering his walk down the street, avoiding bumping into the people that crammed the area, a much older brazen man stumbled forward in his path. “Can I offer you a pastry young sir? Two coppers each!” Came the scratchy, unnecessarily loud voice of the little old man. Practically thrusting his tray into Mal’s face, and politely Mal pushed it back towards the man as he surveyed the horrifying things this older man called ‘pastries’. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, good day.” Flashing a patient smile, Mal attempted to side step away, only for the gentleman to -dare be said- aggressively halt Mal. “Just one sir! It’s quite the walk to the next food stand, are you sure you don’t wish to reconsider?” Hazel eyes flickered to his surroundings, and Mal observed there were no eyes currently fixed on him, or the pastry seller. In a literal blink, Mal weaved an illusion of invisibility over himself after taking his surroundings into consideration, earning the old man to give a breathy gasp. The rush of bewilderment and fear to swallow the older man’s features earned a malicious smile to creep onto Mal’s face as he circled the man, the older gentleman’s eyes searching nearly frantically for the entity that had just been in front of him. Mal could have been cruel by whispering into the man’s ear, maybe sending him into a heart attack, but quite frankly Mal just wanted out of that area. Carrying on with his walk, the blonde uncloaked himself as he neared yet another holy relic stand. That’s the fifth one! How many religions are worth gathering trinkets for? Apparently all of them. Releasing a sigh, Mal turned his attention to the blacksmith stand beside it, his eyes gluttonously locking onto a beautiful, black bladed rapier. The hilt in itself was a delicate, intricate beauty in terms of craftsmanship. And the touch of the blade itself being a midnight black? Mal was starstruck. Allowing his feet to carry him to the stand, and to the man holding such a fine weapon, Mal stood in a determined stance. “How much for her?” He inquired with an eager grin, gesturing with his head to the blade. “Not for sale.” The gruff voice of the mammoth man barked, not once meeting Mal’s gaze as he continued to sharpen the sword. “Everything's for sale, name your price.” Mal quipped with a smirk, raising a brow as he did so. The larger man huffed in contemplation, no doubt thinking of a price absurd enough to deter Malachi. “1,500 gold coin, in hand.” Came the man’s price, and Mal was already unclipping the pouch he had on his belt, tossing it in the man’s direction. “Done,” Mal stated, “now give me my sword.” The blonde demanded, extending his hand to receive the hilt. Clearly the blacksmith was in a fair amount of shock, staring at the pouch in earnest disbelief. A skeptical gaze reached his face, however, as he seemingly decided to investigate the pouch for himself. Reaching one of his meaty hands forward as Mal observed, the man was quick to open the pouch, only to see it filled with gold coins. Humming in satisfaction, the blacksmith angled the hilt of the sword in Mal’s direction, to which he snatched it happily. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Mal smiled, watching as the man closed the pouch and placed it into a trunk behind the stand. Oh, how raging will he be when that pouch later reveals only copper contained inside? Another perk of illusions. Chuckling to himself, Mal handled the hilt to get a feel for the balance of the sword, careful not to swing it foolishly towards any of the individuals at the stand beside him. Hm, who knew Capital cities weren’t just a playground for the wealthy? |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
As she meandered through the streets of the capital, Es stopped occasionally to look around in a few of the shops around town, blending in with passing crowds and hovering just outside of larger groups to keep from standing out too much. The majority of people didn't bother sparing her a second glance, though some did offer her polite 'hello's and other pleasantries. The vendors, of course, would attempt to push their wares in her face, but with a simple glance and a "no thank you," in addition to her charismatic abilities, they were subdued and turned their greedy eyes towards other unsuspecting passersby. Es continued to let her eyes wander, until her steely irises settled upon a shop that actually piqued her interest. A small vendor's stand peddling more spiritual and religious wares, but this time she smiled almost fondly at the symbol etched into the sign- the mark of Isyr, the matron deity of the Ehilaani ethno-religion. This was certainly a new shop in the market, as she hadn't seen it before during her travels. There weren't very many Ehilaani shops across the continent- save for the kingdom of Wrynvale, where many Ehilaani people resided- so it was a rather pleasant surprise to see, even if it was among other shady vendor stands. The mark consisted of a slightly imbalanced scale, the higher plate on the left holding a crescent moon, and the lower plate on the right holding a blazing sun. Isyr was the goddess of day and night, of balance- and of judgement. All who passed onward into the realm of the dead would find themselves in her court, their heart weighed against Isyr's Holy Blade. If one's faith were unyielding, and they lived life in service of the gods, then their heart would be lighter than the blade. Those with light hearts passed into the Hall of Miracles to feast with the gods for eternity. However, if one's heart proved too heavy with sin and false piety, and the scales tipped in the other direction... Well, simply put: their souls would be devoured by Maldyra, goddess of discord and chaos. The majority of people who were practitioners of Ehilaan kept golden or silver charms and trinkets on their person- Esmeralda Valdir was no exception to the standard, her fingers often found comfort in rubbing the along the grooves of the small, silver sun and moon charm she wore on a dainty chain around her neck. With a quick glance about her surroundings, Es made her way over to the quaint little shop, eyeing the glinting metals and shimmering gemstones on each of the pieces. With a small frown, she realized that many of these pieces of Ehilaani ritual and worship items had been stamped out in batches, and most definitely not made of silver and gold- which, of course, was what was advertised all over the merchandise. Her nose scrunched up slightly in disdain as she picked up one of the "silver" charms, the shine already having faded and revealing the darker nickel that the piece was truly made of. She felt a twinge of pain in her heart, an uneasiness pooling in her gut as she further examined the metal charm. These vendors were making a mockery of her gods and her people with knockoff artwork of legitimate religious items- these hunks of scrap metal were cheap imitations at best, and a blatant act of disrespect at worst. In an effort to cool her rising temper, Es closed her eyes for a moment and made an attempt to steady her breathing. Throwing a tantrum in the middle of peak foot-traffic hours would draw too much attention to herself, and that was the last thing she needed. This process only took a moment, but it took the furrow from her brows and cleared the heaviness in her chest. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the charms with a more sterile look to her face- neither excited nor unhappy, almost completely indifferent. Their hearts would be weighed in due time, and Isyr would pass her judgment on these cheapskate con-men accordingly. She continued her jaunt about the small stand, thankful that the gods granted her the strength to take in the sight of the wretched trinkets with at least a little bit of poise and dignity- even if she did want to give the vendor a piece of her mind. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Allowing himself to take a few delicate swings with the blade, Mal entertained the idea of making this beauty his new sparring sword. While he was far from inclined to ask the man he bought it from to provide a sheath, considering it would more than likely be an ugly leather thing, the blonde could at least re-purpose an older rapier sheath for this one. Plus, asking for much more from the man he already conned -with him being none the wiser at the moment- Mal wasn’t looking to push his luck. Turning his eyes to a figure he noticed that stopped to overlook the various holy relics and trinkets at the stand beside him, Mal smirked lightly to himself as he subtly studied the curly haired young woman. To flirt or provoke? Flirting with those ‘good girls’ that pride themselves on their purity through retaining their virtue is always an amusing ploy. To coax flattered flushes and girlish giggles from one, or perhaps tempting them with thoughts of blasphemous behavior as well, these things he enjoyed. As he observed this young woman though, he decided that she didn’t carry the same air of innocence with her as the girls he could get to gush did. So the secondary plan would be in place; provoke. The angrier and more defensive they get, the funnier. Mal’s even been struck in the face by a glove at the hand of an older woman before in response to him mocking her beliefs, and sickly he enjoyed it. Mostly because of the joy he got after he publicly shamed and reprimanded her behavior. ‘How your gods must be disappointed with you practicing such vile behavior in their name,’ he had spit at the woman. Taking a few sauntering, longer strides towards the stand to be able to look over the various trinkets and charms, Mal tucked the blade closer to himself so as to not look as if he’s here to hold anyone at sword point. “I pity the fools that buy into this rubbish,” Mal remarked with a smirk, taking a golden pin into his hand and tsking at the poor quality. “Both the charms and the religion… whichever religion this stand is making a killing off of.” He added, lazily glancing at the main sign to get a look at the symbol, though there were so many varying religious symbols that he didn’t bother to keep up with it all. The blonde is well aware that his shameless show of an atheist is frowned upon in practically every kingdom, considering so many nut cases worship something, but he didn’t really care. Conformists, worshiping whackos… if one could reason with those who are religious, there would be no religious people. It is very entertaining to try reasoning with such people, and hearing them defend their beliefs so fiercely? It’s certainly laughable. His hazel eyes flickered back onto the young woman, his smirk unwavering as he anticipated some verbal snap. Say something witty, cut me with a jaggedly icy glare, do something! It excited him, prickling his skin with a sense of eager giddiness for a confrontation. With men, they’re usually more inclined to answer with fists, but females? Oh how their venomous words delight him so. The meaner the woman, the more captivated he is. Passive pushovers are a bore, but the spicier women are just so captivating. Especially when their spice is paired with a sweet face. Drumming his fingers against the hilt he still held of the rapier, Mal tossed the gold pin back so it landed in the area he originally picked it up from. It’s not like there was any cheap ware he would actually buy from this stand, and the prices were just outrageous. Considering Mal is a greedy cheapskate though, anything beyond being free is too much for the male. |
|
|
Fall 
Day Weather: 
Hurricane
