Kismet of Scoundrels

Kestrel

Open for Play
Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

User avatar
Maxim Korvo
Posts: 8
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2018 7:41 am
Topics: 4
Race: Passive
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Minstrel
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Mon Jun 25, 2018 9:00 am

First day of rain in Old Rose Harbor
Image
The pavestones were still slick from the rainfall earlier in the day, the small puddles in the streets avoided by some, blindly stumbled through by others. It was never clear how the festival actually began, Maxim assumed some official decreed the Feast of St. Grumble to begin when the first drops began to fall, but it may have been simply an unannounced spontaneous event that occurred every year without fail.

While the rain had ended by afternoon, the veil of gray clouds persisted low over the town and to sea until dusk. The children's events had ended, the rugrats tucked away so mum and dad could drink in the name of some long forgotten saint. It was then that Maxim found himself treading the streets of the harbor, dodging boisterous revelers and eyeing the descent of the city into debauchery. The Passive was not above the merriment, clutching a small brown bottle in his hand, its stringent contents half gone.

Outside a tavern across the street, a woman dressed as Lizzie from the feast's tale paraded in front of the door, her head adorned with a wreath of thistle and a stained, purple cape around her slim shoulders. She stumbled about on unsteady legs, receiving the customary gifts of sips from the bottles and mugs of men passing by, while some offered her barely contained breasts an appreciative grope.

Maxim grunted after watching for a moment. He tucked the small bottle inside of his vest, opposite the pocket that held his coin purse. The sleeves of his ivory shirt were rolled to his elbows, his brown pants tucked into boots. The hilt of a bowie knife tucked into the back of his trousers remained hidden under the vest.

Tags:
User avatar
Kestrel
Posts: 24
Joined: Thu May 03, 2018 10:09 pm
Topics: 3
Race: Wick
: smoke and wings
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Post Templates: Post Templates

Sat Jun 30, 2018 3:43 pm

Image
Kestrel both hated and enjoyed large holidays like the Feast of St. Grumble. While they were largely claustrophobic, and many fights broke out among people who assumed their neighbor slighted them in some way in their drunken rage, it was a gold mine for pick pocketing.

The Bad Brothers had scattered for the evening, off to enjoy whatever revelry and debauchery they could get their hands on. Kestrel wasn't too different than the average reveler. She enjoyed a mug of ale and a good show from the mummers and minstrels that lined the pier and corners of streets, but her mind was set on the prize that lingered in people's pockets and purses.

Hawke had left her to her own devices for the sake of the holiday, a nice reprieve from the constant need to please him; something self inflicted that she wasn't ready to admit yet. The witch walked casually between a crowd of onlookers as they watched the actors and actresses play out their roles. While the woman playing Lizzie was customarily provided with sips of liquor and no lack of fondling, the man playing Grumble was making a show of drunken stupidity. In a momentary lapse of judgement, he sent a swing right into a bystander's face, crunching into his nose.

"Oi!" The dark haired man roared, shoving his tankard of ale into the hands of his peer. "You want a fight, you fat fuck?"

The rotund Grumble whirled, face beet red and sweating, despite the rain and cool breeze. "Com'at me," he gestured with a shit eating grin.

Fists swung and the crowds cheered and hollered with various phrases such as "Beat that bastard to a pulp!" or "He doesn't deserve Lizzie's kiss!". With the commotion brought distraction, and Kestrel's eyes roamed and settled on a man near Lizzie's location. She watched with a measure of curiosity as he drank something from a small bottle and stored it back into the confines of his vest. Ah, he knows the trick of the game, she smirked inwardly. A challenge.

Filching the tankard of ale from the hands of a drunken woman distracted by the fight, she promptly feigned an alcohol fueled stumble into him. The slam brought out an 'oof!
from her lips as the contents of the tankard spilled onto his shirt and vest, soaking into the fabric.

"Oh Aerra," she brought a hand up to her mouth, straightening out. "I'm so sorry." Her accented Muluku was thick but not unintelligible and she played the part of an embarrassed drunk. "I didn' see where I was goin', ye chen? Can I make it up to ye with a drink?"

Come on, bastard, take off that vest.

Image
User avatar
Maxim Korvo
Posts: 8
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2018 7:41 am
Topics: 4
Race: Passive
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Minstrel
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Tue Jul 10, 2018 7:55 am

Max had successfully avoided the sodden swells of revelers that reeled through the streets, leaving the scene of St. Grumble behind to be played out as it had for who knew how long. But as his gaze lingered one last time on the brazen Lizzie and her band of suitors, a sudden thud struck his body, and the cool splash of liquid soaked into his cloths.

"What the hell..." he snapped, turning to see the woman sputtering with a half-empty tankard in her hand. Max was pretty sure the rest of her ale was soaking into his clothes. He looked down at her, the woman's features unmistakable as Wick. Her accent confirmed it. While her gaze in the glow of the street lamps showed rather clear eyes, her speech and unsteady stance suggested maybe most of that ale had already gone down her gullet.

"Damn, woman, watch where you are going." He said slipping off the drenched vest, but carefully in light of its contents. It was a good thing she was damn pretty, or he might have just smacked her sober.

"Gah." He complained. Not that a sailor cared about wet clothes, when it was sea water. Ale would reek when it dried. Holding the vest in one hand, he tugged at the shirt where the wet fabric was sticking to his skin. "A swig of your ale is the least you could do."
User avatar
Kestrel
Posts: 24
Joined: Thu May 03, 2018 10:09 pm
Topics: 3
Race: Wick
: smoke and wings
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Post Templates: Post Templates

Wed Jul 11, 2018 2:22 pm

Image
He probably thought she was a total drunken idiot or at least a clumsy airhead, which suited her purposes just fine. She willed some shred of empathy to seep into her sharp yellow eyes, as she patted his sopping shirt with the sash she tied around her belt. Despite the anger in his tone, however, she merely shook her head and frowned as if taken aback by his chastising.

"I said I was sorry," she said, defensively. As much of a prick as everyone else, she thought amusingly. Her eyes flicked toward the vest, judging how fast she could snatch it from his hands before he got those fingers around her neck. She'd like to live another day, at least, and Old Rose Harbor tended to house the less than desirable members of Anaxis society.

"I don't have much left in my tankard, ye chen. It went all over yer shirt, remember?" She shook the tankard for emphasize but shoved it in his hands anyway. "In the meantime though," she paused as she watched him momentarily distracted by his wet, ale-permeated shirt, "I think I'll just take this for the road, toodles."

She waggled her fingers in a wave and her hand struck like a snake on its prey, wrenching the vest from the man's grip in one swift movement. She was down the crowded road in a matter of seconds, pushing past revelers and drunken bystanders as she willed the mona to listen to her words and the gesture of her movements, sending a gust of wind into a tent kiosk that promptly toppled over behind her, leading to shouts and flying curse words.

The witch threw back her head and laughed into the evening breeze, heading toward the harbor pier as the lights danced in the lamps and illuminated everything in a soft orange glow. Music played in the distance as dancers in masks filled the streets. Need to get up, she mused, eyeing the rooftops. But in her own negligence, she hadn't noticed the hand that wrapped around her arm and pulled her into a sudden stop.

"Oi!" She whirled, only to be facing a hulking man with an ugly scar splitting his cheek down to his jaw. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed in realization. "Ah, Sweet Dog. Should've known you wouldn't be able to fuckin' relax on a holiday. Out for more bootlickin'?"

A dark chuckle came from his lips at her remark. "I think you know what I want, little bird." The human's grip on her arm tightened, and she grit her teeth, resisting a roll of her eyes.

"Can't it wait a clockin' day, kov? I'm a little busy," she glanced over her shoulder, down the packed street, though for now, she couldn't see where her victim of thieving had gone.

"Busy, eh? Your hands gettin' antsy again?" He seemed to have noticed what she was holding, and he yanked it from her, lifting the wet vest up for inspection. "Why is this covered in ale?"

"Give it back Sweet Dog, now," she growled.

"Yunno what? I don't think so. You've got some debts to pay girl, consider this a start." Kestrel had to roll her eyes then as Sweet Dog jerked her through the crowd, toward the Rattler's Den, a hole in the wall bar known as the refuge of the Leashers.

Image
User avatar
Maxim Korvo
Posts: 8
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2018 7:41 am
Topics: 4
Race: Passive
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Minstrel
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Mon Jul 23, 2018 3:07 pm

First day of rain in Old Rose Harbor
Image
T He shouldn't have been surprised, the town was packed with people in varying stages of intoxication, and the remainder of the rain still lingering at the edges of the street was mingling with spilled drinks. It was his knee jerk reaction to get angsty at the ale slopped on him by the woman.

Maybe it was the hum of his own whiskey buzz, or the fact that the woman was rather attractive, or the distraction of the thick Wick accent that rendered him too slow and stupid to see what was about to happen. One moment, she was dabbing his shirt with her sash, the next, the vest was yanked from his hand and the wench was gone.

"Fapping bitch!" Korvo cried out after her, his anger rekindled. He began to push his way through the merrymakers, trying to spy the dark haired thief in the pools of street lamp light ahead. He saw a pattern of shouts and shuffling people, indicating the possible escape route the woman took. He made his way in that direction, only to come upon a toppled tent and the chaos of those trying to get out from under it.

Skirting the obstacle, Korvo continued his pursuit. Finally he spotted the woman ahead, but someone else had gotten to her first. The man was a thug if he had ever seen one, and Korvo had, in fact,seen quite a few. The sailor was pretty sure he had seen that one before. And the oaf was holding his vest. "Damn." He cursed as he watched the man drag the thief towards a tavern. Korvo made his way to the bar, well aware it was where Leashers usually drank. He slipped inside the door.
User avatar
Kestrel
Posts: 24
Joined: Thu May 03, 2018 10:09 pm
Topics: 3
Race: Wick
: smoke and wings
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Post Templates: Post Templates

Fri Nov 16, 2018 2:25 pm

Time Stamp
Image
The wick tried to dig her heels in to prevent Sweet Dog from getting her through that door, but his sheer size and weight overpowered her, and she was slung through the doorway and into a smoke heavy tavern bar, where all eyes swiveled to land on her frozen form. It was a crowd of hardened, grizzled faces, with beards wet with ale and smoke tendrils curling into the already smothered air.

Well, fuck. She hissed, as Sweet Dog came up behind her, blocking her only exit.

“Well well, if it ain’t Hawke’s little swallow,” came a higher pitched voice that still sounded distinctly masculine.

“Kestrel,” she corrected, annoyed. “And I’m a little busy to start shit, Pup.”

For a man with that name, Pup was anything but small and adorable. On the contrary, despite his higher pitched voice, the man was the size of a mountain, tall and lumbering, with massive arms the size of her torso. He didn’t stand from where he sat behind a long table, cigarette butts overflowing a tankard, cards in his other hand.
“Mm,” he said, swiveling the cigar in his mouth with his yellow stained teeth. “We all are,” he retorted nonchalantly. “But I distinctly remember your little antics against our gang on behalf of Hawke, and when you mess with our own, the pack bites back.”

“So we set up your weakest link, so what? We’re basically making your gang,” she argued, eyes narrowed. The more time she was here, the better chance that poor bastard she’d stolen from will catch up to her with guards in tow.

“Listen, unless you want the patrol barging in here and ruining your game of stacks, I’d suggest we continue this another clockin’ time, Pup.” Her voice was a growl. “And give me the damn vest,” she shot at Sweet Dog.

“What’s in it?” Another human questioned with a smirk.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” she snapped.

In response, Sweet Dog tossed the sopping vest to Pup, who caught it in one meaty hand. “Why does this smell like ale?”

Kestrel rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “How else was I supposed to get the bastard to take it off?”

Pup let out a chuckle, which prompted others to do the same. “Something important for Hawke?”

“Just me, that’s why it shouldn’t matter.”

“That’s too bad, I think we’ll keep it, as collateral.”

Kestrel let out an exasperated sigh. Great, stupid lugs.

User avatar
Maxim Korvo
Posts: 8
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2018 7:41 am
Topics: 4
Race: Passive
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Minstrel
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Mon Dec 03, 2018 2:11 pm

Image
T "Oh mother of sin..." Korvo cursed under his breath as he slipped just inside the door and into a shadowy corner of the smoke shrouded bar. The smuggler took in the scene with a fallen face. The big thug who had apprehended the thieving woman seemed to have drawn the attention of most of the shady patrons of the tavern, their eyes roving over the woman in hand, until she was presented to the presence at a table near the center of the room.

The big, fat, nasty pustule atop the Leasher's heirarchy, Pup.

Maxim's hopes of retrieving his vest and his small but precious amount of coin vanished in a vapor. His garment had suddenly become the centerpiece of a gang dispute. It was no use looking for guards to help, on a festival night, they wouldn't give a morgan's furry ass if a harbor rat's meager wage was filched. And while Maxim had no qualms with the Leashers, they would only laugh if he insisted they return his money. It was already in Pup's grubby fist, finders keepers was a rule most especially followed by gangsters

But he lingered to hear the truth about the thief. She worked for Hawke. Korvo sighed. Figured, just another reason to hate her pretty little guts. Max wondered if he had enough guts to spill hers if he got the chance. "Son of a bitch." He muttered again in despair.

His anxiety, anger and desperation flared. Max didn't have money now to pay rent on his dock space, buy food or, most horribly, get booze. All because of her! One greedy, dirty little wick had screwed up his life with one lie and a quick hand. Then, as he watched the interaction between Pup and the girl, Max heard a crackle in his ear. He knew what it was, it was the herald of something terrible.

A blinding flash of light lit up Maxim's corner of the table. Bright blue bolts of power shot outward from the smuggler, dancing from one person to the next almost instanteously. In a single breath, every patron in the bar either flopped unconscious in their chairs, or shook violently, paralyzed.

Maxim sucked in a breath, his body buzzing from the explosion of magic. He gathered his wits quickly, ran to Pup's table and pried his vest from the meaty hand. Then, glancing at the girl on the floor, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. If anyone was going to make the bitch pay for a crime, it would be him for getting him into such a mess. Max found a side exit from the tavern and made his way back to his ship. He paused long enough in an alley to bind her wrists and ankles. A handkerchief stuffed in his pocket was tied around her as a gag. Finally, a discarded cloak found in the gutter, torn and bloodied, was tossed over her body to hide her. Then he shouldered her again. At his sloop, Max dropped the woman in the cabin.
Post Reply Previous topicNext topic

Return to “Old Rose Harbor”

  • Information
  • Who is online

    Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 4 guests