[ST][MN!][R]-- A Murder in Paradise.

[Tyrant]

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The long, steady roll of rocking waves upon the Bizyn city docks gently nudged the tied up ships like a mother rocking its sleeping child with invisible arms. A cold, dark wind passed through their pale sails and drenched the sea-worthy vessels in a soft, ghostly mist. Below the deck of an unamed crew-ship, silent whispers echo between open doors. The ship is not empty, unless it is phantoms that prowl the lower decks, reeking with the smell of blood and betrayal. Slate white fingers lay dipped in crimson liquid that seeps down into the floorboards and drips, drips, drips into the cobalt sea below, dispersing into the water like red butterflies among the roses.

"It is done then."

A pause, and then a dagger clatters to the ground, stained in thick, black gore. "Yes. It is done."
--

"Wood maker's place on corner avenue is closing! All things must go! All you need is a sixpence! Come one, come all to..."

A crier's voice screamed over the bustling Bizyn city marketplace. Men, women, and children, of all ages and races scrambled back and forth from ugly vendor to ugly vendor, trying their best to ignore mustaches dripping with oil and under-arms that reeked of rhino dung, buying up all the goods they could before someone else held their breath and covered their nose first.

"It's mine, give it here!"
"Are you sure its fresh!?"
"Leggo, thats my foot you ninny!"

It was the middle of the afternoon, and the sun glowed like the flame of a massive candle between the sky's white, fluffy windowpanes. The air was crisp and heavy all at once, as if the Gods couldn't choose which way to turn the word. The streets were dusty and gray and brown, as they always were from years of wear and tear, and the townsfolk, the humans that is, scrambled about madly with their parrot like squawking and ridiculous chatter. Honestly, how they ever invented fire he couldn't say.

Each person in the market wore intricate, stifling, bulbous costumes. One passing fellow had a beard that wrapped around his bald head like a turban, and a woman who had broken her new years "Not to be a fat cow" resolution strutted about the street in a yellow and green lampshade dress. She looked like a frowning jellybean.

Urisk sat in the shade, munching noisily on a crisp red apple. He didn't actually like apples that much (A disgrace to satyr's everywhere, naturally.) but eating calmed him, and he enjoyed nothing more than relaxing and watching the city make a complete and total idiot of itself. It was why he was so rich. Stupid people were everywhere, and any good business man knows that advertising to the stupid means big business. Although, his last gambling run had slightly...eh..."lightened" his pockets a bit.

Urisk tossed his apple on the ground, unfinished (Never one to let a good waste go to waste) and hopped off the now smushed heap of oranges he had been reclining in for half the day. Mm...citrusy. Julius hated oranges.

Perfect.

Urisk Cantello Stellaweed was the picture perfect scallywag satyr. He was extremely short and had the face of a mischievous child. The kind that cut holes in the your under-garments. He had rich, thick, curly brown hair and waggling deer like ears that poked from the side of his head, and had a habit of standing on end whenever he was excited. He wasn't wearing clothes, save for the ever-present pouch of gold at his hip, his fur took care of that, and he thanked the Mistrals everyday for his soft, illustrious coat, which, like most satyr's, he treated with great care and devotion. (Brushed, combed, bathed twice a day and three times at night. Dust particles are sneaky.)

On his head were a golden pair of goggles. There was a story behind them, but it seemed to change every time he told it. There was a dragon involved though..no. Two dragons. And a frost giant.
------------------------------

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The sunlight hit his face, and he couldn't help but smile as the light caught the water off the pier. It really was pretty. You could see the ocean from anywhere in the city. It was built on a slope you understand, that ran downwards to the sea, and during the daytime it looked as though the world was alight with magnificent blue flames, and at night, soft beads of sapphires sparkled all the way to the horizon. The tall, ivory white government buildings and palaces stood as giant, majestic monoliths in the middle of the town, casting their wide shadow across the densely packed city streets. Other buildings and businesses were sandwiched shouler to shoulder as far as the eye could see, with colorfully dressed criers shrieking information about wares at the top of their scrawny lungs. On either side of the city were vast acres of farmland, green and perfect-no smell of fish or oil or sweat out there.
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------------------------------
Well, no time to stop and stare into the abyss. Work to do.

Urisk began to walk briskly down the cobblestone paved street, his hoofs clacking on the stone roads. Julius had been uppity lately, and things weren't going well for the old Trading Co. It probably made things worse that Uri had been leaving quills in Julius's ridiculous full body pajamas...but it was worth it.

Urisk was a merchant by trade. And a damn fine one too. One of the best on the southern sea board, but nobody would ever know it. Ever since that four eyed prick Julius took over Old Bart's company things had taken a turn for the worse. Now poor Urisk conducted his day to day business from a janitorial closet while good ol' Julius ran the company towards extinction. He had a lot to do today. Very little would be legal.

Suddenly, someone tugged on his furry leg. His eyebrows jumped. "Eh, can't you let a fellow scheme for a while? I was having an inner monologue you know" His voice was soft and musical like, and would have been well suited to accompany a chorus of trumpets and woodwind instruments, if not for the snake like slice of sarcasm. He turned his eyes downwards, where a young satyr was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Uri! Thank goodness I found you!"
" Ugh. What do you want Nile?" Nile was a pestering little intern at the Trading company who had the attention span of a gnat. The kid had been following him like a lapdog ever since Urisk saved him from Julius's wrath: A fate worse than death. ( A stern talking to and mounds of paperwork.)
"Uri, you'll never believe it!" He twittered, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.
"You've decided to finally throw yourself off a bridge? Congratulations."
"no...It's Ivan. The Duke of Bizyn city!"
Urisk raised an eye. The Duke used to be a good friend of his father. He sat well with the people and treated them fairly. Not many knew that the old geezer had once been a smuggler alongside the Jolly Pirates with his old man.
"Yeah, what about him? Does the old fart want another one of those sweet rolls I got from the Neptunites? Tell him no deal."
"No...Uri. He's dead."
------------------------------

----

The Duke of the illustrious Bizyn City, trade capital of the world, is dead. Thousands of people pass through everyday...it could have been anyone. Can you figure out the mystery and bring the Duke's killer to justice?

(I don't normally do pictures, but I thought it would be cool for an opener)

[drakarsepentrion]

Sheart entered Bizyn city for the first time after two years and took a deep breath, letting in the familiar smell of commerce. "Bizyn, you will break my heart one day." He said aloud to himself.
As he walked towards the marketplace (which was the firs thing he always did when entering a city) he made nothing of the huge crowd there. There was ALWAYS a huge crowd in Bizyn's market. It was also one of the only cities that had indoor stores as well as stalls instead of just the latter.

But the talk got to him soon enough, and he felt a shiver travel down his spine as the realization dawned on him. "Duke Bizyn is dead? When did this happen?" When he got no answer but rumors, he began to look around for any soul he knew in his beloved city.

[Tyrant]

The South Eastern Trade Company Headquarters was a barge of a building. Literally. Some of the most renowned, richest traders in Bizyn City met and prospered in a massive, three story iron sea vessel nestled snugly in the sand on the outskirts of town. The Headquarters was a behemoth of a boat. No one knows how it came to be beached so far inland, but the rumor was that Old Bart knew. Too bad he kicked the bucket months ago.

As Urisk opened a pair of termite ridden wooden doors (Yet another example of Julius's "broke is better" policy) he was instantly greeted by a blast of hot air and angry shrieks. The main hall of the Trading Company was originally a lavish onboard dining hall. It had been furnished with silk cushioned couches, glittering chandeliers, and ornamental rugs from lost dynasty's and beyond. Today though, it looked more like a gladiatorial arena.

Hundreds of people swarmed inside the usually spacious room, some screaming curses at the top of their lungs, some hurling insults of the vilest kind at Mistrals know who, and some making off with loot from other rooms during the chaos. Urisk blinked and his ears flattened.

Apparently, the news was out.

Suddenly, a massive hand clamped down on his tiny shoulder and yanked him into the crowd with an embarrassingly girlish yelp. Urisk quickly found himself smothered against people twice his size that smelled like cut onions dipped manure. "What the devil!? What is going...?" Before he could make a cultured rebuttal involving words that would make sailors wash their ears, Urisk was pushed through an open door, into a blank room, and landing on the floor, staring at three sets of feet.

"Urisk! Where have you been?!" The sharp flick of a human woman's voice pierced the satyr's thoughts like a barbed whip as the doors behind them shut, quite suddenly.

"Oh, you know Mary." Urisk said as he stood up, brushing some non-existent dirt off his shoulders. "Cleaning the gutter, fishing feces out of toilets, planting laxative in Julius's morning tea. The usual." An older woman with uncannily red hair frowned at him. She had deep wrinkles in every corner of her gaunt face, and a flock of crows feet had crept up around her eyes. Mary was the Fiscal officer of the Trading company, in charge of handling the money business. She also had a habit of leaving her jewelry box unlocked.

"That was YOU?!" A familiar, piercing voice shrieked from behind him.

"Ah, Julius. I was beginning to wonder where you were. I assumed you would be under a couch somewhere. But hiding from your "clients" isn't too much of a difference. That is what you all are doing, I assume."

A young man who could not have been out of his pre-teens stomped his feet and joined the circle of individuals safe from the chaos outside. He had wispy blond hair and thick bi-focals. His face was pale, like he hadn't seen the sun in days, and he wore a robe that was entirely too big for him.

Julius Piegril was the CEO of the South Eastern Trade Company, and he was totally incompetent. A heavy spender, a terrible talker, and a general idiot, Julies was everything a manager of one of the most powerful trading organizations in the southern hemisphere should "not" be. Urisk would have had his job, except there was an...unfortunate incident that prevented it.The same incident, in fact, that now reduced him to closet janitor instead of rich and powerful merchant chief.

"Don't start now Urisk. It's not the time." The third, booming voice belonged to Henry. A massive bald headed man with a mustache thicker than his stubbornness. He was a good guy, and regulated the prices on goods and services in the business. He was fair and decent at his job. Urisk had some respect for him.

"Eh, pipe down Baldy. You can't say you don't like hearing about Julius's three hour bathroom inspection."

Julius strangled the air. Urisk grinned wickedly. Prodding the kid was one of the few satisfactions he got from his job.

"Ok satyr, look." Mary narrowed her eyes. "You're no fool. Surely you know what's going on. What happened late last night, out on the docks."

"If you're wondering whether that spell I cast to transfer all the ocean's water into Julius's bathroom worked, then the answer is no."

"THE DUKE IS DEAD YOU FOOL!!" Julies shrieked at the top of his lungs, his red faced temper coming to an appropriate boil.

Mary took over. "He was one of the biggest allies of the company, you know that. He was powerful, and promoted a lot of deals with us that we never would have gotten. Not to mention the fact that a lot of our customers used our services just for him. To be completely honest, most of them don't like Mr. Piegril's policy's and with the Duke gone, their money will be also. That's all that's keeping us afloat."

Urisk crossed his arms. "So why talk to me about it? I'm just a lowly janitor, remember?"

Henry chimed in. "Urisk, Julius did what he felt was right, but it still remains--you're the best. You could always get people to give you what you wanted, when you wanted it. It's what made you a great salesman. We need you."

"Need me?"

Julius cut off Henry with his typical annoying pompous wheezing. "We need you to find the killer and bring him to justice!"

The room was silent. but not for too long.

"Bwahahahahahaha! you're kidding! You're joking! Good one, you guys got me! Prank good ol' Urisk. Oh. Swell. Ok...well..."

Their steely gaze did not drop.

"You're...you're not kidding are you."

Mary scowled. "Not remotely. If we can figure out who did this to the Duke, before the authorites do that is, then we'll get the credit. And if we get the credit..."

"...Then we get their business back." Henry finished her sentence for her.

Urisk threw up his furry hands in shock. "But, but why me? Why not hire a detective, or an adventurer, or someone like that? They get paid to do this type of stuff."

Julius grinned. "Exactly. You work for free."

"I hate you Julius. But even if I did manage to find the guys, how would I possibly stop them? I'm no fighter."

Henry rubbed his box like chin. "True, you're far too scrawny. But Bizyn city is a trade center. There's bound to be some hero's passing through. Get some to help you."

"How?"

"Well, you carry around that sack of gold all the time don't you? Why don't you put it to good use."

The Satyr stared at them blankly, then reached into his pocket and took out a thick, brown cigar before placing it between his teeth and beginning to munch. "Well, I've got to admit. I did know the guy, he was a good...wait, what is that?" Urisk pointed at the window behind them.

The three turned. "What is what...hey, hey! He's making a run for it!"
----
(Not too long later)

Urisk stood on the corner of formerly busy Bizyn street, looking gloomier than a lobster in a fishing net. In his hands was a large, white sign that read--"Hulp Pleeze"

"I officially...hate my life."

[drakarsepentrion]

Sheart, walking along the hardly-busy-anymore street saw Urisk holding his sign. He smiled and ran over to him, hardly concealing his pleasure. There were few honest tradesmen out there and Urisk was, to his knowledge, one of the only that had become renown by his ability only.

"Uri! He called to the Satyr, ecstatically. "What are you doin' around this paradise of commerce? How are you, friend?"

[KyahRyorin]

The air smelled of salt and manure, and the people around gave cold stares as the boat came into the harbor and lowered its walkway onto the docks.

Clutching the side of the boat for dear life, Sharkov shakily stood, his complexion quite green to his golden wings and tail. The Pheonite slowly picked up his belongings, and made his way down the wooden plank like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. His tail hung limp like a sopping wet dog, dragging along as he tried to steady himself and slowly make his way down onto the solid earth once more. His wings were droopy, and he swore he saw doubles of everything.

Once his feet touched the ground, he collapsed near a pile of barrels and thanked the Muses he was on solid ground.

"Never again." He told himself. "I am NEVER getting on a boat EVER again. Ugh."

A local merchant saw the Pheonite grabbing onto the barrels as if he needed them, and started yelling.

"HEY PHEONITE!! GIT YER GRUBBY HANDS OFF MAH ANCHOVIES AN' LOBSTER, 'NLESS YAH WANNA BUY 'EM!!"

Poor Sharkov, upon hearing what the two barrels contained, proceeded to turn a darker shade of green, threw himself towards a nearby railing, and then chucked his breakfast from that morning, over the edge of the pathway and into the water.

Now relieved of his seasickness, the cleric found a wall to lean himself against and rest. Once he did so, he found a voice nagging him in the back of his head. It sounded something like his own, and it was yelling at him.

You idiot, you're a cleric. You could've just gotten rid of your ailment before actually getting sick! Magic isn't that hard to conjure, especially when you're a Pheonite, of all things! He placed his palm to his head, rather quickly, making a loud smacking sound as a result. He was so caught in feeling miserable, that he had forgotten he could rid himself of being sick.

Sharkov leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, and trying to clear his mind. The sound of the water came to his ears, drowning out the cries of other merchants, a relaxing sound. The gulls cawed softly, it felt as if he were slipping into another world.

He nodded his head, and dozed off into partial sleep without even realizing it.

Death's aura felt cold. Sharkov felt the wisps of shadow flicker by his face, and he swore he heard laughter. He saw the figure ahead of him, the long cloak draping over the ivory, skeleton's frame. The face was hidden, and Sharkov was partially thankful.

At first, it didn't seem as if there were a reason as to why Death was appearing before him. Perhaps he had fallen asleep, and this was a dream... or perhaps, he was somehow dead already. Though the latter seemed highly unlikely, he knew it was better to not assume things.

Then, around him appeared the people he cared for most in his life, appearing to be sleeping, cold, and motionless. He saw his master, the old cleric, to his right. A few bards were to the left, there were several dancers behind him. And in front... were two people he didn't recognize. Could they possibly be...?

"You're still running, aren't you, Sharkov...?" The voice emitted from everywhere, chilling and frightening at the same time. "Try as you might, you cannot run from me forever. Your friends tried, and look where they are now." At this, Death seemed to disappear, only to reappear behind him. Sharkov felt the presence disappear, but only felt it behind him too late. The wisps latched onto him and the cold he felt in this void began to enter his body.

"You cannot escape me. You never can. You never will. You... are mine." Sharkov tried to scream, his voice dry at first, but then he let out a cry. It was the only sound emitting in the dark, the cold numbing his senses and paralyzing his body. He tried to reach out towards those in the circle around him, but all they did was open their eyes and stare back at him, emotionless. The black void he was in began to collapse, burying everything and dragging him into some unknown place where he did not want to go. He fought, he struggled, the persons around him now grabbing him and trying to drag him down with them, as they disappeared into darkness. He screamed again, trying to get away, but the cold and the darkness was everywhere now.

It all felt so... hopeless. "Give it up, Sharkov. You cannot escape Death, nor defeat it. It will always win."

"NO!" Sharkov screamed, jarring himself awake. A few people stared in his direction, perplexed that he had suddenly shouted. He looked around, the scenery of the docks and markets somewhat familiar, making it a wonderful sight for his sore eyes. People were throwing confused glances at him, and some were murmuring to themselves, or in groups. He knew something was up.

He turned his head to the left, and he saw a satyr holding a poorly written sign, saying "Hulp Pleeze." He was being greeted by another human, who seemed happy to see him.

He shook his head, and slowly stood. "My apologies for the outburst, if it surprised you. I... tend to get stuck in the past." Sharkov extended his hand outwards to the both of them. "My name is Sharkov. Would you mind telling me why people are so..." He struggled to think of the word. "Worried? Did something happen?"

[drakarsepentrion]

Sheart turned to the Phoenite and nodded. "The Duke was murdered. I'm trying to get some information off my friend here. Oh, I'm Sheart, a master traveling merchant, and this is my friend, Urisk, a master merchant himself. What brings you to Bizyn, this paradise of greed and trade?"

[KuroNeko]

( Sorry I didn't step in earlier, but I only noticed this now - but better late than never, as that would've been a bit of a predicament! Drakar, there's one little problem: )

admin said:

• Regarding [OF] RPs, any characters currently involved in one cannot take part in other RPs. If your Character is in an [OF]RP, they will have to leave it if they want to join another one. However, a character outside an [OF]RP can join as many regular RPs as they want.
  

( So If you'd like to modify your posts and switch to Luna, or remove Sheart from Amethia at Arms, It's totally up to you. Sorry about this. Happy RPing! )

[Tyrant]

Urisk sighed heavily, his tiny chest inflating like a balloon as he sat cross-legged on the dusty ground. It was noon. The sun had dipped ever lower into the sky, and fiery hues of red and orange spilled from the horizon like paint upon a canvas. Deep, dark, shadows- so black they were almost purple- stretched across the stone roads like bars on a jail cell. The dull cackles of sea-gulls and sparrows had faded into nothing, replaced by the steady heart beat of the sea: pounding waves crashing across the cliffs beside the dock as if they were mighty, frothing warriors.

The Satyr was in a grim mood, and his face showed it. His normally signature sneer had straightened into a blank visage of irritation. Most of the day was gone, and not a single hero had even met his eye. A few thieves had, and another man who looked sexually deviant...but aside from that, nothing.

Bizyn City was in grieving, or shock. The doors to the shops had all been closed, and every hour or so--long, heavy, mournful drums would be played from the Council building--their rolling notes carrying all the way to the pier and beyond.

This plan was stupid, as most of Julius's plans were. Urisk was not the hero type. He had never saved a baby from a burning building (Come to think of it, he may have left a few) nor had he challenged the voices of evil with confidence and bravery. The closest he had come to the voice of evil was his grandmother and her explosive flatulence inducing spinage casserole.

Urisk was ready to give up when a friendly shout shocked him out his memories of long, painful hours spent on the toilet. "Uri!" A familiar voice called to the Satyr, ecstatically. "What are you doin' around this paradise of commerce? How are you, friend?"

Coming towards him, with his recognizable almost-could-be-interpreted-as-drunken-but-maybe-that-was-just-him swagger was a man Urisk had not seen for over half a decade. A child-like smile broke over the satyr's face as he approached. "Sheart! Haha! Where the hell have you been you old bugger?" He sprung to his feet vicariously and clapped his old friend on the elbow.

Many years ago, before Urisk had risen (And fallen. Hard.) in the trading communities, he and Sheart had been trade fellows on a struggling merchant ship called the "Marie Floozy." Urisk himself called the captain's sanity into question many a time. (On one occasion he attempted to have the poor soul transferred into an asylum by means of forged medical documents.) It had been a brief, but exciting venture. The kind that made you glad that some memories stayed in the past.

Still though, Sheart, even at such a tender human age, was a remarkable salesperson. One of the best Urisk had ever seen, and he did not throw compliments lightly to the wind. (Unless there was booze or sex involved.) Around two or three years ago the captain had finally decided he would spend the rest of his life dressing exotic fruits in formal wear and the boat's crew disbanded. Sheart went to the west, and Urisk stayed in Bizyn City. It was a delightful reunion. Yet for some reason, all the satyr could of think of saying was--

"Nice hat."

Just as they were about to get formally re-acquainted, a blood-curdling shriek split the heart-warming silence like a serrated tomato knife. Urisk almost jumped out of his fur, choosing instead to dive inside a large barrel full of something that smelled (and tasted) like raw fish. "Good Gods! What was that?"

Sheart was momentarily silent. "It's a man. I think."

The satyr poked his head gingerly from the top of the barrel and watched as a lad with snow white hair stood slowly amidst a gaggle of stupefied glances. Ah. So he's crazy. Well, that's fine, as long as he didn't come near...

"My apologies for the outburst, if it surprised you. I... tend to get stuck in the past." The boy walked over and extended his hand outwards to the both of them. "My name is Sharkov. Would you mind telling me why people are so..." He struggled to think of the word. "Worried? Did something happen?"

Urisk blinked, cursed the gods, and took his cigar from the leather pouch around his waist, placing it between his teeth and speaking out the side of his mouth. "Ok, Sheart, look, I'm on a really tight schedule right now, trying to avenge deaths and whatnot, so I'll just be going and if you don't say anything we can..."

"The Duke was murdered. I'm trying to get some information off my friend here. Oh, I'm Sheart, a master traveling merchant, and this is my friend, Urisk, a master merchant himself. What brings you to Bizyn, this paradise of greed and trade?"

Urisk sighed. Naturally. This day was turning south quicker than he could say "What the hell am I doing here?"

The satyr groaned and cautiously held himself up to step out of the bucket. "Ah, yes. The Duke has been murdered. Killed in cold blood. Rubbed out. Scrubbed from the face of the Earth. Exterminated." he paused briefly as he flopped clumsily out of the barrel and landed on his rump, clutching his cigar viciously between his tombstone shaped teeth. "Whacked. Ended. Snuffed. Terminated." He brushed off his shoulders and tried to imagine he didn't smell like sea-water.

"And right now, my employment is in danger of ending up the same way if I don't find the killers. Sheart, it was nice seeing you again, but eh...you know how the trade world goes. Gotta move fast or it'll tie you up and throw you overboard! And uh, whatever your name was, good luck in..finding, appropriate help for that screaming problem. If either of you see any hero's, don't hesitate to send them my way. Tell em' Urisk Cantellgeo Stellaweed pays generously. But in the mean-time" he turned and started to walk away, through the blank city streets towards an ever blacker horizon. "I have some murderers to catch."

[drakarsepentrion]

(OMG! IM SO SORRY! I will remove Sheart from Amethia at Arms. Thanks for the heads up, Kuro! Been a while y,know ... Okay!)

"Woah, Woah! Wait up there, partner!" He caught up to Urisk. "I have the intention of helping you out on this. I'm sure the Royal Court will pay handsomely for the murder's identity, even if the company won't. And I KNOW some people will pay even more handsomely for his head. That sack of gold is as good as mi-...Ours."

[Tyrant]

"I have some murderers to catch." Yuck. He hated using testosterone fueled one-liners, but someone like Sheart wouldn't lift a finger for nothing. As Urisk began ambling to who knows where, he heard light, tapping footsteps approaching quickly from behind him. The satyr allowed himself an inward grin. Sheart, you lovable, predictable greedy bastard.

"Woah, Woah! Wait up there, partner!" said the white haired human as he caught up to Urisk. "I have the intention of helping you out on this. I'm sure the Royal Court will pay handsomely for the murder's identity, even if the company won't. And I KNOW some people will pay even more handsomely for his head. That sack of gold is as good as mi-...Ours."

Urisk grinned as wide as possible, showing a very long row of pearly whites, trying his best to look completely oblivious. "That sounds fantastic. After we take down this homicidal assassin (By we, I mean you, of course) we can split the reward 50-50."

Sure.

Urisk adjusted his goggles and spit a large hunk of orange phlegm at his feet. "Okay, let's get to it then." The satyr began strolling briskly down the long, deserted empty streets, towards the docks near the far side of the city. "Alright, first things first- I need to get you up to speed." He paused. "I know absolutely nothing. You're now up to speed." Urisk picked some old food out of his teeth before continuing. "The rumor though, is that the Duke was killed on the Southern West docks. What he was doing there or why he was murdered, I have no idea."

Several mice scurried in front of them as they walked, peering ominously from their dark corners with blood red eyes. Slowly, the landscaped changed. Sun baked streets and straight, gleaming buildings became replaced by twisted, crooked black houses and roads as rocky and wrinkled as Julius's grandmother. He would have to use that one later.

The South West side of the city was not a place of fun and games. Unless your idea of fun and games was murder, arson, rape. In truth, Urisk was a bit concerned. He had dealt a good deal of business in the South end, little legal, but he had been smart about it. Done his homework, per se`. But he had never been a part of anything like this. This was dangerous.

Which is why he was glad that Sheart had politely taken the lead.

Urisk nibbled on the end of his cigar-a nervous habit- and continued talking. "I figured we could poke our noses around here for a bit and see what we can find. It would be best if we were quick about it though. Standing in one place for too long in the South End could end bad for both of us. And I'd rather not spend my last breaths gulping sea water, savy?"

As they rounded a corner, the docks came into view. The boats here had jagged, torn sails that looked like snake skin, and several bore pirate flags along the helm or mast. The wind had begun to pick up, and the clouds above swirled ominously in a sky that was slowly transforming from blazing orange to velvet purple. The docks were practically bare of people. That is, if you didn't include the massive force of nasty looking armored men brandishing daggers, swords, flails, and in one case, what looked to be giant spiked frying pan. Each of them wore bloody, rust spattered armor that stank of gore and guts. Their faces were horribly scarred, to the point that some of them reminded Urisk of pounded pig meat on a neck. Only one had porcelain skin: A large fat man with a thick, oily handle-bar mustache and a receding hairline. He was dressed colorfully compared to his painfully angry counterparts. He wore poofy, blindingly yellow pants and an obnoxious orange over-coat. A rapier dangled from a be-jeweled sheath at his hip.

Urisk gave a small "eep" and ducked behind a conveniently placed set of crates, previously inhabited by a rather irritated family of cockroaches.

He waited a moment, then viciously jerked on Sheart's knee. "Get down, idiot!" he hissed. "These guys are all mercenaries. I'm not sure what they have to do with this, but see that guy in the middle who forgot to color coordinate this morning? That's Eustace Grotte. He was the Duke's personal bodyguard. And a pretty bad one, apparently. We've had our run-ins before. Let's just say he has a certain burn mark on his ass that he won't be forgetting anytime soon." The satyr sighed wistfully.

"I'm guessing they're here for the same reason we are. Except, you know. Officially."Urisk peeked over the top of the crates. "It doesn't look like they've actually done any investigating yet. That's Eustace's style after all. But if there's evidence on any of those ships we need to get it before they do. If only we had some sort of distraction."

[Rahimah]

[[Oh come on. that was so left open for such madness.
And, fyi, drunken bards are the best kind of bards <333]]

Distractions, as it were, happened to be Chamera's area of expertise. She did not hand them out to just anyone (unless, of course, she felt like it), but when she did, their propensity for excellence was legendary. Her quick wit and easy charm had the equal opportunity to both talk her way out of trouble, and increase it tenfold.

This was going to be one of the 'increasing the trouble tenfold' times. Not that Chamera was aware of it.

Actually, at this moment in time, the half-elf wasn't aware of much else but how hilarious it had been to jack the strand of pearls off the fat man in that game of cards (in which she had recklessly bet Cain's Requiem on, and let fortune favor the bold; she had, of course, cheated shamelessly. Sometimes, luck needed a little push.) The crushing defeat across the mans face, the rage as he had accused her of fraud, and his desperate attempts to reclaim the enchanted string had amused her endlessly.

This could be, however, because she was more drunk than a glass of water.

Chamera, ever the drunkard, had downed a half dozen pints of ale and suddenly seen just how utterly hilarious things were today–and in her giggling stumblings, had completely forgotten just where she was headed while the pearls shifting over her hands. The docks had always been a favorite haunt of hers, and her feet had carried her there faithfully–however, she usually had the sense to wander there sober.

This struck Chamera as infinitely hilarious and she broke down into yet another peal of giggles and snorts, raising the pearls to her eyes.
"Pretty pretty pearls of protection against portly poker pies~" she lilted, offering a greedy squeal of delight as she clutched them to her breast, twirling along and generally being entirely unaware of her surroundings.

That was how she'd managed to stumble into the heart of the docks, and into the depths of a band of mercenaries, her wealth out in the open, and drunk as a gelatinous cube (a long story–who would have thought a wizard to breed gelatinous cubes in the privy anyways?).
"OI–" was the first syllable spoken by another being that she consciously recognised. Chamera blinked and looked up from her pretty, pretty precious pearls at fashionable swine. Oh, wait, that was a person. Of the male persuasion. With a very orange overcoat.

Chamera approved, and snorted amidst yet another wave of giggles,
"Oh oscillating overtures of orange, bestowed upon an ostentatiously odious o...o...heee... I like your pantaloooons~~" She stumbled a bit, here, sagging against the poor creature whose coat she had been serenading in a nasal violation of key. Idly, she wondered why it was getting loud and why there were weapons glittering in the sun–oh, there went her support as she went stumbling back and her pearls were ripped from her hand.

...

Oh HELLS no! That pig did not just take her pearls that she rightfully earned in the noble art of card relocation! Her jaw dropped as he thumbed the pretty, precious, perfect pearls and he was probably speaking something snide and cutting and she was probably about to die here.
Not that Chamera cared a jot.

He had her pearls.
Her pearls.

There is no force more motivating than that of a love borne of greed.

And that was how, ignoring any violent intimations that she was a dead woman walking for her grevious insults to the leader's sense of fashion and violation of his personal space, she justified screaming like a harpy and flinging her slight frame against that of the moustached man and going for his eyeballs with her thumbs. ells with personal safety! SHE'D KILL HIM!

It just so happened that, with her rage and the element of surprise hastened by a lucky dice roll, she did manage to go toppling to the ground with a human that had a foot and thirty odd pounds on her, and get to the fury-styled clawing and snarling and gouging out of eyeballs.

Some shreds of self-preservation did hope she'd make it out of this drunken encounter alive, but were summarily ignored for screaming wildly again and cracking her skull against her unfortunate victim's.

And thus, Chamera had provided yet another excellent distraction, despite being completely and utterly unaware of doing so.

Had she known, she would have charged an arm-and-a-leg for it.

[Tyrant]

Had Urisk been previously aware of the delightful (And ironically, but beautifully timed) intrusion by the shot-to-hell half elf, he would have brought snacks.

The psychotic woman was as fearsome as she was drunk off her arse. In seconds flat, she had crashed down upon Eustace's "battle-heartened" war mongers and sent them either running for their lives, or lying in the fetal position clutching their undoubtedly swollen testicles. (Urisk had never been hit below the belt with a lute before, but he couldn't imagine it felt pleasant.) One man was screaming something about his spleen. This was shortly before the discombobulated woman stomped savagely on his crotch. Then he stopped screaming.

The satyr was giddy with laughter. Seeing Eustace running scared like the fat, greasy piglet he was, fumbling desperately with his rapier and getting bashed in the face by fists, feet, and on one occasion, his own flabby stomach had made his day ten times over.

"Hold woman! You must know who I am! I...ArgGH!" The overweight body guard shrieked in a very unmanly fashion as the intoxicated female punched him squarely in the face, sending a geyser of blood spewing from Eustace's nose, soaking his frilled shirt in dirty red.

Urisk turned to Sheart, a giant grin etched onto his face. "I believe that was the Mistrals way of telling us to get a move on old chum." Securing his goggles in place, Urisk took a breath and bolted into the chaos. Hopefully, no one would notice a devilishly handsome satyr and his remarkably less attractive human side-kick running through the bloody battle ground.

The drunk woman was stumbling all over the place, blathering about "jellybeans" or "whale sharks" or "Whale shark flavored jellybeans." Unfortunately, it looked as though the mercenaries were starting to get their bearing back...and all of them looked out for blood.

One of these unsightly gentlemen in particular--A human named Borzog** with biceps larger than his head and a massive nose ring- was recovering from a particular fast and vicious head-butt to the solar plexes. It hurt Borzog. Borzog normally did hurting but not this time. Puny woman hurt him. Only Borzog's mother hurt him that way! He raised his head from the ground and spit out a mouthful sand. It didn't taste half bad. He would have to remember that. Maybe add salt, some lime, a little...CRUNCH!

A hoof came from nowhere and smashed Borzog's face into the dirt, knocking him completely unconscious."Sorry! Just passing through, it's nothing personal, unless we meet again later and you try to kill me. Then consider it pre-conceived payback!" Urisk yelled behind him.

The satyr quickly reached the docks, stopping only when he was sure Eustace and his goons couldn't see him. After taking a minute to catch his breath, and reflect on the quieter moments in his life, the satyr drank in his surroundings.

There were a total of three ships on the dock, two of which were obviously pirate vessels, equipped with ominous, black sails and decks whose odor of rancid meat drifted down to the docks and beyond. The third ship was a small, dingy, un-manned merchant ship that rocked and rolled on the sea-shore waves. Urisk had no way of knowing where to begin his search, but he did know that he had to act quick. Misses "Let's play with death's" little act wouldn't last too long. Eventually Eustace would get his oily hands on her, and when that happened...well, Urisk couldn't begin to fathom what he would do.

Well, actually he could. Maybe he should help out.

The satyr looked behind him to catch the glimmer of ten or fifteen heavily armored, snarling, bleeding men descending upon the wasted heroine, each wielding a battle ax and a visage twisted into a sadistic evil grin.

Ah...She'll be fine.

Urisk turned to face the ships and scratched his chin, gently massaging his stubbly brown beard as he looked out across the vast, pearly blue ocean. "Okay Sheart ol' buddy ol' pal. Here's the plan. I say we check out the S.S. Harmless first, and if we don't find anything there, we can let Eustace and his mono-syllabic friends bust into the other two and we'll swipe whatever they find later." Urisk nodded agreeably to his own plan.

After a brief pause, the master trader ambled towards the puny looking vessel, and after casting a few more than necessary glances behind him, hopped aboard, his hooves clacking loudly upon the ship's wooden floors.

The first thing Urisk noticed was that the ship was well maintained. It had a gleaming, polished deck, and the door to the inner-most cabin was painted green and pink with golden bars across its small, circular window. There were no scuff marks or sword scars, and a distinct hint of cinnamon perfume floated from below the deck.

"Looks pretty vacant!" Urisk muttered to his companion. With a slight bounce in his step he walked to the door and wrapped his fingers around the bronze handle. "Alright, let's see what we got...here." As Urisk threw open the door, he was greeted to a peculiar and unwelcome sight.

Standing in the door frame was a man as tall and wide as the door himself. He was clothed in all black, including his head which was wreathed in an ebony executioner's mask complete with poorly cut eyeholes and a stitched mouth. In his scabby, blistered hands, the colossus of a creature held a gigantic steel scimitar with a ruby red handle. He smelled like boiled cabbage and guts, and a pasty crimson substance that looked frighteningly similar to dried blood clung to the edges of his clothing.

Urisk stared for a moment, then casually shut the door, turning to face his white haired companion. "I believe we should run."

With a deafening crash, the door suddenly ripped off its hinges and smashed into Urisk's back, sending him gasping for breath and sprawling to the ground, rolling across the floor, over the deck, and into the water with a loud, wet splash.

The titanic, muscled man leaned under the now broken doorway and let loose a low, deep growl from the back of his throat. His eyes fell on Sheart, and he lifted a massive, sausage sized finger in his direction. "Crush, puny man. Kill, puny man!"
--
** Borzog had always believed his mother named him after a great conqueror. This in fact, is completely untrue. Borzog is actually a type of centaur dung that has been doused in lake water and can be used as fishing bait.

--
Wow, that was long. Hooray for plot devices!

[drakarsepentrion]

(You're a great RPer ^^)

Sheart was filled with dread as he heard the inevitable words:

"Crush, puny man. Kill, puny man!"

Sheart swore and made his way over to the hole, making an instantaneous decision about what to do: He could either stay and fight this monster, or he could join Urisk in the water.

It was a good thing he could swim.

Sheart lunged into the water with a proper dive. Hoping that the hulk would not follow them, he grabbed Urisk and began to paddle away from the boat.

"So, what say you and I get on the next one before that dumbbell figures out he can float?" He asked desperately.

[Tyrant]

As he choked on gallons of salty sea-water, weighed down by a wooden door that had suddenly gained an extra two thousand pounds, Urisk Cantellego Stellaweed came to two very important conclusions--

1. Drowning was not fun.
2. Sheart was probably the worst rescuer in the history of time.

With a heroic battle cry, his zealous white haired friend dived in the water after him, barely avoiding the bull cleaving swing of the monstrous man in black, and grabbing a soggy fist full of Uri's auburn hair and began towing him to shore. Every time Sheart kicked his legs, he took a forceful tug on the satyr's tight curls.

"Agh, Sheart! I swear to..ughflu...stop grabbing my..uugrhuflub...I'm not kidding!" Uri shouted at the top of his voice in between gulps of water that tasted like sea-weed and smelled like sulfur.

Suddenly Sheart took a sharp turn and swam beneath the dock, dragging his struggling companion beneath the shadowed, barnacled planks of wood. "What the hell are you doing you idiot?" Urisk yelled pushing himself away from Sheart and wrapping his arms around a sturdy wooden pole.

The merchant trader lifted a finger to his lips and pointed upwards. Urisk followed his gaze, coming face to foot with the under-side of the biggest pair of boots he had ever seen in his entire life. That monster with the sword...was directly on top of them.

"Urgh..where did little man and goat man go?" the heavy-set colossus mumbled in a tone that reminded Urisk of a blind, deaf, retarded man he had tried to swindle into buying a cure for head-aches **.

He roared at the top of his lungs and stomped his foot. Urisk scrambled to the other side of his termite infested hiding place, convinced that the giant's big toe could come crashing through at any moment and crush his head into goat man Parmesan. "Why the hell is this brute so mad?" Sheart grumbled in a hushed whisper.

"I'm pretty sure he was just struggling with today's crossword puzzle. He's probably a really nice guy once we get to know him."

"Shut up! Someone's talking..."

Urisk craned his neck to hear what sounded like incoherent mumbles from above. Albeit, they did sound like intelligent incoherent mumbles. "Did you see something Dragonoff?" Came an eloquent, slimy, greasy voice. It did not belong to the mammoth man.

"I take back what I said" Urisk whispered to Sheart. "Anybody named Dragonoff is obviously evil beyond belief."

"It doesn't matter." A pause. "We got what we came for. Let us depart."

Two sets of feet pitter pattered off the dock until their footsteps and voices could no longer be heard. Urisk blinked. "Huh. Well that's interest...Argh!" He shrieked as Sheart grabbed yet another handful of his hair and began swimming once again.

After several more agonizing moments of feelings his lungs collapse repeatedly, Urisk felt his head collide with sand, his horns becoming lodged in a bank that Sheart had located through his innate sense of looking around. With a gasp he threw himself onto dry ground, hacking like he had just taken a gulp of his mother's famous "Salmonella Stew", although hopefully without the soggy after effects. For a moment he lied prostrate on the golden bank, his mahogany fur clumped in dark red bunches on his chest and legs.

"Well.." he sighed. "For some reason, I would have to say that Monotone Man and Mr. Disembodied Voice are in on this somehow." He stood up gingerly and rubbed his head, wincing in the sunlight. "The only problem now is...uh oh."

As the satyr stared across the docks, he saw something that made his blood run cold. A massive man in a black hood seemed to be addressing a certain fat, overly dressed, pompous, egotist with a fat lip and a bloody nose.
--
"Are you saying..." came a sneering, grungy voice-"That you and your men were beaten to pieces by a drunk half elf?" He allowed time for his idiot assistant to chuckle for a while before continuing. "I hope, Eustace, that this trend does not continue."

Eustace sat on the ground, wiping his own blood off his face with a napkin. "Yesh, well, I hopesh that yoush don't over-schtep yourself Grimmloy. I schtill work for the goverment. I can schill have you locked up for murder. (Shtupid bloody nose)"

A dark, sinister, hissing laugh was his only response. "We both know you won't do that. you're too intelligent...and too greedy. We want the same things... That wasn't a joke you idiot." The man named Grimmloy spat as his large partner began clucking with laughter once again. 'Now. What are you going to do with her?"

Eustace stared at the drunk half elf, who was snoring quite soundly at his feet, and a wicked grin stretched across his mangled face. "She'll be heading to the dungeons...where no will hear her scream."

Grimmloy rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do what you want. But just make sure you clean up after yourself. Can't have any...loose ends." There was a pause. "You can laugh now Dragonoff. I know you want to, you fat ignoramus."

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

--
**-It turned out the old man was neither blind, deaf, or retarded, and Urisk would have gotten jumped by a band of thieves if he hadn't actually convinced the head bandit he had been struck with leprosy, and that the only cure was his patented "It will remove your headaches (And leprosy) formula.

[Rahimah]

[[Oh Kiza, you make me lol most heartily~~ <33
Sorry for the...weak post :c I'm tired]]

It was a good thing she was drunk, really. If Chamera had been sober, her swagger would have been a terrified flee, and her giggling replaced with "OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT" and other such actions of blind terror. The half-elf was not a great fan of such a feeling, and was content to be stumbling within a circle of armed men, pearls safely stashed in her boot and her lute in hand. Instead of ready to piss her britches in fear, Chamera was eerily calm, humming idly to herself as she stumbled. Drink was a wonderful thing like that.

Still, she didn't get far. Bruised egos and limbs didn't seem all that fond of her just walking off. But they hadn't expected her to push them aside with frightening ease and plop on a crate, resting the lute on her lap and grin up at them blearily. They seemed rather wary of her–they'd clearly never seen her mother empty the bar, which made even her nervous–as she idly tuned the instrument. She raised a hand, urging them to wait as some stupidly advanced with weapons raised. This was going to be good. If she could just get the E to stay in tune...yes! There. Her eyes went positively mad upon this, and she giggled as they angled their man-bits away from her. She'd known a fighter, once, who had been like that... what ninnies.
Chamera liked watching burly men flinch. It merely reaffirmed that, were she a man, her man-bits would be bigger than his. There was something profoundly amusing about that...

HEE~~ Man-bits...!

"Let me know if you've heard this one before," she slurred, fingers sliding atop the fretboard of the lute, lowering her eyes. She paused for a moment–some small part of her conscience felt almost bad for what she was about to do–but the bastard had taken her pearls, and the voice was summarily squashed. Consciences were for the scrupulous, which she had no business being among. Coin was just too beautiful.

She played. Her fingers leapt into a sprightly dance across the strings, leading her ragtag audience into exchanging odd looks. Chamera allowed herself a laugh as she could feel the lute respond in her lap–like a beast, awakening from a restless slumber and ready to slaughter hapless victims, it burned in her hands.

Only she could find and enslave a bloodthirsty, sentient lute. She was just that brilliant.
She had named it Cain, to irritate the vampiric lute primarily, and delighted in the fact that it couldn't kill her in the quick sort of way, but had to make do with the slow corruption and consumption of her soul. She could still live to old age, too, if she was careful. The silly thing should have known better than to challenge her to a contest of alliterative wit.

Glazed eyes began to appear in her crowd as she idly played her requiem, humming quietly, foot tapping along the dock. The lilting song swept across her crowd, licks of screaming strings amidst the cheerful medley. She looked up to a rather inconsequential henchmen with a hefty battle axe. They met eyes in ever the dramatic fashion. He gaped and she began to hammer the strings with her left hand, raising the right to tap her ear. He stared dumbly, before his hand touched his own and brought its' finding to his eyes.

She did so love the ashen-colour that spread across his face as he realised that his ears were, quite literally, bleeding. Chamera only grinned and lowered her eyes to Cain once more, idly stroking the lute softly. It was a good instrument of death. She wanted to continue, but her hands were doing the whole ashen thing themselves. She needed to stop. The little piece of her soul that the instrument had just swallowed would have to satisfy it for now–and thus, she rose to her feet, feeling oddly faint.

She idly examined those among the band that had succumbed to the song (her short snippets could never quite tame them all–but the ones who hadn't were sufficiently spooked by those staring blankly into space, ears dripping red), and snorted in laughter. She hefted Cain to her shoulder and raised a hand to a sloppy salute, ready to walk off dramatically and maybe nick a purse off of one of her would-be-assailants. Her exploits would earn her the ooh's and aaah's of the village idiots and more drinks the next night. Chamera was satisfied.

Of course, things had never worked out so smoothly for the greedy minstrel. Trouble should have been her middle name (not Celebriänn, what was her mother thinking?), so determined did it dog her footfalls. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and her vision dimming a bit.
Hmm...she was getting quite sleepy, really... she had forgotten how exhausting the lute was to truly play, when it was eating her soul. And the half-dozen pints of ale definitely weren't helping...

What a comfortable looking dock, she remembered thinking, before she went forward mid-step and met the wooden planks with her face. She was out before she could even marvel at the awesome boots she'd landed next to, her body giving up on physical exertion to focus on keeping her liver working.
And Chamera, tamer of psychotic instruments, beater of many asses, champion of taverns, master of tales, all around awesome musician and mistress of gold, slept like the dead.