Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 90/91, PP = 41, EP = 11/42, Status = Aroused

Ciran looked to be briefly startled when Isolda addressed him, despite the calm and vulnerable tone she displayed for him. He looked back at her with wide eyes. The fresh shock from the situation still kept him unable to render anything in the form of a coherent sentence, so he simply swallowed and went to carry out her commands. "Auh, y-yeah..." he replied. That response, along with a few short nods, would be about as much as Isolda received for the time being in terms of acknowledgement before the man set off to lock the door, then search for the items she had listed. It was likely that he hadn't quite managed to process what he had seen just yet. He didn't step up and show himself to be the man who would comfort Isolda in her apparent time of need. But, if nothing else, Isolda had at least gotten him to actually move now.

That left her alone with Qais, who couldn't help but tremble upon realizing that he was now utterly helpless and left at the mercy of a clearly sadistic individual who would have little qualms about ending his life on a whim. "Yes, from Nabkha," came his first answer as his breaths grew shallow with nervousness. Isolda recognized the term as being the name of a major city in Deun, confirming her initial suspicion.

Then came the answers to her second and third questions. "Yes... y-yes," he stammered in rapid succession, stealing a glance at her naked form only briefly. Hers was a body that he had been so intent on enjoying only minutes ago... and yet now she was atop him--in the last type of situation he desired. "There's more," he added. "About a dozen. We have a shipment of f-fifty slaves going back out. Paid the locksmith 2,000 for his services, but he..." Ciran was late. That was what the slaver meant to say, but his late employer had said as much already. "Well armed, but..."

His expression soon soured. "Abon was our leader," groaned the man, looking over to the corpse of the head slaver. "B... Black Hepta, ah... yes, they are a client of sorts, they... send a man to check our merchandise sometimes. He looks for 'Voidic' slaves. That's all we really know about them!"

And while Isolda seemed to be in control of the situation, her captive only looked to grow more restless with each passing moment as the questions piled up. "Oserra Debtors' Guild, at the west port, directly south of warehouse six! I-I've said enough. We are finished already. That's all... that's all," he insisted, his volume having lowered to a near whisper. It was clear that the man had become miserable, having been interrogated while beside the bodies of two comrades. Isolda opted to put him out of that misery once he proved unwilling to answer any more. With a firm grip and a quick snap, he was dead.

It was then that Ciran had returned from the storeroom with a wheelbarrow, along with a wooden bucket, a mop, and a rolled-up carpet. His motions remained robotic, until the sound of a dull 'pop' echoed through the room. Ciran had made his entrance just in time to see the gruesome 'snap' of the slaver's neck, executed by none other than the woman he had been sleeping with over the past few nights. The locksmith couldn't help but release the load he was carrying upon seeing the terrible scene, and paused for a moment before losing strength in his stomach. "Hurrrkkk...!!!" Grabbing the pail from the wheelbarrow, he hunched over and threw up into it several times.

By the time he finished, his face was red and covered with sweat, tears streaming down his cheeks. The locksmith had promised so many things to this beautiful woman. To get his life together and be the man for her, if she would allow it, and to finally take responsibility should she manage to stick around--a possibility that seemed all so likely to him. The reality of the vast differences between them hit him like a sack of bricks. What was she? Some kind of murderer? Perhaps she was only acting in self-defense... she was, after all, a warrior or mercenary no doubt. But Ciran was far from anything but that--he hadn't even seen a dead body up until now, nor its killer. Here was a man who had done such a good job of staying out of the shadows of Havenport, and now they all seemed fated to catch up with him regardless. Only minutes ago, he was sure that his life would end there. And now he was alive, but the pressure of everything he had just experienced was unlike anything the fairly average man had felt before.

He didn't, however, lash out at Isolda in any way. While catching his breath, Ciran was still a mess in many ways, appearance wise as well as mentally, but he looked to be internalizing it instead. It gave the wanderer an opportunity to check the wound he had been given as he sat on the ground, hands and knees planted on the floor. Upon closer inspection, she would find that it wasn't a cut that was serious enough to kill him anytime soon, though it was the sort of injury that ensured that he wouldn't be able to move his head around very easily for the next few weeks. After a few minutes, he finally spoke up, not yet turning to face her, as such a task wouldn't be a very easy one without moving his entire body. "Y... you've done this before... right? What do I have to do?"

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

There was one tidbit of information that the slaver provided that Isolda couldn't help but hook onto, a subject that was obviously quite personal to her interests. "Voidic slaves?" she would say, frowning. "What do you mean by "voidic slaves?" And do you know when this man would be back next?" she demanded. Barring that, nothing she had heard from him warranted further questions or offered her a good reason to spare him, and she would proceed to snap his neck as planned.

Chat session!

Spoiler

Taki
Qais gave her a look somewhere in between puzzlement and frustration. "I don't know! He says he's looking for slaves that are 'Voidic'... uh, different, y-you know, like the subhumans. Always insists that we never sell any before coming to him first, as he pays the best prices. Has already bought a f-few from us thus far. The man from the Black Hepta comes to us to inspect them personally, once a week or whenever we report a large catch to him--they're just runaways or refugees, you know! M... most of the time. Usually he comes on this day of the week, but it's never for sure," he answered.


Tass
"Well then.... Have you reported as such to him recently? Or do you expect him to be by in the near future?" the voidic wanderer pressed testily, drawing closer and listening with greater interest. It would be clear that she wanted an answer to this one, and that she would be willing to use violence to get it if he wasn't cooperative.


Taki
"If it was any day of the week, he'd come by today, probably this afternoon... if he is not preoccupied with checking other agencies. And... uh, no, we haven't found any that I've seen, but he insists that he knows what to look for, so he checks anyway before we send off our shipments. Something about the way they smell."


Tass
"Oh really? Interesting......" Isolda would reply, and then it would be on to her other questions, and eventually to the man's death.

Unfortunately, Ciran had to go and walk in right then, allowing him to see her snap the helpless man's neck. That, evidently, was a bit too much for her lover, and he spent the next few minutes noisily throwing up into the bucket he'd brought on her orders. 'Well... He's not taking it as poorly as he could be,' she mentally remarked, and then rose to her feet to wait out his puking, which she watched with a wrinkled nose as her own stomach threatened to turn. It wasn't as bad as it had been when she had been in the same room as the healer with Renan and Sorio, but it always disturbed her to watch someone else vomit despite her own ease around the blood and gore that caused it.

Only once he was done would she make her approach, and once she was sure that he wouldn't try to attack her as she'd seen some who had descended into hysterics from shock do, the wanderer carefully checked his cut. It wasn't going to be immediately fatal, but he'd need stitches for it, and a bandage. "Yes, I have. Though, I'm usually doing it to myself after I end up getting cut up or stabbed. It isn't bad, but I'll need to clean it and stitch it close. Do you have a first aid kit? Or, failing that, a sewing needle and some thread? I can rinse it and hope for the best if you don't have any disinfectant, but I'd rather make sure that it doesn't and can make it so that it won't, but that option's a lot more painful for you than if you just happen to have some medicine lying around," Isolda would speak calmly, and her hands would be quite steady as she examined the wound, taking as many pains as she could to avoid causing Ciran any.


Taki
Ciran tried to nod, but the motion only caused him even more pain now that the adrenaline had died down some. "Aaauugghh!" he cried, shoulders shrugging as he seized up, realizing his newfound limitations thanks to the cut. Grimacing, he took a few deep breaths to help ease the pain. A minor injury like that was perhaps nothing to Isolda, but for Ciran, it was likely the worst he had ever had. His reactions made that much apparent.

"I... uuhnnh... don't really have any medicine or anything to apply on wounds," he groaned. "Sewing needle and thread, uh... o-ow. Somewhere in my bedroom closet, but I can't remember. Nnnngh."

Despite him saying as much, the items used for stitching weren't too difficult for Isolda to locate, and she was back with them before long. However, she would still need to locate a disinfectant of sorts. While Ciran was probably in too much pain to recall very well, there was probably medicine laying around somewhere... or even alcohol. Alternatively, Isolda could return to the bedroom to check her own stash.


Tass
"Alright, wait here and try not to move around too much," Isolda would say, and then it would be upstairs for her. The first thing she did upon arriving in Ciran's bedroom was to get dressed, however, or at least to put on a pair of panties to maintain some minor amount of decency. They were her only clean pair at the moment, and she knew she was going to get blood on them, but there was nothing to be done for it at this point. After that, it would be time to rifle through his closet, and after a few minutes she would discover that sewing kit he'd mentioned. Pulling that out, she searched for a few minutes more for some sort of medicine to apply to his neck. Nothing was forthcoming, unfortunately, and with a sigh she would go to her own pack and grab the bottle of whiskey she'd snatched from Denth's stash. It wasn't perfect, but it would do just fine for what they needed.

Ciran’s reactions to pain hadn’t been particularly stoic so far, though that wasn’t a big surprise to Isolda, and assuming that she found him still alright upon her arrival downstairs she would approach and hand him the bottle. “Risk the pain and take a swig or two, I’m going to have a look around your cupboards while it sets in,” she would say, and then proceed to do just that. He might have something, somewhere, that would spare her stash of personal alcohol being used to clean his wound. As simple and easy to get as it might be in a city such as this, it would be a pleasant luxury out in the middle of nowhere, and was also a rare treat for the wanderer given her relatively hand-to-mouth lifestyle.


Taki
"Hahh... hahh..." Ciran panted, moving his entire body in order to look up at her. His first instinct was to nod, but again, that only caused him a tidbit of extra agony, and so he made a pained smile of thanks before taking the bottle from her and downing a large swig of the Gremic whiskey. He made a predictable face at the aftertaste--it was no weak form of alcoholic drink by any means.

While the locksmith dealt with the pain, Isolda proceeded to search through the numerous cabinets located in the workshop that Ciran had inherited from his master. She dug through quite a number of random possessions, mostly tools and other such goods; the old man must have been a secret hoarder of sorts. Eventually, she came across a curious tin marked with a leaf insignia--one that Isolda recognized as the symbol for medical goods around these parts. Inside was a bit of healing balm, slightly cracked and dried, but a touch of saliva or water could get it back to spreadable form once more.


Tass
Better than nothing. Isolda returned to Ciran’s side and took the bottle to set aside, before opting to go with a bit of humour as she mixed some of her saliva in with the old medicine; “Drunk already eh? I’m afraid I’ll have to go and cut you off then~ Can’t have certain parts of you not working because of alcohol now can I?” Whether or not she drew any reaction from the locksmith, it would be a second after she had given her quip that Isolda would apply the medicine to the back of his neck, undoubtedly an unpleasant experience to say the least but one that had to be done. After that she would pour some of her whiskey onto a cloth and dab it against the wound, before handing the bottle back to him and say; “Have a bit more, this part is really going to hurt. If you think you can’t take it, I can find something for you to bite down on that won’t wreck your teeth in the process. Try squeezing your hands too, but don’t tense too much or you’ll start to shake, and that could be very bad with this sort of equipment.”

Assuming she took his advice, Isolda would pull out the needle and the thinnest thread that she could find. She did have one advantage that might make this more bearable, at least, and that was that she could apply a reduced version of the power she enacted over her sword in combat. Heating up the needle to the point that it was hot, but not hot enough to risk the tiny piece of metal’s structural, she slid it against the skin near his wound. It wouldn’t take more than three or four stitches by her estimation, being less than an inch long and not particularly deep, but she opted to warn him anyway by saying; “This is going to hurt, I’m about to start. If it helps, try to think about my tits~”

Her second effort at humor was the only warning that Ciran got before Isolda slid the threaded needle into the wound, dragging it through carefully and pulling the wound sealed. She would stop whenever he began moving too much, and do what she could to reassure him, but if he made it easier on her than she expected he would the wanderer would finish as quickly as the care she needed to use on the delicate operation would allow. As she worked, she would keep up a constant stream of talk meant to help distract the wounded locksmith from the pain of having his skin stitched back together; “You know, the first time I had to do this to myself was a real nightmare. I was… Twelve, I think? Anyway, I’d gotten my foot cut on some broken glass, and had to go and stitch it closed. Had nothing to clean it with but some ruddy puddle water too, and a needle twice as thick as this one! Damned thing was as dull as a river stone and almost as thick as my little finger! I was lucky not to lose the foot.

“The second time was even worse, ended up taking a long knife through my knee over a coinpurse a couple of months later. Same leg too! I had to hold it up long enough to stitch the back side closed, then do the front. There was so much blood by the time I was done that I damn near passed out too, this was back when I was a bit less jaded to… This sort of thing. I couldn’t do anything but hope that it hadn’t fucked up anything on its way through, that had me worried for the rest of the month lemme tell yah. They always heal up better than you expect them too though, and getting the stitches out is always a lot easier than putting them in.”


Taki
"Ahuhhh..." It was somewhere in between a laugh and a whimper, but it was about as much of a reaction as Isolda would get in response to her first remark towards Ciran. His mind was far too preoccupied with the anticipation of pain that would surely come. "Nnnhurrrgghh... hahh... hahh!" The application of the medicine proved rather painful for him. But while it was old, it didn't appear rotten, and was certainly better than nothing.

Then came the swordwoman's second warning. Just thinking about the stitches to come made him nervous, and so he took another swig, perhaps more than Isolda might have liked. "Something to bite down," he managed to pronounce in a voice clearer than before. There were several rags Isolda could locate throughout the shop, and the locksmith wasn't picky about what he would get to bite down on. After all, there were larger concerns at hand.

Isolda helped the situation with her application of the fire magic she had learned in Grem, something anyone who could even hope to survive in the frozen wastes was required to master in some form. The needle turned red hot, ensuring that it would be as clean an operation as it could be. Unfortunately, her second quip also seemed to go unheard as Ciran tensed up in anticipation.

He would then try his best to hold still for her as she began to work. Ciran did flinch often, sucking in air quickly as the needle went in... then out. He grimaced, first clenching his fists, and then biting down hard on the cloth he was given as the suturing continued. "Hnnn.... NNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGHHHHHH! HNNNNNFFFFF!" Tears accumulated at the corners of his eyes.

But as she began to talk, he seemed to relax just a little. Provided, he was still more tense than he should be, but the conversation, on top of distracting the man, also gave him a bit more insight as to what kind of person Isolda was. No doubt she had lived a rough life, one unfathomably more harsh than anything he had ever endured as a child. He was in no position to talk back, but he didn't really want to either. The stories he had to tell were so mundane compared to hers, so dull and listless in comparison. However, her reassuring words towards the end of the process helped put him at ease, and kept him from suddenly jerking or moving too much. That was all Isolda needed.


Tass
When getting a rag for him to bite down on, Isolda would at least find the cleanest of the lot for him, and would twist it so that it would feel a little bit more satisfying to chew on while he endured the pain of the mild operation. It would be something that she herself might be able to withstand with gritted teeth, but Isolda wasn’t one to forget that not everyone had her sort of lifestyle, and as she worked and found that he relaxed more so long as she kept talking, the wanderer opted to do just that; “Don’t let that think you can let something like this go untreated though, that’s a recipe for disaster! I made that mistake a little while after my foot miraculously didn’t take infection from that glass. There I was, with a gash that ran a quarter of the way down my arm, but it was so shallow that I didn’t even bother to wrap it or clean it. Got it in a climbing accident, cut on some sharp roofing trying to get away from an older kid, and figured it wouldn’t bother me and that a bandage would slow me down.

“That was a mistake, lemme tell yah. The infection I got nearly killed me twice over, first because of… Well, that it’s an infection, and second because I couldn’t feed myself while I was laid up. If it wasn’t for a beggar who would bring me water and bits of what he managed to scavenge for food, I’d probably not have made it through. That was the second closest I’ve ever been to dying, though a bartender in Southern Grem would swear that it’s a far third after what he planned to do to me after I started a fight in his place. That was much later, obviously, though I don’t think he was ever honest about the things he threatened even before I dropped him a bit of coin and a favor for his troubles."

By that point she was on her last stitch, the whole process nearly complete, but Isolda opted to continue talking anyway; “I imagine this all sounds a lot more interesting than it really was though. I mean, it was all pretty horrible at the time, with the possible exception of that bar fight which was honestly a lot of fun. Getting cut up and bludgeoned and stabbed all the time and then having to tie yourself back together is pretty overrated as a career choice, to be honest, but I don’t really have any other skills to rely on to make my way. It’s my only option, you know?” The connotation in which her words might be received dawned on Isolda only after she’d said them, and the wanderer regretted what she’d said immediately with that realization.

“I’m done,” she would say as the last stitch was tied, mentally chewing at herself for her lack of tact and trying to think of a way to repair what she’d said. She knew that Ciran wanted her to stay with him, or at least that he’d wanted it before the events that had led up to him requiring stitches, and her statement might as well have been outright declaring that that wouldn’t happen. Now that she was done, however, Isolda would pull away to signal her completion and take the rag out of his mouth as she said; “Those will be ready to take out in a few days, try not to move your neck around too much until then.” She hesitated for a moment, and then forced a smile onto her face and asked; “So, you must have some stories of your own! Have you lived here all your life, or did you move from somewhere else?”


Taki
Ciran listened intently as Isolda went on. It sounded as though she had been through a lot. Injuries here and there, the ability to evade death long enough to make it all the way to where she was in Havenport... From the sounds of it, she had been across the world and back, at the very least. And now she came here to take interest in... someone like him? It nagged at him as to why. He was practically the opposite of her, and not necessarily in a good way. Her words about the stories sounding 'interesting' didn't seem to shock or startle Ciran any; they were merely recanting what he knew in his heart. The man went quiet, deep in thought about all of the things this mysterious woman had gone through, and perhaps the other things she might not have told him. Even after she finished, he bit his lower lip and seemed to zone off for a short while.

"Erm... uh, yes," he finally answered. "I came from northern Brevnia. The old master, Weltun, was a friend of my parents, so they sent me here to stay with him after I ah, failed to make the cut with some of the other smiths around. He took me in and taught me everything he knew about the trade when most other artisans didn't give me the time of day, so... I guess I owe him a lot for that. That's ah... about it, I guess." Surely, he did have more to share, but all of it paled in comparison to Isolda's harsh life. Ciran's mind remained stuck on the things the wanderer had told him. But when his eyes accidentally settled upon one of the bodies, he frowned, his mind shifting back to more immediate matters. "Isolda, I... don't know what I'm going to do, or what I can do about what just happened. I've never even been in a life or death fight before, I haven't watched anyone die... nor have I even really given reason for a constable in Havenport to approach me. I've gone this far in Havenport without getting into an ounce of trouble. But now I, agh... I can't look at these bodies anymore."

It was apparent what he was hinting at then. He was worried about the mess that had been made as a result of Isolda's actions against the three slavers. Even if they were scum in Ciran's eyes, that didn't take away from the concern that a corrupt constable could be looking to make a name for themselves using his arrest, or sending him to an arranged cell on the coin of the Oserra Debtors' Guild's last associates. Raw fear overcame any logic his mind attempted to employ.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Despite Ciran’s thoughts on her interest in him, Isolda did listen to what he had to say about his own life with rapt attention, more so than even she had meant to after asking the question that had prompted him to start speaking. “Oh really? My mother was from someplace near Brevnia, though I’m not entirely sure where from exactly. Did you have many elves near where you lived?” she would say during the pause between his brief story and the look he gave to the assortment of bodies still present in the room. She wanted to ask more, for reasons that she would refuse to admit even to herself, but instead would nod and gently move to help him to his feet.

“Come on, I won’t need your help to get these out of your way, and I understand not wanting to look at them. You can wait upstairs while I clean your place up; I’ve done it before and know a place where we might be able to get rid of the bodies so no one will ever know where they went,” she said quietly, and would help him up the stairs to his bedroom. During that brief journey, Isolda would remain silent initially but after a moment would very quietly ask; “What was he like, your Mentor? And…. Your parents?” Her voice was low, but contained an eagerness that she would be unable to hide and betrayed emotions that she would barely be able to express. Suddenly, her heart was beating just a little bit faster and a little bit harder, and a slight dampness appeared at the corners of her eyes for just a few short seconds before a blink would erase the sensation.

While it might be difficult for him to understand, Isolda had often longed for a life like Ciran’s, one free of such constant violence as that she had to live with since childhood, but she had always considered it beyond her reach. The itch for bloodshed would consume her if she left it unsated for too long, she had always thought, and the euphoria she experienced when in the depths of combat, a sensation that she felt quite regularly, would only reinforce that feeling. Even so, she couldn’t help but remain envious of the idea of a normal, peaceful life from time to time, particularly where the matter of family was involved. But, be it a result of her upbringing, a portion of the curse of her Voidic blood, some portion of her purportedly violent father that she had inherited, or even just simple habit, Isolda doubted that that sort of peace would ever be hers to enjoy no matter how much she might sometimes pine for it.

Still, she didn’t have long to speak to Ciran on the subject, and once upstairs she would leave him there and return downstairs once he had finished responding how he wished. Before she would go, however, she would give any reaction that was necessary to his relation of his family, and conclude it by saying; “I’ll be downstairs for a while, cleaning up. When I’m done I’ll come back up, you wait here while I work. I can’t make sure you won’t face any repercussions for this without some work on your part though, and once I’m done you’ll need to go to work and finish those locks you were commissioned for, understand? I’m going to be away for a while to take the bodies away, but I won’t be gone for long and plan on leaving someone here to take care of you while I’m away.”

Assuming he agreed to this plan, she would look at him for a few more minutes before grabbing her sword and walking downstairs, quickly proceeding to get to work. Firstly, she saw to the bucket she had asked for, which she would empty of the locksmith’s vomit outside in his latrine and then clean by hand with a very displeased grimace. Once it was suitable to hold clean liquid again, Isolda would fill it with water and leave it to sit while she went and dealt with the bodies, first searching them for anything of value and then piling them one by one into the wagon and chopping off any bits that wouldn’t fit into it properly, keeping her sword at full burn to cauterize the wounds to minimize the blood let off by the act. The smell of burning meat and blood filling the room was more pleasant than she cared to admit, particularly since it masked the smell of the leftover vomit, and with a glance at the front of Ciran's shop she decided that opening the windows or the front door to clear the smell were out of the question. She’d have to air the room out via the back door before she left, she decided, and then simply went back to hacking the bodies until they were reduced to chunks small enough to pack into the wheelbarrow for transport. On a whim, she also set about charring some of the chunks that ended up on top with her burning blade, thinking that it might be helpful to her cover story in case one was necessary.

Then, once she was sure that the thing wouldn’t leak blood everywhere, she wheeled it out into the backyard and carefully cleaned it with the same rag she’d used to clean out the bucket, ensuring that none of the telltale vital fluid was showing. She’d have to check it before she left, but for now she covered the dismembered bodies in the tarp or carpet that she’d asked Ciran to get and left them there to air out a little. Better to not have them smell too rank while she was carting them through the city. After that, she took up the mop and bucket and meticulously cleaned the blood off of the floor, and only then did Isolda realizing that she was going through the entire task in nothing but a pair of underpants. Now badly bloodstained underpants. She couldn’t suppress a laugh at the sheer absurdity of that fact, but didn’t bother to go upstairs and grab a shirt, knowing it would only need to be replaced afterwards anyway. Once that unenviable task was taken care of, Isolda swept the room for further signs of the violence and got rid of them as best she could, taking the weapons and personal effects she’d looted from the corpses that she had dismembered and leaving them on a table to deal with later. After that was done, she would go out back and check the wheelbarrow, taking the tarp off and pouring the blood into the center of the yard if it had filled up too much for her comfort but otherwise checking the sides for leaks again before covering it up. And then, just like that, she was done.

Returning to Ciran would need to wait until she’d cleaned herself up, however, and so Isolda stripped off her panties and tossed them in with them into the wheelbarrow with the corpse bits. After that came another sponge bath, which she did in some haste, before she went upstairs to Ciran. Unless she found him in a state that would give her some pause, Isolda would start getting dressed into her underclothes and armor, going commando for the day due to her lack of other options but definitely bringing along her weapons, and say; “Come on, it’s time to get to work Ciran. The bodies and the blood are all gone.” The tool she had used to commit those murders had been discarded into the wheelbarrow as well, and the slaver’s knives had been cleaned and sheathed when she had searched them, leaving no sign of blood that Isolda herself would be able to detect unless it had seeped into something that she couldn’t remove or clean it from.

If nothing further happened that demanded her rapt attention, Isolda would take the bodies in their container and begin her grim journey to the place of disposal she had chosen – a pig farm she had encountered nearby. It was actually the sort of thing she had done before, albeit not very regularly, and she would be surprised if they would be unwilling to accommodate her so long as she greased their palms a little bit.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

"Not particularly," said Ciran in response to Isolda's query about whether or not he had encountered many elves. "My original home is in northeastern Brevnia--not terribly far from here. Most of the encounters with elves occurred near the western frontier, both good and bad... or so I heard. I hadn't the chance to meet any of them, or even see them beyond a passing glance or two, so one could say you're the first I've ever truly met. I really do live quite an uneventful life..." remarked the locksmith, his look strained by deep thought. His worries didn't seem terribly eased by Isolda having mentioned that she had disposed of bodies before--if anything, they seemed slightly aggravated by the fact. But he couldn't bring himself to blame her for it... after all, he had never asked. He simply accepted the pleasures she granted him without any questions. It might have been a mistake, now that he thought of it, but on the other hand, such habits had never done him wrong in the past. It was only now, with Isolda, that things proved themselves different.

He was still pondering things quietly when the wanderer broke his train of thought with yet another question about what his mentor and parents were like. "Oh, uuuhm... my mentor was a good, hard-working man. Nothing like me, really, aheheh. Lived simply within his means, for the most part, as you can tell from the shop. I felt really lost when he passed. Knew I wasn't going to live up to anything he did, but it's a living. I'm lucky to have one in the first place, I'm aware. As for my parents... my father is a merchant of 'medicine'. He was less than thrilled about my inability to persuade people like he does. My mother doted on me all the time, though she had little reason to, as I always stayed out of trouble. Until now, I guess." He caught himself towards the end, only realizing his potential mistake with the implication that Isolda might be the reason behind that. "Uh... sorry. No offense," he added afterwards. To her instructions, he gave her a quiet nod of agreement before allowing her to return downstairs to begin the tedious process of cleaning up.

The swordswoman encountered little in the way of interruptions during her process of cleaning up--save for one moment where a few failed tugs were heard at the door. However, her sharp ears caught a low mumble of "nobody there, must be closed", followed by footsteps heading off down the road. She was in the middle of cleaning up at that point, though, and it was far better to suffer a momentary loss of business rather than allow anyone else to see what had happened within the shop itself. The blood was just about impossible to get out of any fabric it had touched, but luckily there were very few tapestries or rugs in the locksmith's shop--the one Ciran had rolled up into the wheelbarrow was one of the only ones he apparently owned. The rest of the splattermarks proved somewhat easier to clean up, having only touched hardwood. However, the mop was a deep red by the time Isolda finished.

The disposal task was more tedious than anything else, but the swordswoman had also saved Ciran from some potentially traumatizing work by going about it herself. If she were to look at the positive aspect of things, Isolda would be reminded that gore was ultimately more enjoyable than repulsive for her, and it was still a far easier job than what awaited for whoever was unfortunate enough to have to clean the mess waiting in the Ebonstone. Also, there were the spoils. The victims' clothes were thoroughly spattered or soaked with blood, but they had other belongings that were still usable. In addition to the large, ornate curved dagger that Isolda got from the head slaver, there were two similar blades carried by his henchmen that she could keep for herself if she so pleased. Abon had a waterskin adorned with ornate silver and red jewels; the other two had less fancy versions. And there was cash--no small amount of it. Between the three men, Isolda had acquired 600 gold in currency. Slavery was indeed a lucrative business.

Ciran finally emerged when Isolda gave him the approval to do so. Despite his initial astonishment at her thorough cleaning job, he still seemed somewhat uncomfortable, as well as bothered by his fresh injury. At the same time, he was in no position to argue with the deadly vixen, and so he went back to work on the locks without argument nor complaint.

This left Isolda free to go about her trip to the pig farm. Outside of the odd look that she received from being a tall, pale, beautiful woman in plate armor with a full wheelbarrow, she had, perhaps miraculously, been spared of any encounters with concerned citizens and city guards alike. In Havenport, someone traveling with a wheelbarrow may have been doing the dirty work for any given mob. It was hard to tell. Either way, nobody raised any questions with her during the trip. She soon arrived to the pig farm, located a few blocks south, without incident.

The owner was a somewhat short, bespectacled man with flat flaxen hair and ever observant eyes. Despite his diminutive stature, he exuded an aura of authority, one shown in effect by his two bodyguards--two massive, muscular thugs of Gremic descent. He exhibited a knowing look when Isolda entered his establishment. "Mm. May I?"

With her permission, he took a peek beneath the covers. "About three, is it? Good timing with the feed--my pigs are hungry, indeed. If this is all you have for now, that will be a 100 gold disposal fee. I guarantee that there won't be a trace to find you by." He awaited Isolda's response.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Ciran's answers to her queries, both innocent and loaded - though the locksmith likely wouldn't be able to recognize the latter - left Isolda momentarily silent as a wave of melancholy washed over her face. It wouldn't be something that Ciran would be able to see from his position, and she would quickly hid the emotions roiling within her beneath a blank expression and jovially said; "Don't worry about it, I know I'm a bit of a troublemaker! I'm sorry about that, and I wish I could have avoided bringing this on you... But if you knew the stuff that I usually get into, you'd know that a lot worse can happen when I'm around. If it's too much for you to handle, that's fair and understandable, and once I've cleaned up this little mess for you I can be out of your hair completely. You don't need to answer that now, but I want you to honestly give it some thought while I'm working. I'll be back after I've disposed of the bodies to pick up those locks, possibly with a couple of friends if they're willing to help us out, and if by then you've decided that you want me gone I will be. Alright?"

It had been a bit longer than she'd meant it to be, but Isolda would fall silent only to shush the man if he offered any sort of reply beyond that, and then it was time to go upstairs. And after that, it was cleaning time, at which point she was very glad indeed for Ciran's hardwood floors given how easy it was to wipe blood off of them. Shortly after that the locksmith's shop was cleaned, her first batch of corpses for the day were taken care of, and Isolda herself was ready to get herself cleaned up and get on with the many things that she wanted to do that day. Her pack would be filled with the various items she'd gained from the slavers she'd just killed, and she decided that it was time to offload the majority of her winnings, though the coin she'd found on the most recently killed men she would opt to stash up in Ciran's bedroom when she went to get him rather than take with her. At that point she would have nothing further holding her back, and Isolda would head out with a grim and annoyed expression in the hopes that it would ward off any would-be curious onlookers or guardsman.

To her surprise, that effect was successful, or perhaps she was simply lucky. Regardless, the pale wanderer arrived without incident at her destination, pausing only once in a secluded spot to do away with the blood-coated tool she'd used to commit the deeds that had prompted this excursion in a place where nobody would find it, dropping it into a well or burying it in a trash bin or somesuch. After that there were no further interruptions, and Isolda heaved a light sigh as she found herself at the pig farm. The wiry man between the two bouncers came as something of a surprise, as she'd expected that they would at least make an effort of legitimacy, but she would opt not to complain while simply gazing back at the two bouncers flatly. 'You don't intimidate me in the slightest... But I'm not interested in trouble, so lemme get this transaction over with and you can go back to posturing for people who care,' the look she gave them would say without Isolda needing to speak a word, and whether or not they got the message she would swiftly turn her attention mostly to the spectacle wearing man who was the apparent leader of this particular organization.

Straightforward and simple, a surprise to Isolda but not exactly an unwelcome one, and with a smirk she casually pulled out a pouch of coins and said; "Three? Three what? I'm just bringing in some spoiled meat, and I'm not sure what you might need such a hefty fee for disposing of such refuse for! Why, you should be paying me for feeding your pigs!" Isolda counted out the coins in stacks of ten, needing to pull out the bag from between her breasts after the eighty or so she had in her fattened side pouch was gone. It was a quick process, Isolda having learned her counting from her mother and had plenty of mental practice in the more simplistic mathematics over the years, and once ten stacks of ten coins were on the farmer's table she tossed him a wink and said; "So, I'll be back for the wheelbarrow later, yeah? Do clean it up for me, it's a lender~"

And with that, assuming no further issues arose, Isolda would simply be off to enact the next part of her plan, the retrieval of Renan and Sorio. It wasn't an essential part of her plan, but at that point she'd rather have the two with her than otherwise, particularly if she was liable to run into another Black Hepta member at the slaver's hideout. It could as easily be a leader as just some peon, after all, and it might even be Nottis himself if the leader of the organization was looking for slaves with voidic blood in their veins. That was a danger that Isolda had promised herself she would be extremely wary of, but the prospect of killing him and simply taking the head off of the snake was one that excited her far more than she would usually allow something like that to. After all, how much easier would her life be if she removed that particular problem from the people she'd met here in Havenport? It wasn't like she worried overly much about others when she wasn't around them, but it was still occasionally mildly nerve wracking to think of the likes of Ciran or Samia under threat without her to kill those doing the threatening.

Soon enough she had arrived back at the Talean portion of the city, where she had earlier left the boxer and his friend, and after only a short search around the healer's house she would find the duo plying their trade for coin. Her removal of their debt by way of murdering the man they owed it to had relieved their financial stresses, or at least Isolda hoped as much, but it seemed that they were ever starved for income just as she was, and the enterprising spirit to keep on making money was something that she could easily appreciate. They seemingly had a client, resulting in sufficient distraction for her to approach largely undetected even with her bulky frame, displaying a grace and a deftness at remaining unnoticed despite how easily she stood out that she had very rarely opted to make use of since leaving her street urchin years. Getting close enough to view, Isolda would give Sorio the courtesy of waiting until his most recent bout was over - assuming of course that her presence wasn't simply noticed earlier than she liked for some reason - Isolda would then announce herself by brightly saying; "I know I've already had a turn at this particular game, but if I try again and win, do I get to spank the two of you in addition to the cash prize?" Giving Renan a lopsided grin and Sorio a respectful nod, Isolda would then smirk slightly and brush a lock of her ivory hair away from one of her ears and add; "I'd be happy to let you add that to the bet in case I lose~"

It was hopefully clear enough from her tone that she was simply joking, and once they were rid of the duo's newest customer and in a place where they could have a private word Isolda would say; "I've got an issue, only semi-related to your own troubles - that I could use some backup on. You'd get a share of whatever bounty I find, be helping me out, be performing a good deed by busting up a group of slave traders, and get to stick to a bunch of Deunites in the process. And then after maybe we can get lunch, and possibly a bath depending on how messy it turns out to be. My treat~ Another friend of mine also happens to be in trouble over it, seems he couldn't deliver on the locks they wanted as quickly as they liked, and now I've gone and taken care of it pretty much exactly how I took care of yours, but there are more of them that need their noses snubbed. Interested?"

Once the conversation with those two had wrapped up, Isolda would be happy to head back Ciran's way while answering any questions they might have if they were willing to offer their assistance, retrieving Ciran's wheelbarrow if such was possible, and finally seeing if the man had finished his locks. She would rap three times on the door if it was still locked and call out; "Ciran! It's me, Isolda! Are you finished yet?" If he answered negatively, Isolda would opt to wait with the Talean duo outside so as not to arouse any local suspicion, but the sooner the task was done the happier Isolda would be. It was, of course, entirely possible that some dark fate had befallen the man while she'd been gone, or that he was upstairs shaking his way through another bout of shock, but she hoped that neither was true and would need to react accordingly depending. If all went well, however, she would take the locks and be off with them to her final stop, the Deunic quarter, where she would tell Renan and Sorio to hide their Talean features (assuming they were able and willing to do so) and find herself a pawn shop where she could offload the various articles she had collected but wouldn't be using. A Deunic shop was ideal for such since it would allow her to offload the waterskins for their highest value, and she opted for a shadier place for the benefit of anonymoty. Assuming she found one that was suitable, Isolda would peruse the place for a few moments before moving to the counter and displaying the two spare swords she'd taken from the men she'd killed at the Ebonstone, in addition to the three daggers and the waterskins she'd acquired from the more recently dead slavers. "I've found myself in possession of some extra pieces that I simply don't need... How much might I be able to get for these?"

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

Isolda found a dumpster conveniently located near the pig farm in which to dispose of the bloody tool she used to kill those now segmented in the wheelbarrow. There was an abundance of refuse under which to bury it, so she didn't need to try very hard to hide it. However, she quickly noticed that atop the pile of trash lay a filthy, cheap dagger, covered in relatively fresh blood of its own. This place appeared to be on the border between Havenport's finer and seedier districts, with evidence of the latter lingering in all the right places. While she had seen guards about, particularly in the more tourist-heavy areas, they may as well have been a formality. If there was a mayor or lord of Havenport, it was clear that the control wasn't truly his. It belonged to the gangs, who continued still to fight over what power remained--or could be taken.

The two sentries exchanged glances after receiving Isolda's cold, thousand-yard stare, and though a hint of unsettlement showed itself in their eyes, they didn't budge--nor did they step forward to display any particular hostility. Other than the peculiar look she gave, and the smell of blood upon her, there was little reason for them to believe that she was here simply to look for trouble. After all, she did have the currency of their trade piled up in a wheelbarrow. "Ah, yes. You would think it to be unreasonable!" replied the farmer. "But believe me, the fee is well-placed. These hapless husks seem to be from Deun. They likely have ties to the larger Deunic gang, Al-Maghrib. Vengeance would be swift upon those who are rather... careless about evidence--not something you would like to take chances with, believe me. The harbor isn't quite the place that it used to be for these sorts of things. So that's where we come in," he explained with a wry smile.

"Though worry not. We'll handle this for you, heh heh. And you can go about your merry way without any fear of reprisal from dark-skinned assassins." He accepted the coins Isolda produced, strangely taking a whiff of one that came from the pouch held in her cleavage, and gave her an approving look. "Mm... yes. We shall await your return, then." As soon as she took her leave, she would notice the two bodyguards going right to work in moving the load she provided them.

Upon entering the Talean district of Havenport, Isolda earned herself a few curious looks from those passing by. A group of children trailed her closely as she walked along, making a poor attempt to be stealthy. She was quite pale in contrast to the tan complexion that the islanders often carried, and as such was found by those nearby to be a subject of wonder. Not so much of fear, however; Taleans had a reputation for being laid back, if a little too much so, and the behavior that Isolda witnessed reinforced such stereotypes. Sorio and Renan, however, were ever the productive ones. When she spotted them, the boxer was skillfully avoiding the desperate swings of a frustrated, redheaded Elynsorian traveler while Renan refereed the mock bout. It didn't take long for the clueless customer to exhaust himself. Having paid his fee, he huffed in frustration before throwing his gloves off and then taking his leave alongside two of his friends, who couldn't help but have a chuckle or two at his expense.

"That Talean is quick, huh?" asked one of the men beside him.
"Shut up. You didn't do much better," grumbled the fiery-haired traveler, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"At least I wasn't saying I was going to beat him into a pulp beforehand!"

Renan looked up at Isolda with a nervous laugh and a friendly smile. "Aheheh... h-hello, Isolda! We were just, ah, trying to get some extra money," he explained, stating the obvious. Sorio returned the swordswoman's respectful nod, remaining quiet as he usually was. His features visibly lightened when he did see her, however, showing that the Voidic beauty had at least earned the stoic champion's respect and then some. After putting their sign away, the pair listened to Isolda's offer carefully.

Quarrels with Deunic types... while the prospect seemed potentially daunting, the wanderer had already put her prodigious strength on display just the other day, against their former oppressors no less. They already owed her no small amount, and the prospect of sharing another 'bath' with her, given her somewhat suggestive tone, sweetened the deal even further. Here was a woman who was strong, enough so to rid them of their immediate problems, and yet attractive and willing enough to see to their more primal needs without having any strings attached. Put that way, there was little chance that either of the men would be able to refuse.

"Of course!" exclaimed Renan, looking a bit more excited than he should have been. Was he expecting another chance with Isolda so soon? Sorio, on the other hand, remained silent as usual, but there was little reason for the Voidic woman to believe that he would turn down another 'bath' as well, given the enthusiasm and vigor with which he first took her. The two packed their things and proceeded along with the white-haired beauty to her next destination: Ciran's locksmith shop.

It took a moment for the artisan to answer, but after a short delay, he unlocked the door before opening it. "I am," he answered rather quietly. The events from before still had him quite shaken, and so he looked... stressed, to say the least. However, behind him was a counter full of the finished orders. It seemed that he could do it when he tried. He blinked a few times and furrowed his brow upon seeing two Talean strangers flanking Isolda to either side, but decided not to ask anymore questions, instead placing his finished works in a sack and handing them to the half-elven warrior. "That's all of them," he said, looking up at Isolda and giving her a somewhat melancholy look before averting his eyes. Whether or not she chose to give him a meaningful response, he would still prove quite reticent for the time being.

This left Isolda free to head to her next stop in the Deunic quarter. Headwraps here appeared to be the norm, but Renan nor Sorio had anything they could fashion into a makeshift wrap, nor were they terribly concerned about it. Isolda's presence was arguably more startling to some of the citizens here than their own, and the two felt confident with her nearby.

She walked down several blocks before finally locating an appropriately seedy-looking pawnshop of her specifications, where the keeper kept the entire left side of his face covered by part of his headwrap for undisclosed reasons. He carefully scanned each item she laid down on the creaky wooden counter of his establishment. Nothing terribly special at first. Two spare swords, three daggers... then, the man's one visible eye widened upon finally meeting the waterskins she laid down for him. A short gasp would be heard from the man, which he then tried to play off by turning it into a cough. "Ahrmm... I can provide, 100 gold for these items," he pronounced in a noticeable Deunic accent.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

Isolda found a dumpster conveniently located near the pig farm in which to dispose of the bloody tool she used to kill those now segmented in the wheelbarrow. There was an abundance of refuse under which to bury it, so she didn't need to try very hard to hide it. However, she quickly noticed that atop the pile of trash lay a filthy, cheap dagger, covered in relatively fresh blood of its own. This place appeared to be on the border between Havenport's finer and seedier districts, with evidence of the latter lingering in all the right places. While she had seen guards about, particularly in the more tourist-heavy areas, they may as well have been a formality. If there was a mayor or lord of Havenport, it was clear that the control wasn't truly his. It belonged to the gangs, who continued still to fight over what power remained--or could be taken.

The two sentries exchanged glances after receiving Isolda's cold, thousand-yard stare, and though a hint of unsettlement showed itself in their eyes, they didn't budge--nor did they step forward to display any particular hostility. Other than the peculiar look she gave, and the smell of blood upon her, there was little reason for them to believe that she was here simply to look for trouble. After all, she did have the currency of their trade piled up in a wheelbarrow. "Ah, yes. You would think it to be unreasonable!" replied the farmer. "But believe me, the fee is well-placed. These hapless husks seem to be from Deun. They likely have ties to the larger Deunic gang, Al-Maghrib. Vengeance would be swift upon those who are rather... careless about evidence--not something you would like to take chances with, believe me. The harbor isn't quite the place that it used to be for these sorts of things. So that's where we come in," he explained with a wry smile.

"Though worry not. We'll handle this for you, heh heh. And you can go about your merry way without any fear of reprisal from dark-skinned assassins." He accepted the coins Isolda produced, strangely taking a whiff of one that came from the pouch held in her cleavage, and gave her an approving look. "Mm... yes. We shall await your return, then." As soon as she took her leave, she would notice the two bodyguards going right to work in moving the load she provided them.

"Oh really? I wouldn't know of their affiliations," Isolda replied casually, as if speaking of the weather, "I generally don't have a lot of time to ask questions of would-be muggers. Still, 'tis good to know that they won't be sending anyone after me to avenge their friends losing a fight, which is why I didn't leave them in that alley."

She didn't miss the odd sniff to the coins she'd produced from between her breasts, and she quirked a curious eyebrow and cross her arms low beneath her breasts as he checked them off himself, and grinned lightly when he shot her that approving look. "I'll be off then~" she would reply, and then simply strut out of the building and be on her way.

Upon entering the Talean district of Havenport, Isolda earned herself a few curious looks from those passing by. A group of children trailed her closely as she walked along, making a poor attempt to be stealthy. She was quite pale in contrast to the tan complexion that the islanders often carried, and as such was found by those nearby to be a subject of wonder. Not so much of fear, however; Taleans had a reputation for being laid back, if a little too much so, and the behavior that Isolda witnessed reinforced such stereotypes. Sorio and Renan, however, were ever the productive ones. When she spotted them, the boxer was skillfully avoiding the desperate swings of a frustrated, redheaded Elynsorian traveler while Renan refereed the mock bout. It didn't take long for the clueless customer to exhaust himself. Having paid his fee, he huffed in frustration before throwing his gloves off and then taking his leave alongside two of his friends, who couldn't help but have a chuckle or two at his expense.

"That Talean is quick, huh?" asked one of the men beside him.
"Shut up. You didn't do much better," grumbled the fiery-haired traveler, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"At least I wasn't saying I was going to beat him into a pulp beforehand!"

Renan looked up at Isolda with a nervous laugh and a friendly smile. "Aheheh... h-hello, Isolda! We were just, ah, trying to get some extra money," he explained, stating the obvious. Sorio returned the swordswoman's respectful nod, remaining quiet as he usually was. His features visibly lightened when he did see her, however, showing that the Voidic beauty had at least earned the stoic champion's respect and then some. After putting their sign away, the pair listened to Isolda's offer carefully.

Quarrels with Deunic types... while the prospect seemed potentially daunting, the wanderer had already put her prodigious strength on display just the other day, against their former oppressors no less. They already owed her no small amount, and the prospect of sharing another 'bath' with her, given her somewhat suggestive tone, sweetened the deal even further. Here was a woman who was strong, enough so to rid them of their immediate problems, and yet attractive and willing enough to see to their more primal needs without having any strings attached. Put that way, there was little chance that either of the men would be able to refuse.

"Of course!" exclaimed Renan, looking a bit more excited than he should have been. Was he expecting another chance with Isolda so soon? Sorio, on the other hand, remained silent as usual, but there was little reason for the Voidic woman to believe that he would turn down another 'bath' as well, given the enthusiasm and vigor with which he first took her. The two packed their things and proceeded along with the white-haired beauty to her next destination: Ciran's locksmith shop.

"I can appreciate an enterprising spirit~" she replied calmly to the explanation that they offered, and to an utter lack of surprise on her part they agreed to accompany her for the day. Renan even looked eager at the prospect, and as they arranged themselves she snuck a caress of the man's side, just to lead him on a little bit more.

It took a moment for the artisan to answer, but after a short delay, he unlocked the door before opening it. "I am," he answered rather quietly. The events from before still had him quite shaken, and so he looked... stressed, to say the least. However, behind him was a counter full of the finished orders. It seemed that he could do it when he tried. He blinked a few times and furrowed his brow upon seeing two Talean strangers flanking Isolda to either side, but decided not to ask anymore questions, instead placing his finished works in a sack and handing them to the half-elven warrior. "That's all of them," he said, looking up at Isolda and giving her a somewhat melancholy look before averting his eyes. Whether or not she chose to give him a meaningful response, he would still prove quite reticent for the time being.

Ciran's look was not a big surprise to the Voidic wanderer, but it was something that would produce a sympathetic response in Isolda, and she would hold up a hand to Renan and Sorio to wait outside before she followed him inside. "Good work," she began brightly, in what would no doubt be a fairly ineffective gesture to raise the man's spirits. She stood in silence for several moments, watching him bag the locks, before offering him another smile and hefting the heavy sack. "So," she would say then, "I... Guess I'll see you later then? I've got to bring back your wheelbarrow, and spare you a few coins for the things you lost. At the very least."

This left Isolda free to head to her next stop in the Deunic quarter. Headwraps here appeared to be the norm, but Renan nor Sorio had anything they could fashion into a makeshift wrap, nor were they terribly concerned about it. Isolda's presence was arguably more startling to some of the citizens here than their own, and the two felt confident with her nearby.

She walked down several blocks before finally locating an appropriately seedy-looking pawnshop of her specifications, where the keeper kept the entire left side of his face covered by part of his headwrap for undisclosed reasons. He carefully scanned each item she laid down on the creaky wooden counter of his establishment. Nothing terribly special at first. Two spare swords, three daggers... then, the man's one visible eye widened upon finally meeting the waterskins she laid down for him. A short gasp would be heard from the man, which he then tried to play off by turning it into a cough. "Ahrmm... I can provide, 100 gold for these items," he pronounced in a noticeable Deunic accent.

Arriving at the pawn shop, Isolda idly glanced about as she walked in, finding nothing of interest at a quick glance and thus proceeding to the counter to display the items she intended to be rid of. Isolda didn't miss the sudden interest he took in seeing the waterskins, particularly the jeweled ones, and she would allow herself a small grin at that before quirking an eyebrow at the low offer. She had been to Deun, after all, and knew that the offer was low even for just the waterskins; the jeweled one would sell for as much as he offered. "Ahhh, opting to start low in the hopes that I know not what I carry is worth? Shrewd, but unnecessary," she replied, opting to take a friendly but brusque tone, not seeming too familiar that it might put the man off. Deunic traders usually preferred as much, particularly when dealing with women, and Isolda was happy to play at that when she had to.

"I have been to Deun," she revealed, "and know that what I have brought is worth many times your offer. I know that you must make your own money, of course, but am I to be denied the fruits of my labors because of it? I would think not! Now, in the interests of fairness, I know that this is not Deun, so the skins would not fetch as much as they might normally, so for them I would a total of ninety. The blades are simple things, and not of excellent quality, so for the lot I would ask only, say.... Fifty coins for all four. Well beneath their value on all counts but totaling to a hundred and forty, all told. How would that strike your fancy?"

On a whim, she withdrew the assortment of as yet unidentified chemicals and laid them out on the table. "I also happened upon these, but confess myself ignorant of their properties. Might you have a better idea of their contents than I, at a glance?" The red liquid and its syringe, the two blue potions, and even the larger bottle with its attached rag.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

It wasn't difficult at all for Isolda to earn a reaction out of Renan with her subtle gesture; as she touched him, a faint, dreamy smile inadvertently formed upon the Talean's face, with his gaze moving straight ahead and slightly upwards. She could only guess what he might have been fantasizing about, but given the indicators it was most surely a lewd sort of daydream. Like many men before him, the islander had seemingly fallen prey to the promise of the vast pleasures that Isolda proved herself capable of granting. His cohort less so, but perhaps the boxer was simply more disciplined in terms of showing it.

But when Isolda arrived at the locksmith's shop with the newly cleaned wheelbarrow in tow, she would find that Ciran, in contrast, had a much more downbeat expression. He seemed preoccupied with some undoubtedly troubling thoughts even before setting eyes upon the swordswoman's two Talean cohorts. From the clues, she could guess that it probably wasn't jealousy, but more of a feeling of alienation, or separation, upon realizing the vast difference in their worlds. "Oh, uh... yeah. Thank you. Take care of yourself," was all that he said in response, forcing a smile as his gaze shifted away from hers. Nonetheless, his view once again met her back as the wanderer made her exit.

Regardless of his latest feelings for Isolda or her feelings for him, the day moved on, and so she arrived at the pawnshop, receiving an offer for her goods from the one running it. Despite her appearance, however, Isolda was very well-traveled, enough so to know that the deal was far from a good one. As she let her suspicions be known in rather civil ways, the wanderer found the shopkeeper's expression shift noticeably, from the facade of an expert to the guilt of a thief being caught red-handed. The Deunic merchant's face dropped as Isolda began to list off more believable prices for the items she laid on the table in short order. Clearly, this mysterious woman knew what she was doing.

However, after seeing that she was still willing to compromise, he nodded to her several times, giving her a smile that wasn't completely for show. After all, the deal was still in his favor, and not a terrible increase from what he originally asked. There was still profit to be made despite the questions that came with a clearly Western woman bringing in the belongings of a higher class Deunic citizen. "One hundred forty? Very well," he replied. Should Isolda accept, he would then count out the appropriate amount of currency in gold and push the stacks towards her before moving the goods on the other side of the counter, where several others like them sat waiting to be cleaned. A selection of metallic goods, mostly rusted, lay in numerous piles behind and beside him. Weapons, shields, armor, lamps, jeweled necklaces, musical instruments and assorted pieces of furniture littered the rather cluttered shop, but nothing particularly interesting stood out to Isolda for the time being, unless she fancied a common Deunic weapon, helmet, or piece of jewelry.

Just when the merchant thought he had gotten away with a fair deal and nothing more, Isolda lay several vials full of liquid on the counter, prompting the half-shrouded salesman to raise a brow. He then gave the woman in front of him a skeptical look, but proceeded anyway after a short pause. Starting with the bottle of clear liquid, he removed the cover and allowed it to pass by his nose only briefly, catching a whiff of the slightly sweet aroma. "This is for inducing unconsciousness," he said flatly before replacing the top. There were questions in his eyes as the temptation to ask where she acquired such materials lingered, but he thought better of it, moving on to the next--the vials filled with blue liquid. As with the first, he removed the stopper, taking a small sample between his fingers and pressing it together. "This, it increases the skin's sensitivity. Good for pleasure... or for torture," he said grimly, thoroughly wiping his digits off afterwards with a nearby cloth.

Finally, he picked up the syringe of red liquid. A closer, longer look was taken at the compound. Frowning, he shook his head. "I don't know this one. Sorry."

Spoiler

Acquired 140 gold.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

It wasn't difficult at all for Isolda to earn a reaction out of Renan with her subtle gesture; as she touched him, a faint, dreamy smile inadvertently formed upon the Talean's face, with his gaze moving straight ahead and slightly upwards. She could only guess what he might have been fantasizing about, but given the indicators it was most surely a lewd sort of daydream. Like many men before him, the islander had seemingly fallen prey to the promise of the vast pleasures that Isolda proved herself capable of granting. His cohort less so, but perhaps the boxer was simply more disciplined in terms of showing it.

But when Isolda arrived at the locksmith's shop with the newly cleaned wheelbarrow in tow, she would find that Ciran, in contrast, had a much more downbeat expression. He seemed preoccupied with some undoubtedly troubling thoughts even before setting eyes upon the swordswoman's two Talean cohorts. From the clues, she could guess that it probably wasn't jealousy, but more of a feeling of alienation, or separation, upon realizing the vast difference in their worlds. "Oh, uh... yeah. Thank you. Take care of yourself," was all that he said in response, forcing a smile as his gaze shifted away from hers. Nonetheless, his view once again met her back as the wanderer made her exit.

There wasn't much more that Isolda could do about that, and so she simply took his well wishes with a nod and turned to walk away, leaving Ciran where he was. It was something that bothered her perhaps more than it should, but she couldn't help but dwell on the locksmith's traumatic experience and how badly it had changed his immediate behavior. Was that normal? Was it how a person ought to act after something like that? To Isolda it was nothing more than another scuffle, ending in the deaths of men weaker than her by far who had clearly not deserved to live any longer. She had oft held the lives of others somewhat callously, but it wasn't as if she treated her own with much more value, was it? After all, she went into violence with the knowledge that someday, it was likely that she would bite off more than she could chew, or that a lucky hit would simply spell her end as it very nearly had earlier that day when the slaver leader had made his slash for her throat. Was such a threat of violence and a violent end really that horrifying to so called normal people? Was Ciran's reaction, perhaps, the more human one, while her own lack of empathy was born of her voidic blood and violent upbringing was something that marked her as subhuman?

Again Isolda's thoughts strayed to the day that her mother had been killed, a scene that may very well have repeated itself with Ciran had things not played out in her favor as they had. She had pondered it much these last few days, more often than normal, and her pondering of it led her to question why she thought of it now. She liked Ciran, surely, but she didn't try to fool herself into believing that she loved him. While anything but a romantic and certainly a skeptic about many things, Isolda didn't once doubt that real love as was spoken of existed. She had seen it, in the only place she had ever truly called home, between Ulfring and Fritha, and the bond between those two was not something that the wanderer thought she would ever dare be able to question. It was also not something that she thought herself able to find or make for herself, however, and even with her occasional odd thoughts cropping up Isolda wouldn't go so far as to say that she was anything more than infatuated with the locksmith.

So why then was she so conflicted over what had happened? Violence always followed in her wake, and many whom she met along her journeys were swept up or involved in it by way of proxy just as Ciran had been. He was hardly the first man or woman that she had taken as a regular lover who wasn't a warrior of any sort themselves, but it certainly was the first time she'd become so distressed over their problems... And for all her efforts, Isolda simply could not figure out why.

Regardless of his latest feelings for Isolda or her feelings for him, the day moved on, and so she arrived at the pawnshop, receiving an offer for her goods from the one running it. Despite her appearance, however, Isolda was very well-traveled, enough so to know that the deal was far from a good one. As she let her suspicions be known in rather civil ways, the wanderer found the shopkeeper's expression shift noticeably, from the facade of an expert to the guilt of a thief being caught red-handed. The Deunic merchant's face dropped as Isolda began to list off more believable prices for the items she laid on the table in short order. Clearly, this mysterious woman knew what she was doing.

However, after seeing that she was still willing to compromise, he nodded to her several times, giving her a smile that wasn't completely for show. After all, the deal was still in his favor, and not a terrible increase from what he originally asked. There was still profit to be made despite the questions that came with a clearly Western woman bringing in the belongings of a higher class Deunic citizen. "One hundred forty? Very well," he replied. Should Isolda accept, he would then count out the appropriate amount of currency in gold and push the stacks towards her before moving the goods on the other side of the counter, where several others like them sat waiting to be cleaned. A selection of metallic goods, mostly rusted, lay in numerous piles behind and beside him. Weapons, shields, armor, lamps, jeweled necklaces, musical instruments and assorted pieces of furniture littered the rather cluttered shop, but nothing particularly interesting stood out to Isolda for the time being, unless she fancied a common Deunic weapon, helmet, or piece of jewelry.

Just when the merchant thought he had gotten away with a fair deal and nothing more, Isolda lay several vials full of liquid on the counter, prompting the half-shrouded salesman to raise a brow. He then gave the woman in front of him a skeptical look, but proceeded anyway after a short pause. Starting with the bottle of clear liquid, he removed the cover and allowed it to pass by his nose only briefly, catching a whiff of the slightly sweet aroma. "This is for inducing unconsciousness," he said flatly before replacing the top. There were questions in his eyes as the temptation to ask where she acquired such materials lingered, but he thought better of it, moving on to the next--the vials filled with blue liquid. As with the first, he removed the stopper, taking a small sample between his fingers and pressing it together. "This, it increases the skin's sensitivity. Good for pleasure... or for torture," he said grimly, thoroughly wiping his digits off afterwards with a nearby cloth.

Finally, he picked up the syringe of red liquid. A closer, longer look was taken at the compound. Frowning, he shook his head. "I don't know this one. Sorry."

Spoiler

Acquired 140 gold.

It all turned out even better than she'd expected, for a second time that day. The merchant, after hearing her counteroffer on the goods, had elected not to try to haggle her down on them after seeing the discount she was offering. The number she'd given was well below what she probably could have gotten with a little bit more persuasion, but she didn't want to spend long here and honestly wasn't hurting for money after the last few days. Including what she'd stashed at Ciran's place, Isolda had over a thousand gold to her name at that point, plus a number of new weapons to practice with that would keep her from spending it on more frivolous things. The business proceedings had definitely helped to take her mind off of Ciran, at least, and it was with a genuine smile that Isolda nodded and said; "Deal!"

After that came the display of her various alchemical finds, and Isolda offered each in turn, nodding at the answers and asking only one question when the blue vials were discussed; "Is that for topical use, or something that needs to be drunk?" Once that was answered, Isolda was content with what she knew and stashed the lot of it away before saying; "It's quite alright. You've assisted me more than enough as it is, good sir. Tis why I don't regret letting go of those goods at such a steal~ Perhaps I'll wander by again sometime! For now, however, I must bid you good day!" She would close her goodbye with a word of Deunic, a language that she wasn't particularly fluent in by any means but that she could speak and understand a small smattering of words in, just enough to get by.

Once that was finished, Isolda had little left to do but to heft the back of locks and go on to the slaver's headquarters. If the last man to die had been telling the truth, there wouldn't be too many men there, and hopefully she'd be able to clean them out without too much trouble. If he'd been lying, she was going in as alert as she could be without drawing upon her voidic gifts, something that she was doing entirely too much of late, and had a cover story that would hopefully allow her to walk out without any trouble. After all, it wasn't as if they could know that their boss had arrived, right? She'd killed the three and left none save Ciran the wiser, and was arriving while it was still technically morning, or at least close enough to it for it to count with some apologies. One way or another, the wanderer was on her way to her next bit of violence, and her dark blood had already begun to sing at the prospect of the upcoming bloodshed, which was far more to her preference than the brawl that she had engaged in earlier that day.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

"You apply it to the areas you want to be affected by it," replied the tan-skinned dealer. "Yes, yes. If that is all, I appreciate your business..." he trailed off somewhat dismissively, only to show visible surprise at the pale-skinned woman's capability for Deunic. Few people bothered to learn the language, but the tidbit that Isolda gave him was enough to earn a curious look from the shopkeeper--and also from her two cohorts. "Ilá al-liqā," he replied with a raised brow and a partially cultivated grin, somewhere in between amusement and suspicion. As soon as the swordswoman and her party left, the partially shrouded man could be seen turning his attentions downward to something behind the counter.

With Sorio and Renan in tow, Isolda made her way to the slavers' hideout. She remembered the directions well. West port of town, directly south of warehouse six. It was located on a relatively isolated street corner, and while the larger font upon its main sign was in Deunic, below it read, in common Elynsorian, 'Oserra Debtors' Guild'. This was the place.

Whether she chose to make a flashy entrance or a more discreet one, the front entrance led to a lobby of sorts, with only one obvious entrance to what Isolda could guess to be the back rooms. A lone Deunic man with a lengthy beard was standing behind a long wooden counter typical of most businesses in town. His brow furrowed when he looked up to spot the odd mix of a pale, white-haired woman flanked by two Taleans. His expression strained ever so slightly as he tried to figure out what these strangers could be here for, and whether or not he should be worried. Were they... mercenaries? Either way, he didn't recognize them, and they didn't have an appointment to his knowledge. "Ahem... I am sorry, but unless you already have business with us, we are not taking any new jobs right now," he pronounced.

How Isolda chose to handle this receptionist of sorts was up to her.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

It was an easy thing, displaying that tiny bit of knowledge, but it did seem to make the shopkeeper happy... In a way. Nodding, Isolda turned to leave, but didn't manage to suppress the mild sense of discomfort that rose as she saw him looking beneath his table. It was undoubtedly nothing, but the wanderer couldn't help but feel mildly suspicious at his actions anyway.

The slaver's headquarters, a legitimate business in Havenport, would be found without too much trouble right where Isolda had been told it was. Today had been a mixed bag so far, and now it was time to add the biggest gambles she intended to make that day. Striding inside without any effort at being inconspicuous, Isolda smirked at the receptionist's attempt to be rid of her before hoisting the bag and jangling it in front of her.

"Cute~ I'm not looking for a job today, Whiskers! I'm finishing one!" she said with a grin, offering this man nowhere near the respect she'd displayed to the pawnbroker given her plans for the group. "I've got the locks you ordered, as promised! I'm here to see your boss, smiley guy.... Adon, or something like that? He was by Ciran's shop yesterday, told me to take them in back but didn't tell me where specifically. You okay with that, or do you know where they need to go?" If a door was present for her to proceed further back into the depths of the slaver's headquarters, Isolda wouldn't even wait for the man to reply before heading over toward it, again hoisting the sack over her shoulder. Now was where it got tricky, and she would need to be careful not to get herself in over her head or let herself get caught by surprise, but for now she would rely as much on her lies and on bravado as she would on her situational awareness to keep herself, Renan, and Sorio out of trouble.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

"I... see," the man blurted out in reply, unable to react with much other than a dumbfounded stare thanks to Isolda's unpredecented boldness. "You mean Abon? The locks... ah. They go in the back, then downstairs," he added without thinking.

Something didn't quite add up, however. He'd never seen this person before. Was she some kind of deliverywoman? What was she doing coming into the place fully armed? Didn't Abon himself leave not terribly long ago to pick up the locks personally? And... who were these two Talean men? All of the questions that ran through his mind were certainly valid enough for one supposedly keeping watch over the place to ask.

But before the clerk could even decide on which would be asked first, Isolda and her crew had already strode into the backroom. "U-Uh, wait," he stammered, still befuddled by the sheer audacity with which this strange woman had infiltrated the establishment.

By then, Isolda had already entered the back room. She stepped into a rather dimly lit chamber, with the only 'windows' being small and placed up high near the ceiling. There were no obvious exits here, and not a single slave or cage in sight--only a few barrels of wine and a rack of weapons to one side and a bookshelf with assorted documents on the other. In the center of the room was a round wooden table on top of an ornate carpet, where four Deunic men sat glaring at each other over what appeared to be a tabletop game of sorts involving a marked board and numerous pieces carved from stone. They turned in unison towards Isolda and her two partners after they entered. It didn't take them very long at all to realize that the newcomers didn't belong there. Outsiders always came accompanied by one of their own, but these three didn't--something was up. As suspicion shifted to alarm, they swiftly stood up from their seats; three of them drew daggers from their belts, while the last, who was closest to the weapon rack, managed to retrieve a long, curved sword from the cache.

Either way, Isolda had succeeded in gaining their attention, but whether or not she wanted to make an excuse or start a fight right then and there was up to her. The area wasn't quite large enough for her to wield Serpentinus effectively, but there wasn't any immediate reason that she couldn't cut them down with her primary weapon, provided she didn't get too careless.

Spoiler

Enemies appeared!
Slaver Thug x 4

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

"Abon was it? I don't remember all that well... It was definitely an A name though! Excellent, thank you!" Isolda replied to the clerk, speaking over his command to stop even as she proceeded right on through the door. She made no effort to keep him from following her, however, and though she pondered telling Sorio to knock the poor man out before proceeding onward she couldn't easily figure out a way to tell him without just saying the command out loud.

So, instead, on she went, proceeding into the next room brazenly with the sack of locks over her back and a confident smile upon her face. Appearing dumber than she actually was had often helped Isolda in dealing with people in the past, and it was the tact she was using with these slavers in the hopes of leaving them at least marginally disarmed. Stepping into the back room, Isolda found a dimly lit place that her eyes were as quick as ever to adjust to, where four of the slavers like the trio that she had killed earlier were sitting around playing a boardgame that she didn't have time to identify before they rose up and went for weapons.

"Wwooaagh! Woagh there! No need to grab the pointy bits gents, I'm just here to make a delivery!" she said, holding up one hand to display that it was empty and then holding out the sack of locks such that the metal would clink together audibly. "I was told to deliver these by your boss when he visited a friend's shop yesterday," she explained in an effort to maintain the lie from before, "when I got here your receptionist said I was supposed to take them into the back room and then downstairs! So, since this is obviously the back room, how do I get downstairs? I don't see any stairs here."

Isolda swept her gaze across them as she spoke, taking stock of each man one at a time while maintaining her smile and friendly attitude. It wasn't something that she expected to make the Deunic slavers friendly themselves of course, but appearing foppish would make it more likely that they would underestimate her, and given their apparent numbers it would be an easy enough matter to sweep through them if they opted to retain their violent disposition anyway. The ceiling of this room was fairly high, and the windows that permitted what little light was presented were small and set high, but there were no slaves present at the moment. The meant that the slaves were probably down here too, but it did largely confirm to Isolda's thinking that she had found the right place. The quarters were too cramped for her to use Serpentius, which was mildly disappointing given that she'd thought up some tricks she'd like to try with the serrated whip-sword, but it wasn't something that offered Isolda much worry.

"Look, you lot obviously don't want me here, and my friends and I have got better things to do today than trade glares. Tell me where to put your locks and I'll be on my way," she continued in a tone of attempted reason, and assuming that they put their weapons away she would simply proceed a few steps into the room until she stood in the most open area available. Glancing back at Renan and Sorio, she would jovially add; Why don't you two wait here a minute yeah? This won't take long, and that receptionist looked pretty tired. He might need a little help keeping awake." She would end her command with a wink that she hoped would signal to the duo that she wanted them to do a bit more than keep the man at the desk company, but then her attention would be turned fully back to the quartet of now armed men who faced her, and Isolda would adopt a stance that would put her feet set wide apart and place her hand on her hip - secretly the handle of Serpentius despite the lack of room to properly use the weapon - and say; "Well? Where is it? I haven't got all day!" Her brazen attitude would hopefully keep them from thinking too highly of her, particularly with her aura and pheromones left to their least intense settings since she wasn't calling upon any of her voidic abilities at that particular moment. Her stance was as much meant to leave her ready to for a fight as it was to be disarming, however, and if she had to fight it would a simple enough matter to dodge out of the way, with the added time to scan the room hopefully ensuring that she didn't walk into any traps.

(Full Defense, ho!)

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

The excuse she made for herself did little to erase the suspicious looks plastered upon the thugs' faces. But after seeing the sack full of the orders their boss had talked about for days, it was hard to turn her down, and so they lowered their weapons for the moment. Still, something was off, at least to one of them. The man with the sword, who was dressed in crimson robes, gave Isolda a good, long stare. "So where is Abon, then? He had you deliver the locks here instead?"

Sorio simply gave Isolda a brief nod, then motioned with his chin to Renan, who dutifully followed his partner back to the lobby--where they would inevitably collide into the now alarmed man attending the front desk. However, the bearded clerk would only be able to utter a single sharp syllable before a dull striking sound silenced him. No doubt he was made another victim of Sorio's fists, and Renan must have caught the man before his body hit the floor, given the lack of a follow-up sound. But Isolda's exclamation, made to express her impatience, did just enough to muffle the initial noise.

The four men exchanged brief glances before turning back to Isolda. "Hrm. Yes, it is about time the order arrived. We have a customer downstairs right now. Leave the locks with us," grunted the red-clad thug. If nothing else, she had managed to get these four to lower their guards for the time being, but now they were expecting her to hand over the goods and leave without incident. After all, that was what most couriers did...

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

"Hrm? Oh, he told me to come here yesterday, or at least this was the only place where he told me to go. Why? Isn't he here?" Isolda replied, feigning curiosity even though she knew exactly where the slaver's leader had gone. Behind her, she heard Sorio and Renan deal with the man outside and recognized that the other men hadn't even noticed. Hopefully the poor fool wasn't too badly hurt.

The mention of someone down below examining the goods caused Isolda to inwardly perk up with interest, but she hid that interest by springing forward with a grin on her face. "Sure? Who've you got downstairs, hrm?" she said innocently while approaching the table, crossing the distance in only a few short strides and holding up the sack as if to place it on the table. She doubted that she would receive an answer, however, and thus only hesitated for a moment before her smile became a good deal more sly as she added; "Someone from the Black Hepta, perhaps?"

She maintained her innocent tone, but needed little more than to see the looks on their faces to get her answer one way or another. Amazement was likely, to be sure, but a great deal of it would suggest that her guess was accurate, and the added bit of stunned surprise would be all that Isolda needed, both for confirmation and to give her the opportunity to end the quartet of slavers. The pale wanderer hurled the locks suddenly at the man most directly beside her, having put the nearest of the Deunic slavers on her left when she had approached the table, and then kicked the small table up at the man across from her while simultaneously stepping forward and drawing her sword from over her shoulder. The wide, heavy blade came alight as it came free of its sheath in a flash, and without skipping a beat Isolda swept her sword around in an arc.

She had taken stock of their heights, and of their stances, and of their reactions when she had first entered the room and been startled by her presence. She knew, or at least could guess, how they would flinch away at her sudden assault, and unless they surprised it was unlikely that any of the unarmored and lightly armed slavers would be able to withstand the powerful swing of her deadly blade. Her sword came down in an angle towards the first man, and her second hand caught the hilt just before it met his shoulder and turned the momentum of it until it was almost completely horizontal. The momentum of forward motion turned too, just as the table slammed against the legs of the man directly across from her and Isolda's sword came down at his neck, and her back foot lifted off of the ground as she spun in place. The strength of both arms and her spinning momentum carried Isolda's swing, first through one neck and then at the second in a swing aimed to kill all four of the men who had surrounded the table. The spin brought her round a 270 degrees, but her blade made a full 360 degree spin before ending up pointed behind her almost directly toward where the first man to be struck had stood, while her blood red cloak billowed out around her, obscuring her figure briefly as her blade sought to take the head from four men at once.

Spoiler

Using Whirlwind and Slay for a total of -30 attack, -10 damage, and -20 Dodge for the turn. All attacks that hit deal double damage.

Hellfang (+32) 1d12 + 1d8 + 35, x2
Dodge = 26

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

"What? He left to pay the locksmith a visit earlier, to check on him," replied the sword-wielding gangster. The wanderer's comment only caused a look of further puzzlement upon the faces of those before her due to what seemed like a disconnect in communication between parties. But if that was Isolda's goal to begin with, then she might be pleased to find that her attempt to perplex her victims was successful--enough so to get her within a more comfortable range for what came next.

As she strolled forward ever so casually, stopping only once she found a spot next to one of the puzzled men, she received a few replies to her questions.

"What..."
"H-How did you know? Did Abon tell you?"
"Of course. He comes here about the same time every week. If you wish to speak with him though, you'll have to--guhahh!" The one to her left wasn't given the chance to finish his sentence. While his dagger was already in hand, it was hardly a sufficient tool for deflecting the large cache of metal locks thrown in his direction. The rain of makeshift projectiles scattered, coming down hard and fast upon the first slaver. Several hit him in the face, and while they failed to knock him out, the momentary distraction did leave him stunned enough for Isolda to swiftly transition to her next move; kicking the round, wooden table up from underneath, which obscured the vision of the man across from her and left him unable to retaliate for precious fractions of a second--which she would surely need. The two to her right had already sprung into action, with the one closest to her aiming to plunge his dagger into her lower midsection, where a gap in her armor lay.

It was a move that Isolda knew to be a good target choice and a swiftly executed one at that, but that was exactly why the Mulweissen Form practitioner was prepared for it. As soon as her leg came down and planted itself upon the section of the floor in front of her, which responded with a hollow thud and a rattle, Isolda freed her blazing sword from its sheath, bringing it down and catching the man at his shoulder. The sheer force of her stroke pushed her opponent's thrust inches off-target down from where it needed to be, just beneath her crotch. The Deunic thug's knees buckled as Isolda drove her blade down deeper into his shoulder, causing a spray of blood to wet her face. The bloodshed only fueled Isolda's thirst for more, and with frightening speed she added a second hand to her grip before moving into a spin. At the start, she faced some resistance from the first man's neck, but the flames derived from her training in the Hardtslag Tradition made it much easier to slice through him completely as well as build up some much-needed momentum.

While the sheer level of violence displayed might have looked excessive, the moves were calculated such that everything was just enough--whether it turned out that way, or was simply by sheer coincidence, was anyone's guess. As soon as Isolda managed to free her sword from the first man's neck, having tensed her muscles to separate him from his top, the sudden lack of resistance caused the burning weapon to accelerate, and so it intercepted her second attacker's stroke just in time. The man with the sword, who was the next one over in a counterclockwise fashion, poorly made the choice to start an overhead chop far too late, and so both his hands, along with his head, were lost before he could complete the motion. Hellfang bit into the necks of the third and fourth slavers before Isolda's slash was completely finished, and the momentum she had already established did well to ensure that four different heads rolled to a stop on the ground afterwards. It was a grand total of about three or four seconds--not that anyone in the room, save for Isolda, was capable of keeping track anymore.

The carpet beneath her, previously of a green and tan pattern, now had splatters of crimson added to its palette.

Spoiler

Well, good job. They're all dead.
+4 exp.

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

The last words of the last man almost made Isolda pause and rethink her actions, but by that point she was committed, and so she swung her burning blade in its deadly arc, and soon enough four headless corpses were laid out upon the floor. For a few seconds after the series of dull thuds that came as each man's head separately from his body, Isolda stood alone in the back room of the slaver's headquarters, the only sounds her soft breaths and the soft pitter-patter of fresh blood being spilled. The wanderer had felt the same thrill as she always experienced when she participated in such events, and as she inhaled the scent of that falling, burning blood she breathed in and out deeply. It was the first fight since arriving in Havenport that she'd had a serious fight in which she hadn't called upon her voidic gifts, not counting the scuffle with Gursh and Axodd, and the purity of it left her smiling inside.

The magic in her blood was an addicting thing, more so than the violence and sex that she used it for in some respects, and reminding herself that she wasn't reliant on it was something that she knew she wouldn't be hurt by. If the rest were only as strong as this lot, it was entirely possible that she wouldn't need to call on them at all, and with that thought in her head and one last deep sigh she gave a long blink and let a thrum of tension ease out of her stance. Whoever the Black Hepta representative was, they were here right now.... Down in the slave pens below, beneath the trap door that the table had apparently been supposed to hide.

"I found the way down," she announced loudly enough that Renan and Sorio would probably have heard it, but if they hadn't she would simply go out into the hall to acquire them. Once she was sure that the man who had been left to watch upstairs was securely locked with one of the manacles Ciran had provided, Isolda had the man left in the room with the dead, whom she quickly searched before dragging aside to get out of the way of the trap door. The heads she simply kicked in as macabre a display as she could, and the severed hands received similar treatment. The door into the back room was locked if she could manage it, Isolda not wanting any intrusions if such could be helped, but once that was taken care of it was time for them to see if the door she believed to be hidden beneath the table would open for them. Eager excitement thrummed through Isolda as she pondered what might wait for her below, but she tempered it with wariness in knowing that whoever had been sent would no doubt be dangerous if she were to underestimate them.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

As she might have expected, Isolda pulled the bloodied rug away from the center of the floor to reveal a rather plain cellar door. Renan and Sorio joined her fairly quickly, needing little time to finish their business with one now-unconscious receptionist. At her order, they dragged his limp form in, giving Isolda ample opportunity to apply the oddly-shaped 'manacles' onto the hapless Deunic immigrant. It was a peculiar design, made from a single lock with a length of sturdy yet smooth chain threaded twice through it so that might be adjusted; perfect for applying on slaves of various shapes and sizes. It was a fine display of craftsmanship from an apprentice like Ciran, who seemed to have such capabilities when applying himself--though it was obvious that his true interests lay elsewhere.

It didn't take very long at all to secure him and defile the bodies of his cohorts in short order; the entire process took well under a minute, with the man still out by the time Isolda gave the order to descend. He'd most likely rise to a very gruesome scene. Whenever it was he did come to, she would likely know by his screams unless Isolda took extra efforts to gag him as well. But when she was ready to move on, the wanderer would find that the slightly heavy cellar door swung upwards to open without much trouble. A metal loop where a padlock could be placed was present upon the edge of the door, but none was attached to it for the time being. Light from several torches could be seen fluttering in the dungeon down below, which, unlike the wooden construction of the building above, had an interior that was lined with countless thick, solid bricks, each the size of a stack of books.

The underground area was composed of a relatively narrow corridor, roughly thirty meters long and flanked with numerous holding cells secured by iron lattices. None of these were empty; they were all packed with slaves of various nationalities, from Taleans to Brevnians. Multiple prisoners had little choice but to share the same cells, segregated by gender though the vast majority were women. They weren't malnourished or terribly filthy, either, save for a select few; chances are, these were fairly 'fresh' captures. Some of them looked up at Isolda with a mix of surprise and confusion. Was she their savior? Or just another customer? While a few took on hopeful expressions, others seemed indifferent. Several Talean women began to plead with Sorio and Renan in their native language, presumably begging their countrymen to help set them free. The boxer's brow furrowed as Renan found such cries difficult to ignore. "Isolda, we... need to get everyone out of here," said the less muscular of the two men. "Whatever it is you are looking for in this place, after you find it, let's at least free the slaves afterwards."

They didn't have to look long, as a small cluster of men were peering at a few of the prisoners near the end of the hallway. Unfortunately, the rather simple construction of the place also didn't lend itself very well to any form of stealth, with only option to 'hide' being to duck into one of the nearby cells--but those were all closed off. There was only one route--ahead, as Isolda's Talean cohorts didn't seem terribly keen on just leaving several of their own kind to the whims of a few Deunic slavers.

As for the thugs themselves, there were four in total, loosely gathered around the customer; a tall, eerily handsome man with white hair and pale, strong features, clad in maille and a cuirass made from tempered plate. In terms of appearance, he was very similar to the swordswoman, save for any elven features. Something was odd, otherworldly about him, and she would know without more than a glance that he was Voidic, or at least partially so, because the effect he had on the wanderer was oddly captivating--the same way that Isolda herself seemed to stun many others with her sheer presence yet leave them unsettled at the same time. A large, peculiar sword hung diagonally across his back. One of his arms was wrapped in bandages and slung in front of his trunk, the same way many people did to nurse a broken limb. 'One-Hander'... was this the 'Nottis' that the Black Hepta were talking about?

One of the Deunic slavers could be seen right next to the man, attempting to make the prisoners they were viewing sound more appealing by the tone of his voice. However, the visitor simply rubbed his chin, hesitating. His expression quickly changed as if he had smelled something quite nice. Apparently he did; the stranger turned his head to look at the newcomers, and appeared quite pleased to spot Isolda amongst them, in contrast to the hostile expressions that the four thugs had immediately taken. "On second thought, I think I've found who I've been looking for all this time," he could be heard saying with a mirthful tone.

The slaver closest to the mysterious swordsman placed a hand over the hilt of his sheathed blade, turning to the trio. "What are you doing here? Where is Abon?!" He was clearly suspicious. He had right to be, as well; no customer came into the dungeon unaccompanied by an employee of the Oserra Debtors' Guild. Little did he know that Isolda had given the desert-dweller all of the reasons in the world to be as wary as he was, with those very reasons being in pieces one floor above as well as within the bellies of a few pigs several blocks down. But would she attempt to lessen his apprehension, or would she do away with the facades right then and there?

 

[Tassadar]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Isolda did indeed gag the sole living man with whatever was handy, and after some consideration she opted blindfold him as well. She had no idea how much the receptionist had to do with the slaving business, but if he was just a worker there was no sense in exposing him to the fact that he had been left bound, gagged, and alone in a room full of corpses. Either way, she and her two Talean companions were soon down the trapdoor leading down into the room below. In the meantime, she partially refilled the sack of locks and replaced her sword in its sheath over her shoulder once the blood had been cleaned from it, figuring that a chance at another surprise attack couldn't hurt.

When they found it full of cages, those that they saw of them all filled and sometimes containing two or more individuals, the wanderer wasn't particularly surprised. The success of the slavers was a bit of a surprise, mind, but in the end it made little difference to Isolda. The slavers would soon be dead, after all, and their successes before then wouldn't matter. "That was the plan... I came here mostly to kill these particular slavers, and that a Black Hepta member is supposed to be here is just sort of a bonus," she replied quietly to her Renan, keeping her voice low. The layout of the place made stealth more or less impossible, so she didn't bother to try and silence slaves who pleaded with them for freedom. All in good time.

Soon enough they came upon the sight of the group that were surveying the slaves, and what Isolda found then gave her a brief moment of pause. She recognized that figure's voidic heritage instantly as it practically called out to her own, and the sight of the one arm wrapped in bandages identified the figure without any question. This was Nottis, and for a moment Isolda was caught between excitement and the desire to flee, feeling herself unprepared to face this threat. The former won out quickly, however, and she simply continued to stride forward confidently, her sword having been replaced over her shoulder.

It wasn't long before she was similarly noticed, and she briefly gestured for Renan and Sorio to hold back before again jingling the partially filled bag of locks while continuing her approach, noting the immediate reaction of both slavers and client. "Oh? Well I'm afraid that you'll have to wait a minute," she said, directing her comment to Nottis, "I've other business to attend to before I can ascertain quite what you mean." Directing her attention to the slavers, Isolda casually held up her free hand to display that it was empty and said; "Relax! I'm only here to make a delivery! Abon talked to me yesterday about it, and since he apparently wasn't here your friends above told me to bring these down here. The locks, or whatever you lot commissioned!"

Her goal was to get closer, and to eliminate the slavers before she could get to dealing with Nottis. Isolda doubted that that was going to happen cleanly, however, and would need to adjust her plan based on how the slavers and their would-be client reacted to her bold advance.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Gangs of Havenport (Tassadar) GMed by Takimaru

Status:

Spoiler

Isolda: HP = 91/91, PP = 41, EP = 42/42, Status = Normal

Renan displayed a swell of relief upon hearing Isolda's reassurance that she would find a way to free his fellow Taleans. He wasn't surprised in the least to hear that the task would be accomplished via the merciless slaughter of the Deunic slavers. It made little difference to him, considering the battles that they had fought in over the course of just one day. The islander already knew of Isolda's odd, almost disturbing penchant for violence, which in hindsight might have been part of why he often appeared so fearful of her--even when she was offering him only the greatest of sexual delights.

But now was the time for violence, so it appeared... until he set eyes on the intimidating man of nearly Gremic proportions standing alongside the slavers. A wave of dread passed over the knife-wielder's features as he took a step back, placing a hand over the handle of his blade. Meanwhile, Sorio furrowed his brow, glanced sideways at Isolda, then back to the group of potential enemies before them. It was likely that even the experienced boxer sensed the same degree of danger that the others did, but he was far better at masking his emotions than his naturally more expressive partner.

The unknown swordsman's somewhat coy expression only faded just slightly when Isolda opted to turn her attention to the Deunic men next to him. Though her excuse about being there solely for the purpose of delivering the locks was likely as good as any, the dark-skinned immigrants were not as thrilled to hear it this time around. It still didn't add up that she was unaccompanied by one of their own, instead having two unknown Taleans by her side.

"No one comes down here without an escort," said the bespectacled man who was previously seen trying to persuade the white-haired stranger into a deal. "And you are down here with two other strangers. So where is Mahir? Razin? Umair? Surely they would come down if I called for them to confirm your identity, yes? Either way, if you are truly in league with the Oserra Debtors' Guild, you would know that such deliveries are left upstairs in the back room." He narrowed his eyes.

Another of the thugs, the largest in the group save for their pale visitor, growled and took two steps forward, seething with anger. "She lies! And to bring two Taleans with her... this is no mercenary, not one on our side!" he exclaimed, loudly enough that his voice echoed through the hall. "There's only one way she could have come down here without Mahir or the others, and that's by killing them! You bitch... I'll have your head for this!"

Gripping the hilt of his sheathed scimitar, he dashed forward, drawing it simultaneously in the hopes of cutting down Isolda in a flash. Instinctively, Sorio took a step forward as well... but he would find that any attempt to defend the half-elven beauty was unnecessary just a spli second later. The angry Deunic thug hadn't even finished drawing his sword as he fell forward to the ground on his second step. His severed head fell to the floor just a second later as a large puddle of blood quickly spread beneath his body.

The white-haired swordsman could be seen behind him with his massive sword already unslung and held to the side in the follow-through of his lightning quick stroke. While the other three slavers of the Oserra group were around him, they found themselves paralyzed with fear.

"I did mention that she was the one I was looking for... didn't I? Are all of you this dense?" lamented the man aloud, his gaze shifting sideways at the others. They dared not move against him after seeing the display.

Looking back to Isolda, he adopted a softer tone, regaining his composure. "I can only imagine what you might be here for. But you are different from anyone else here, and I can certainly tell. I would really like to have a chat with you, preferrably a civil one. That is, without the company of our... accessories," he continued, pointing with his eyes towards Renan and Sorio, as well as to the last three members of the Oserra Debtors' Guild present.

"The... the slaves," Renan stammered, trying his best to fight off the fear. "We're not leaving here without them!" It was an impressive display for someone who had occasionally shown themselves vulnerable to the call of cowardice.

While this 'Nottis' could have lashed out at the Talean in response, instead, he shrugged a shoulder and motioned to the cells with his chin. "...Oh, is that what you are here for? Very well. If it means that this beauty will have a meeting with me, then free every last slave from these pens. I have no need for anyone kept in here."

The slaver with the glasses frowned, barely managing to make his protest. "B-But..."

"Then I might reimburse you for your troubles--provided you not waste my time with any further questions. Do it," ordered the swordsman in a more firm voice.

Reluctantly, the Deunic trio produced their keys and began to open the cells one by one. The prisoners seemed hesitant at first, but after a few seconds they began to flock behind Isolda, Renan and Sorio. Renan blinked his eyes a few times in absolute surprise, but wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. As soon as the newly freed prisoners came to his side, he hurried to guide them upstairs.

"By the way... my name is Nottis. Now that the others are out of the way, do we have an agreement?"

Sorio looked to Isolda for a moment, awaiting her response. Naturally, the pugilist appeared hesitant to leave the wanderer in the company of this man who was apparently the leader of one of Havenport's fastest growing gangs, one who had taken an apparent interest in her no less. But it was Isolda's decision in the end, one that Sorio would respect as he had any of her previous choices.