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Post by Adam on Jun 10, 2015 20:56:28 GMT -5
Part One: First part of a new short story of one of Blank's adventures.
It was as grand and opulent a scene as could be imagined. Lanterns dotted the façade of the mansion, illuminating it with eldritch light. A vast and fecund garden ran the circumference of the structure. The building itself was a marvel of architecture, four stories tall, intricate designs carved into the columns, the ledges and trim adorned with decadent friezes, all set on specially treated walls that shone gold in the sun and glowed silver by the moon. Surrounding such a magnificent edifice was of course was equally imperious security. Twenty feet high wrought iron bars, closely spaced and firmly set in stone, surrounded the complex. Each bar was meticulously coated in a smooth film, eliminating any friction from their surface. House guards stood at all doors and regular intervals around the building as well as patrolling the gardens. It was a breathtaking and imposing spectacle to behold. And she was going to break into it.
A week before…
Blank sat in her room reading alone as she often did. The house was quiet at the moment, with only faint murmurs from the streets outside occasionally creeping in. It was as peaceful and tranquil as could be managed given the neighborhood. However she knew as soon as he returned the silence would be broken. She was currently reading a book of elven poetry by some high elf or other. The names of the authors didn’t concern her, only the quality of their words. This one’s words, while a bit too flowery for her taste, was enjoyable. It spoke of longing for an unobtainable love and the sorrow and emotion that followed. Reading between the lines however revealed it was actually about a lost love rather than one never attained. She read into the evening and continued for a time after the sun had set. When she finally woke from her reverie, she noticed the darkness and stillness of the house. She quickly rose from her chair and moved about the house lighting the various lanterns, illuminating the area. She knew that if it was this late and he still hadn’t returned, it could mean only one of two things. After lighting the last lantern she sat in the living area and waited. She would have her answer soon enough. After sitting and waiting for an hour, a cacophonous sound broke the silence. Three distinct voices could be heard as they approached from down the street. The seemed to be shouting about something, but what wasn’t yet discernable. Blank listen intently for a moment. As the group neared, she noticed something, they weren’t simply shouting, they were singing. It was a rather bawdy song about spending time with a wench, or at least the parts she could understand. The rest was a mixture of slurred Orc and common. The voices stopped outside the door and a powerful pounding on it followed. Blank hurried to the door, to prevent it from being knocked down, and opened it to witness the cacophonous choir. “Hey Blank, nice ta see ya,” were the first words out a bandaged and besotted Crump. The two orcs half holding, half dragging him, were in similar states. “We had a hell of day!” shouted one. “Killing, looting, screwing, sometimes at the same time!” added the other. They both laughed loudly at the crude implications of the statement. “And then the drinking started!” “Yeah, that’s when we really started to raise hell!” The pair of orcs laughed once more. Blank simply stood, arms folded, annoyance apparent on her face. The orcs either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. They dumped Crump onto her, “Ya done good today Crump. See ya later.” Blank strained under the weight of the inebriated half-orc, barely keeping him upright. The orcs laughed once more at the sight of the small elven woman holding up the massive Crump. They slammed the door shut and wandered off down the road, their off-key singing relaying their gradual withdrawal into the night. Crump was half conscious in Blank’s arms, head lolling and legs of jelly. A stupid grin stuck on his face, “Good guys they are. We should have them over sometime.” Blank ignored the comment and helped him over to the couch she had been sitting on. As soon as she sat down with him, he immediately fell to the side. She sighed with weary resignation, she wouldn’t be able to scold him tonight. She removed Crump’s armor and boots, coercing his cooperation as necessary, before hoisting his legs onto the couch with the rest of him. He responded with only grunts, grumbles and other unintelligible responses. Finally situated on the couch, she retrieved a blanket and covered him with for the night. With that done, she proceeded to walk the house and extinguish the lanterns. With the house dark, she returned to living area to check on Crump before turning in. He hadn’t moved from the couch. The half-orc slumbered deeply and loudly on the couch. Satisfied she turned to her room, however something caught her attention. Just on the edge of her sight, she noticed a slip of paper at the door. She picked it up, inspecting it for a possible origin. It wasn’t from the orcs, it lacked their scent and was far too clean. Also, from what Crump told her, Orcs never use thieves, operating in the shadows wasn’t their way. She opened the note to read it, only to discover it was written in thieves’ cant. Clearly someone intended this for her eyes only. Blank was intrigued; from the use of the cant, they wished to appear street savvy and cunning, yet the symbols were written too cleanly to be from a fellow felon. This note was written at a proper desk with a quill and inkwell. A scribe to be sure, although acting on behalf of someone more important undoubtedly. With analysis of the note done, she read its actual content. “Leaf, feather.” It was all the information she needed. Blank quickly changed out of her house dress and into something more appropriate for meeting a potential client. Loose rags concealed her face as well as her leather armor and daggers. Her preparations finished, she left the house and journeyed to the meeting area.
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Post by Adam on Jun 13, 2015 6:33:50 GMT -5
Part Two: I normally stick to one entry a week, but since this one is so short I'll go ahead and post it now and post a longer one next time we play.
The streets at night were abandoned save for a few pitiful souls. Some were drunkards, shambling toward what they believe is home; some beggars, without a better option for the night; and in the darkness were fellow operatives; each heading for a different target. Blank discerned the other rogues’ locations but made no move to acknowledge them. It was the generally accepted etiquette never to interfere with one another to and from their destinations. She made her way silently and swiftly down the maze of alleyways and byways of the city, her destination was close. She arrived at an old yet maintained building, an apothecary situated on the borders of the slums. The leaf symbol indicated such, and this was the only one affiliated with thieves that hosted meetings at night, as the black feather specified. The meetings were always held in the cellar, and accordingly it was never locked at night. She opened the doors and headed down. The space itself was dry and sheltered from the elements, perfect for any squatter looking for a place during the night. Yet should one ever attempt to spend a night here and encountered a clandestine exchange, there would be one less vagrant in the streets. A single candle in the center of the room provided the only source of illumination, and a solitary figure the only possible envoy. The man started at her sudden appearance in the cellar, hand on his sword. Blank procured the note from her sleeve at held it before her, showing the contents to him. She quickly studied him as he relaxed his stance. He was a head taller than she was and dressed in garb not dissimilar to her own. Yet even in the limited light she noticed the several telling details. His physique too honed for a common rogue, his sword too fresh to be from a hardened warrior, and his stance painted him as someone trying to be inconspicuous. This was clearly a house guard sent to relay a task from his masters. However her face remained placid, no need to expose an employer’s secrets from the onset; sours the deal and worries the employer. After settling for a moment he spoke, “So, you must be Blank,” his voice was low and even, yet traces of unease could be detected. She didn’t respond. He tried again, “They say you are the best…” Still nothing, only her silver eyes staring at him in the darkness indicated she was paying him any mind. He tensed slightly, “I’m here on behalf of someone important to the city, so listen when I speak!” To this she simply folded her arms in annoyance. Clearly this man had no idea how these discussions were conducted, but his master’s money was as good as any so she would endure him. The man grew embarrassed at his loss of composure and afraid of the Drow’s apparent growing impatience. “Um, pardon me ma’am, I um….” he trailed off. An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. A cocked eyebrow from her was the only sign that Blank was waiting for him to continue. “I, uh, yes well,” he cleared his throat and started again, “The man I represent is willing to pay handsomely for a bit of sabotage. One of his rivals is poised to seize an opportunity that should by all rights be my master’s. Your job is to see to it that the rival fails. This will make it so.” He produced a small pouch and threw it to her. It hit the candle in midflight and the room went black. “Shit!” The man scrambled in the dark trying desperately to relight the candle and retrieve the pouch. After a few minutes of crawling along the floor, he found the candle and finally illuminated the room once more. Blank and the pouch were gone.
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Post by Corey the GM on Jun 13, 2015 8:03:51 GMT -5
Dun dun duuuuh! Twist.
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Post by Adam on Jun 17, 2015 22:26:30 GMT -5
Part 3: In case anyone cares, this story takes place before A Past Experience.
Blank left that embarrassment of a meeting at her first opportunity. After the guard clumsily tossed the satchel at her and darkened the room, she caught it before it hit the floor and quickly left the cellar, leaving him to stumble in the dark. If he was any kind of professional, he would never find employment again. As it was however, the simple house guard was only doing as he was bid; his master was the real novice. After Blank wound her way through slums once more, she arrived home to plan the job. Crump was still sprawled unconscious on the couch. Under normal circumstances, she would return to her room and turn in for the night. Unfortunately the source of this commission was the recently elevated Lord Barton. Alexander Barton, now Lord Barton, was the head of a house that had struck new veins of gold not three months ago. They ran deep into the ground and tremendously elevated the status of the once insignificant house in that brief period. With their new found wealth, they were able to buy their way into prominence. Yet the old houses still held sway in the court of the local duke, something House Barton couldn’t buy. The guard revealed everything about his employer simply by showing up. The sword was new, recently purchased from one local smiths or traders. Yet it was also plain, the kind one would acquire in bulk for a private army or house guard. He was fit, yet on edge, untested and freshly recruited, as one would be if just hired for a new unit. House Barton’s guard was the only one that fit. The fact that he even used a guard for this was even more telling. Until recently, House Barton never needed spies or representatives, their most pressing concerns were mundane. Now with power and influence came real danger. Lord Barton knew nothing of the city’s networks, whom to trust or whom to avoid. Most likely he felt comfortable trusting only his own house and those it employed. He would soon learn that a guard can only be trusted if you continue to pay him, where as a good thief only needs to be paid once and he will always maintain his silence; a thief who talks is a thief who dies. For a simple message to be delivered, any common agent would have sufficed. The “rival” the guard mentioned was the great House Langston. A house as old as the duchy, House Langston had prestige unmatched and wealth unsurpassed by any other. The only house that came close in terms of capital was Barton. That Lord Barton considered himself the equal of Trevor Langston, the current head of his house, was absurd. Trevor Langston had proven himself on the battlefield more times than most generals; the largest skirmish Barton had even been close to was minor scuffle between two farmers over a stray cow. Langston has hosted lords and ladies from noble houses throughout the known world; until three months ago, the most esteemed dignitary Barton had ever hosted was a drunken dwarven diplomat who got lost on his way to the city. “And yet here I am, working for Barton against Langston, so what did that say about me?” Blank mused. The opportunity that she was supposed to transfer to House Barton was the appointment of a new commander of the city’s garrison. Lord Langston’s niece, Serena, was the expected choice for the position, yet Lord Barton was able to garner enough support to put forth his son, Nathaniel, as a possible candidate. Serena was an able warrior, however she had never lead men in battle before. Nathaniel was supposedly charismatic, yet was as battle hardened as his father. In theory, the position would require the commander to hold off any and all assaults to the city, however, with peace between the neighboring duchies a near constant in recent years, a commander had little to do but patrol the city. With Lord Barton’s ineptitude as motivation, Blank resolved to begin work immediately on her infiltration of the Langston estate, and took refuge in the hidden basement she had installed. The first thing she did was look at the allegedly damning evidence she was provided by Lord Barton. It didn’t disappoint. The pouch contained a letter sent to Serena berating her for cowardice in the face of danger. It went on at some length describing the losses suffered by those she left behind and implicated her for leading them into such peril to begin with. Damning indeed, something like this would deny her ever leading soldiers in any capacity. Blank smiled slightly, perhaps Barton wasn’t quite as incompetent as he seemed. Lord Langston was considered severe by many, and unyielding to those he dealt with, but he was nothing if not a man of honor; if he saw this letter he would immediately retract Serena’s candidacy. All Blank had to do was get it to him. Infiltrating the estate was the real challenge. The mansion was infamous amongst the thieves of the city, purportedly it contained enough wealth to buy a modest city. Penetrating it was deemed impossible however. The gate was twenty feet up, impossible to climb or tunnel beneath. The nearest buildings were all spaced fifteen feet away, impossible to jump the distance and most likely to impale you upon the spear finials. Even should you clear the gate, the resulting drop would break you. And then the guard would be upon you. These weren’t simple men-at-arms, but veteran soldiers. Too old for active duty, but spirited enough to still fight, these men were gifts from generals Lord Langston had fought beside. Once inside, she would need to find her way to Lord Langston’s chambers and place the letter in a discreet location. That in and of itself was difficult, for no known schematic of the building had ever surfaced in any of the usual channels. “Blank, you here?” Crump’s coarse voice pierced the silence and disturbed her focus. “Yeah, down here.” “What’cha workin’ on this time?” he asked as he came down the stairs. He was slightly unsteady on his feet, the grog and wounds still adversely affecting him. Blank looked him over briefly before replying, “Break in.” “Where at?” She sighed, “The Langston estate.” Crump blinked for a moment. “Sorry, pretty sure I’m still smashed, what did you say?” “You are, but you heard me right.” Crump was silent for a moment before bursting out laughing. He slapped on the back, “Seriously? That’s incredible! Bet you can’t wait to get in there and see all that gold for yourself, supposed to be mountains of it!” Fortunately, Blank was leaning against a table when Crump hit her and avoided crashing to the ground. She was annoyed at Crump’s lackadaisical attitude but kept her voice even, “It’s also supposed to impossible to sneak into.” “Bah, you can do! Plus you don’t even need to sneak in this time, right?” Blank was intrigued. She turned directly to Crump asked him pointedly, “What are you talking about?” “You mean you don’t know? Boy, do I got some good news for you!” A crooked-toothed grin spread across his face.
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Post by Adam on Jul 29, 2015 17:05:32 GMT -5
Part Four: This part took way too long to finish. I don't even get why it ended up being this long. Hopefully the next one will be shorter.
As Blank made her way to her next target, she felt an intense unease in her stomach. It was a rare daytime acquisition, but it was the only way she could get what she needed. She had covered herself as best she could, part to block against the uncomfortable sun and part to keep her identity hidden. As she walked down the painfully bright, at least to her eyes, streets, her conversation with Crump from the previous night echoed in her mind. “Are you serious!?” a flabbergasted Blank demanded. “What?” was Crump’s simple and faux-innocent reply. “There is now way in hell I am doing that!” “Oh come on, it’s the easiest way and it’s completely nonlethal, just the way you like it,” he responded with a crooked toothed smile. “It’s also ridiculous and has no chance of succeeding!” “Hey, you don’t know that! I can almost guarantee it will work.” She finally arrived at her destination. A chill ran down her spine as she looked upon the front of the building. Crump’s final words rang once more through her head, “Besides, you’d look good in silk…” Mode Chic was the premier dress shop in city. Renown for creating exquisite garments for the most elite and wealthy ladies of court, one did not visit them without an appointment and impeccable credit. As Blank entered the sizeable establishment, she was immediately accosted. “Excuse me, but please leave. We have nothing for vagabonds here.” In most instances Blank would have retaliated verbally for being judged a beggar, but here it was understandable. She was covered in rags, her face obscured and reeked of sewage; obvious signs of slum dwelling and completely divergent with the surroundings. She pulled her hood off and looked at the woman speaking. A tall and haughty human behind the counter dressed in finery worth more than Blank’s current home looked down at her. Her expression shifted slightly from disgust to disdain. “Oh, it’s you. Wait here one moment,” her voice rich with conceit as she sauntered into a back room. House Langston was hosting a gala at their estate in the city, celebrating the engagement of Theresa Langston, granddaughter of Lord Langston. The lords and ladies of city would all be in attendance as would a few foreign dignitaries. With such a gathering, the exterior guard would be enhanced dramatically, none but those bearing an invitation would be granted access to the mansion. Yet the guards within would be light and turning a blind eye to many a scandalous activity for the evening. The invitation would be relatively easy to procure, however it was only half what Blank would require to enter unopposed. After waiting what felt like an eternity to Blank, a young woman appeared from a side hall. She curtseyed slightly, more out of formality than reverence, and spoke, “Hello madam. This way please.” She beckoned Blank to follow her down the hall. As Blank was lead down to a back room in silence, she surveyed the shop. Opulent yet elegant décor bestrew every surface from ceiling to floor, and all immaculately clean. Gorgeous rugs ran along the halls atop cherry oak floorboards. Delicate fixtures illuminated the area with incandescent light. Reflecting upon her own shabby appearance, she felt a rare sense of self-consciousness and shame. After several turns down different halls, they finally stopped before one of the rooms. The young woman addressed Blank once more, “Here we are madam.” The room was similarly ornate as the rest the establishment. A large bay window cast the light of the day across the room causing Blank to flinch uncomfortably. The young woman noticed the drow’s discomfort and was immediately contrite, “Oh, I’m sorry madam. I’ll adjust the light.” She hurried to the window and pulled a heavy curtain down blocking the sun. After its light disappeared from the room, previously invisible fixtures on the ceiling gently glowed to life casting a soft light across the area. With daylight no longer assaulting her, Blank was able to relax; or as much as she could given her situation. The young woman started again, “Now then madam, please disrobe.” Blank was immediately taken aback, “What!?” The young woman became slightly nervous but continued, “I’m sorry madam, but my mistress insisted that you be bathed and your… clothes laundered before we begin.” She pointed to a door to the side of the room, “A bath has already been drawn in the next room. Will you be bathing yourself, or do wish me fetch someone to attend you?” “No!” was Blank’s immediate reaction, frightening the young woman. Blank regained a modicum of her composure and tried again, “No, thank you. I shall wash myself.” “Very good madam,” the young woman curtseyed as she responded. Blank entered the bathroom and immediately shut the door behind her, locking the young woman out. She knocked on the door, “Madam? I still require your clothes for cleaning.” “Just a moment,” was Blank’s uneasy response. She removed her tattered cloak, worn leather armor and ragged cloth undergarments, uneasy about being nude in even a semi-private room. After stripping down, she open the door a little as possible and dropped her gear outside it before promptly slamming it closed once more. From outside the door she heard the young woman, “Thank you madam. I will have these ready shortly.” Naked and alone in a public building, Blank was beyond tense. She tried to cover herself as best she could despite the fact that none where present to see her. She surveyed the area for anything to cover herself with. This room, much like the others was beautifully decorated. Racks of lush towels to one side, an extensive vanity with liquids, creams and implements covering its surface on another and in the center a large marble tub, easy capable of fitting four and currently filled with steaming water. She steeled herself as best she could and resolved to get this whole experience over with as soon as possible. She approached the tub and gingerly lowered herself into it. It was slightly painful at first, the intense heat felt as if it were scalding her. However after a moment of acclimation and further submersion, it became a soothing warmth. Little by little, it eroded Blank’s anxiety as she sank it to the water and drifted into ease. As she relaxed in the water, she reviewed the current plan of for infiltrating the Langston estate. She would need to acquire an invitation to the ball, either by stealing one from a guest or having one forged. She would be presenting herself as a daughter of the Kiltlar House, the only known Drow family that had dealings with the other races, and that meant presenting herself as a lady. Which lead her to the current situation, getting fitted for a gown suiting a prestigious name and appropriate for the event. She would also need to spend some time learning the history and customs of the house, else she be instantly exposed as a fraud. The layout of the mansion was still a problem. This boutique was labyrinthine and it was a fraction of the size of the Langton estate. Though, a few coins in the hands of a servant or two would undoubtedly elucidate much. That just left getting away from the party itself and into the back rooms, the most distasteful aspect of the entire endeavor. Possibly being the only drow at the gala would mean that everyone would notice her movements; slipping away would be near impossible. Crump, in all his wisdom, conceived an “easy” way to disappear into the back unopposed, seduce someone. As he most eloquently contended, “These lords and high folk have all kinds of secret perversions! I bet you anything that at least one of ‘em has a thing for drow.” She didn’t doubt that he was right, she simply abhorred the idea of coming on to one of the men in attendance. Yet with no alternative presenting itself, she was resigned to play the role of an enamored yet naïve lady. A brothel would best serve to discern the target of her “affections” for the evening. As Blank soaked in the tub, mulling over the details of her task ahead, faint voices could be heard approaching the bathroom door. “Why didn’t you insist?” “She said she would bathe herself.” “Do you know what that means to ruffians like her? All she will do sit in the water for a moment and then get out, declaring herself clean.” As a key was placed in the door lock and began to turn, Blank panicked and sprang from the water. She tried to reach a towel to cover herself with before they entered, but it was a futile attempt. As soon as her wet foot hit the marble floor, she slipped and fell to the floor. Laying on the floor, naked and dazed is how the woman who greeted her and the young woman attending her found Blank. Terrified and mortified, Blank vainly reached for anything to hide her bare form. The older woman approached, speaking imperiously. “Miss Blank, I don’t care how you conduct yourself outside of this establishment, but in here I demand you comport yourself with dignity and grace.” The young woman simply stood in silence at the door along with two handmaidens. The older woman continued, “Now madam, these women here will wash you and then see to you appearance at the vanity, after which you will be clothed in respectable attire and then we shall see to you measurements.” The handmaids hurried over to assist Blank to her feet and back into the tub. They were taken aback by the multitude of scars strewn across the entirety of body, but a stern glare from their superior persuaded them to continue. As she was being walked over, Blank meekly inquired about her clothes. “Oh yes, those rags,” was the woman’s aloof response, “They are rather filthy so they are taking longer than anticipated to clean.” After being helped back into the tub, Blank hugged her legs to her chest, attempting to conceal herself as best she could. The older woman’s patience was wearing thin, “Miss Blank, we are all women here, so there is no reason to cover yourself so.” With much reluctance, Blank let her legs down but her discomfort was still apparent. For the next half hour, Blank kept eyes shut tight as her life was hell as the handmaids manipulated her body in various ways to vigorously clean every surface and crevice. Any attempt at protest was met with a sharp rebuke by the older woman who was overseeing the others. Finally finished, they helped her out of the tub, the inside of which had become brown, and began drying her off. The towels would have felt wonderful against her skin if she wasn’t embarrassed by the fact that people were not only seeing her nude, but also touching every part of her. After going through many towels, the older woman was at last satisfied and had the handmaidens dress her in a simple gown. “It’s over, you can open your eyes now,” the irritated older woman said. Blank opened her eyes and looked at what she was wearing. It was a simple but elegant cream gown that left her arms and most of legs exposed, more a nightgown than something worn in public. Her modesty restored somewhat, Blank’s tension eased slightly. The older woman nodded, “Now then, over to the vanity, we still have much to do.” Again Blank was subjected to poking and prodding and pulling for the better part of an hour as the handmaidens applied various moisturizers, creams and makeup as well as brushing her hair out and trimming the split ends. The end result was breathtaking. Blank’s hair, normally a rather tangled mess that hung loose and flat, shone in the light and was framed her face perfectly. Her face, generally had something smeared on it with scars on her cheek, forehead and lip, was now beautifully enhanced. Her scars were imperceptible and the makeup accentuated the natural lines of her face rendering her with a beautiful countenance. Even the older woman was impressed, if only slightly, “There, now you look like as a lady should.” At long last they returned to the main room to begin taking Blank’s measurements. At 5 feet 100 pounds, they were unremarkable. With the requisites complete, all of the women began to file out of the room, dirty towels in hand. The older woman paused at the door and turned back to Blank. “Wait here Miss Blank, Josephine will be along shortly for a consultation.” Blank sat in silence on one of the many couches in the room. She kept her head down, only occasionally glancing up to check for signs of someone’s approach. A half hour later a somewhat frazzled yet still formal looking young woman half-burst through the door. The sudden clamor startled Blank triggering an instinctive combat reflex; she quickly rose to her feet and adopted a martial stance. The frazzled woman paused as she saw the “combat ready” Drow standing before her. He first words were puzzled, “Um, Miss Blank? I’m Josephine? Here for your dress consultation?” A new wave of humiliation washed over Blank as she realized her mistake. She was immediately remorseful and reticent, “Oh, I’m sorry...” A gentle smile appeared on Josephine’s face as she placated her, “Oh, it’s alright sweetie, it was my fault for just barging in and not knocking. I'm sure in your line of work, a door suddenly flinging open means something far more dire that a late garment.” Blank gave her a weak smile in return but said nothing else. “Now then, let’s get started with your dress shall we?” Josephine motioned for Blank to follow her to a desk near the side of the room. On the desk was several sheets of blank paper with accompanying quills and ink. Josephine quickly sketched a facsimile of Blank’s form and began designs for a garment. Josephine kindly smiled at Blank, “With you figure, almost anything would look quite fetching on you.” She looked Blank over quickly, noting that she was a full head taller than the Drow, and resumed her sketching. “However, given you… stature, something simple or perhaps with a vertical pattern would best suit you.” Blank came around the desk and assessed the sketch. A slim mannequin-like form was covered with a long sleeveless dress with a vertical line of embellishment winding around the bust, behind the back and trailed towards the bottom of the front. A plunged neckline, high skit and exposed lower back completed the look. She was astounded that Josephine had completed a look so quickly. Yet Josephine apologized, “I’m sorry it’s so simple. This is all I have time to design for you at the moment. With the gala approaching, I’ve been overwhelmed with orders from every house, each wanting a different and exquisite gown for the night. When your “associates” called in their favor, I had to squeeze you in today.” Blank was baffled. “This is simple?” she thought. Josephine drew a pouch of swatches from her hip, “Now then, what color works best?” She proceeded to hold each one against Blank, muttering as she worked. A singular inquiry nagged at Blank, how did Josephine know the cartel? Its relentlessness must have manifested itself in her appearance, because Josephine stopped working and looked at her. “Sweetie, is something troubling you?” Blank started at the sudden question. “Oh! It’s nothing, just a minor thing in my mind.” Josephine smiled at her taciturnity. “You’re wondering how I’m connected with your “associates”. Blank was slightly mortified that she had deduced her question. She had no rebuttal, “Um, well…” Josephine simply continued to smile. “It’s alright. I’ve known them for a fair while. Do you know how expensive elven silk is during their times of war? Or dwarven gems? I use them in many of my design and they can be rather expensive when they want them to be. Your cartel can provide me my materials for a fraction of the price otherwise.” “Speaking of which, I believe a royal blue silk would best suit your skin tone. And the embellishment in diamond I think.” Blank was once more dumbfounded. Josephine read her expression and replied, “Just because it is simple doesn’t mean it should be of any less quality.” She made a few final alterations to her sketch and rolled it up carefully. “Unfortunately it won’t be ready until the day of the event, so you will have to come in early so we can make any final fitting adjustments and get you ready for the evening.” Blank opened her mouth to protest but was immediately cut off by Josephine, “Sweetie, I know today was not enjoyable for you, but I will not have you wear one of my designs in such a state as you arrived in today.” Blank felt her face flush with humiliation. At times like this she was thankful for her pitch black skin. A knock came from the door. Josephine responded, “Come in.” One of the young women from before arrived with Blank’s gear, freshly laundered and stitched. Josephine smiled and turned to Blank, “Perfect timing. Well, this is where I leave you. Feel free to keep the slip, a small recompense for today.” With that, she curtseyed slightly and left the room followed by the young woman. With her task finally complete here, Blank quickly changed into her normal clothes and nearly ran out the door. The sun had just set as she finally returned home. Crump, sitting in the living room sharpening his axe, wore a smug expression. “So,” he asked, “how’d it go?” Blank didn’t even bother to look at him. “Shut. Up.” He simply laughed. She moved from the door and began upstairs. Crump caught an odd scent in the air. “What’s that smell?” Blank stopped at the foot of the stairs. “It’s rose water.” A silence hung in the air a moment as Crump discerned her answer. He laughed again and louder as Blank continued up the stairs, the aroma following her.
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Post by Adam on Feb 1, 2016 21:42:15 GMT -5
Part Five: Well with us finally starting back up again, I felt it was time to continue this story, so I wrote this today.
The sun was setting on the Langston estate, the walls beginning to shift from their sunlit gold to their nocturnal silver. Some of the extraneous personnel began filling out a small side door and out through the main gate. Washers, chef’s assistants, surplus cleaning and wait staff, any that would not be needed at a moment’s notice lived off grounds in homes of their own; from one of these people Blank would find the information she needed. The kitchen and wait staff as well as the washers wouldn’t suffice, what if any pertinent information they had would be limited at best. A maid usually had access to the entire estate, but the Langston estate was larger than most. Most likely the maids were assigned only to a certain section of the mansion, and if that was the case, finding the exact location of Trevor Langston’s study would be all the more difficult. Blank was hiding on the roof of a building close by as she watched and studied each person as they passed. Someone older would be ideal; they would know more of the other maids and the areas they worked and may have worked in other areas before. A trio of chattering women walked together as the left the grounds; two younger women and one middle aged. From their attire Blank could tell they were maids. As the slowly made their way down the street, Blank followed from the rooftops. The women moved at a leisurely pace through the streets of the noble quarter and into civil district. Here lived most of the working class citizens with their children in modest and unremarkable homes, one on top of another. A public clinic as well a grocery were all the commerce one would find here. However many of the city watch lived here with their families and as a result it was as heavily patrolled as the noble quarter. Blank watched from above as the women gossiped about their husbands, children and a number of other mundane things. She felt both annoyed at the inanity of their conversation, yet slightly jealous as well. Part of her longed for the days when a simple and pointless conversation was the highlight of her day. When she would talk freely and openly with the people of that small village that was home for so many years. Frivolous moments of innocence and harmony lost forever. She shook herself out of reverie as the women below said their goodbyes at the door to a house below. The two younger women went their separate ways as the older woman entered her house and locked it behind her. With the location of her unwitting source’s residence found, Blank retreated in the approaching night to prepare for a home invasion. Madeline lay in bed, Jacob her husband in a deep sleep beside her. She always had difficulty falling asleep, paranoia creeping in at night when all was silent. Jacob had turned in early that evening and so she saw to the locks on the doors and windows herself. Perhaps three locks on the door was excessive in what was a relatively safe neighborhood, but it offered some relief at night. Slowly but surely she was drifting off as her eyelids thankfully where becoming heavy. She opened her eyes one final time and saw the bedroom window open. After shutting for a moment, her sprung opened and beheld a shrouded figure standing before her. She immediately tried to scream but the figure was on her in an instant, one hand tightly over her mouth, the other hold a dagger to her throat. Her eyes were wide with terror as she stared at the figure before her. All she could see was its silver eyes staring back at her. “Don’t scream,” the figure whispered, its voice low and soft. Madeline shifted her arm beneath the sheets, desperately trying to rouse Jacob. The figure noticed, “He will not wake.” Immediately thoughts of the worst kind began racing through Madeline’s mind. Had this intruder killed him? Was she next? And if so why was it waiting? What did it want? As if reading her mind the figure continued. “Tell me where Trevor Langston’s study is.” Fear was overriding any possible grief or logical reasoning, she simply nodded in response. The figure moved its hand away from her mouth but the other held the dagger in place. “I-I-I’ve n-never seen it myself,” she began to say. The figure turned the dagger against her throat an almost imperceptible degree but she felt it. “But I know where it isn’t!” she blurted out, frantically trying to placate the figure. The figure didn’t move, only stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “I-It must be on the third floor, in the northwestern wing. That’s the only place the extended staff aren’t assigned to. Only the regulars are allowed in there.” The figure nodded slightly and placed its hand back over her mouth. Madeline’s eyes went wide once more. She struggled to scream and tried to fight the figure off. The figure drew its dagger back and quickly brought it down upon her. All went black. Blank sighed as the maid went limp in her bed. She couldn’t very well have her screaming for the guard as she tried to escape. She shrugged to herself, the poison she tagged the husband with should wear off in a few hours and then he can ask his wife how she got a pommel sized bruise on her temple. Of course with no one dead and nothing taken, any possible investigation would end within a matter of hours. Blank climbed back out of the window and locked it behind her before stealing away into the night, one step closer to infiltrating the Langston estate.
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Post by Adam on Mar 13, 2016 0:35:22 GMT -5
Part Six: Finally got my computer working again and can post the next part of the story I was writing.
Forging an invitation was the next step to penetrating the compound. Blank made her way to an oft used scrivener of the carta, Basil Cavendish. He was an old man of 63 yet was filled with vigor, or as much as his geriatric body would allow. His business was presented as a scribe and translator for those incapable. However his main source of business was forgeries and falsifying documents for the carta and its associates. Blank entered his shop, face and body concealed as usual, just as the sun began to set. A small bell above the door rang as she came in, prompting an aged voice from the back, “Be right there! Be right there!” A commotion of shifting texts and papers was followed by the sound of glass shattering on the floor. “Oh dear, not again…” the voice commented. “Oh well, I’ll get that later.” Blank stood at the door as a hunched and hoary man shuffled his way toward her. “Ah, my dark lady! It has been some time,” he said as he stretched out his arms welcoming her, a smile upon his face and eyes. Blank removed her hood and mask and gave him a small smile, “Hello Basil.” He stopped just in front of her, eye level with her. At one time he may have been a head taller that her, but a lifetime spent hunched over a desk ruined his posture. “What can I do for you today? No wait!” He held up his hands for emphasis, “Let me guess!” It was a favorite game of his with familiar customers. “You need an ancient dwarven scroll deciphered because it contains the secrets of an ancient mechanism long ago lost to time!” He shook his head vigorously, “No, not that.” He began pacing and stroking his chin thoughtfully. He looked up at her again, “You need a copy of magical text made so you can pass it off to a client but keep the real one hidden away from everyone lest its powers be abused! No, no, no, no, no, no…” Basil’s guesses were always fantastically off, but ever a welcome source of amusement to Blank. Basil stopped pacing and began another, “Maybe a will to be rewritten and make you sole heir to the throne of Blackdawn so when the time is right you can…” Blank cut him off, slightly laughing “Basil, I just need an invitation made.” He was roused from his contemplation, “What? Oh, is that all? Very well…” He moved over to his desk and, after a quick rummage, pulled out a work order and quill. “What are you being invited to?” Blank tensed slightly, “The Langston ball.” Basil paused for a moment, looking up from his desk to Blank, before writing the request, “Didn’t realize you were a dancer.” Blank wadded up the nearest paper and threw it at him. It bounced off his head onto the floor. “Hey, be careful; that might be important,” he playfully reprimanded her. “So can you do it?” Basil set down his quill and leaned back slightly in his chair with a sigh. “Well from what I hear Lord Langston doesn’t stint when it comes to security, and that includes his documents, even invitations.” Blank began to worry, ever so slightly. Basil noticed and continued, “An invitation would have a special enchantment that is a signature of sorts, to let the guards know it is a genuine article and not a counterfeit. Something like that isn’t easy to forge.” Blank noticed a smile beginning to creep onto Basil’s face; he was terrible at keeping secrets. He began embellishing the impossibility of the task, “And even if you somehow were able to copy the enchantment, or acquire a blank invitation, you would still need to be able to perfectly mimic Trevor Langston’s hand. His signature in particular is said to be notoriously difficult due to the inconsistency of most of it.” Blank had had about enough of Basil’s attempt to hoodwink her. “I mean maybe if you had a master forger, he might be able to detect certain patterns in his writing.” Basil didn’t notice Blank push his chair. “Of course if by some miracle all of these things came together it would still, wha-?” was where he was cut off as he fell back in his chair and slammed into the floor. “Ow,” was his immediate response. “Picking on the elderly now I see…” he sardonically said as he began to right himself. “Oh please, I’m almost as old as you!” Blank teased back. “You’re an elf, doesn’t count!” Blank smiled and then stated more than asked, “So you have a blank invitation?” Basil groaned as he stood and stretched his back. “Yeah, over there,” he pointed to a safe on the wall. Blank crossed the room and quickly picked the lock and fished out the invitation.” Basil snickered, “You could have just asked for the key.” Blank looked the invitation over, it appeared to be of a quality paper with gold filigree adorning the border. She could feel a certain energy upon it, but without any real magical knowledge was unable to discern more about it. Basil walked over to her as she examined it. “How did you come by this?” she asked. “Oh, I usually get ahold of extra cards and invitations that the nobles don’t use. They think they are thrown away, but the servants know each can be exchanged for a tidy sum if given to the right person. So who will you be attending as?” “Helviep.” “Of course,” he nodded. The Helviep was the only Drow house that wasn’t openly hostile to the other races of the world. And as a result they were no longer welcome in the Underdark. Still, they had some ties to it and were the only source of goods or information of the Drow. This lead to the head of the family, Cal’qualyn Helviep, being well known among the lords of the land. As such, an invitation to the Langston gala wouldn’t be unexpected. Basil finished filling out the work order before proclaiming, “Very good. I should have everything finished by tomorrow, so check back then.” Blank smiled at him, “Thank you Basil.” He waved it off however, “No thanks are necessary. Your money is enough,” he smiled back. He moved back to his desk to begin working on the forgery. As he began the slow and meticulous task of counterfeiting Trevor Langston’s script he broached a new topic. “Some people believe that a person’s hand writing reveals much about them. After more than 40 years studying it I can tell you that it is true! For example if a…” He looked up and Blank was gone. He sighed before returning to his work, “That girl needs to work on her social skills.”
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Post by Adam on Apr 7, 2016 16:59:55 GMT -5
Part Seven: The padding continues.
If she was to enter the party presenting herself as a noble, Blank would need to find an excuse to disappear from it as well. The only feasible option she could conceive, distasteful as it may be, was to seduce a nobleman and “retire” to guest room with him. To that end she would pay a visit to Lady Elizabeth, the proprietor of the local house of ill repute, The Lover’s Embrace. As is often the case, the name of the business, as well the owner’s title, misrepresented the reality of it. The Lover’s Embrace was like most buildings in the slums, in ill-repair and filthy. However the origin of the stains within the building were generally of more intimate actions. Still, it was two story, almost singular in that regard, and well-lit with a large, garish sign advertising its name on the front. As Blank entered, she all but ignored the now familiar décor. A worn and dirty rug ran from the door to the main desk, used luxury couches with tears and stains along the walls, red doors with chipped paint leading to several “private rooms”, and a staircase leading up to a second floor. Behind the desk was a middle-aged woman with red, frizzy hair, an alluring yet shabby dress and far too much make-up. She was writing something down as she spoke, “Welcome to the Lover’s Embrace luv. Give me a minute.” She finished writing and looked up and was the shrouded Drow, “Oh, it’s you Blank. Thought one of my girls would finally earn their money; been a bit of a slow today. But, coin is coin so let’s see what you need.” She shouted to one of the red doors, “Moira! Come watch the front for a minute!” A shout came back, “Alright, give me a second to put something on Lizzy.” “They don’t pay you to see you with your clothes on so hurry up!” Lady Elizabeth turned back to Blank, “Come on upstairs.” The second floor of The Lover’s Embrace was predominately a large open area with a bar at the side with couches, cushions and tables scattered about and at the back were a few private rooms. This floor was reserved for large parties, usually mercenaries, gangs, or highwaymen; Elizabeth discriminate so long as their money was good and they obeyed the rules of the house. She led Blank over to “her office”, a small table with two chairs next to the bar. “So, what can I do for you today?” Blank sighed before beginning. “I need to know which noble attending the Langston ball has an…affinity for Drow.” Elizabeth smirked at her, “Ooh, now there is an interesting request. Could it be you’re looking for a future husband?” Blank simply gave her a slightly annoyed expression. Elizabeth laughed, “Oh, I’m just teasing Miss Grumpy. I swear they should call you people Drour; never met a cheerful one.” Blank urged her on, “Anyway…” Elizabeth leaned back gracefully to contemplate Blank’s request. It was a studied elegant pose, the kind proper Ladies would use, and unnatural to someone like Elizabeth. “Well, the only Lords in town with that itch are Brandon Hillcrest and Theodor Magnusson. Theo’s laid up right now, so Brandon is your best bet if he’s there.” Blank tossed her a small pouch of coins and got up to leave. “Hang on a minute, luv,” Elizabeth said, standing up with practiced elegance. “He’s not interested in a simple shag. He…,” she paused to think her words through, “likes things a bit rougher.” “Define rougher.” Elizabeth was visibly uneasy, “Well, one of the reasons he likes Drow is because bruises don’t show. And, this is just rumor but, they say he likes to “break” them, like a Drow breaks slaves.” An involuntary shiver ran down Blank’s spine as a brief memory of her time with the Drow flashed in her mind. “Now, it may not be that bad at a party, especially not one in his own home, but you should still be careful.” Blank regained her composure and spoke, “Thank you for the information and the warning.” “Yeah,” Elizabeth was slightly perturbed. Then she cracked a smile, “Hey, if this doesn’t work out, you can always come work for me! I always get requests for a Drow mistress.” Blank let slip a slight smile. “Ha! Got you smiling!” Elizabeth stated triumphantly. Blank smiled and said, “Goodnight Frizzy Lizzy,” and left.
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