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Issy
Tough As Nails
Great Wyrm
Great Wyrm


Joined: 31 May 2005
Posts: 1311
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Jobs: Sword for Hire, Body Guard
Can Be Found: Toujours le Vert or Batten Tower
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PostPosted: Sun May 04, 2014 5:53 pm    Post subject: Importing Opportunity Reply with quote

The afternoon sun reflected off of the stretch of black leather along her thigh; a vivid white stripe leading down to the first buckle of her boots, just below the knee. The long-legged Scathachian was sitting atop a warehouse building in the middle of the dockside district, looking over the busy waterfront. The sounds of the ships being loaded and unloaded, bawdy squawking of the sailors and dockside workers down below mixed to produce an oddly harmonious balance with the soothing rhythms of the sea undulating against the docks and the mournful cries of the bloated seagulls, full from too many dives in the local rubbish bins. It was the sort of afternoon that Isuelt felt there were too few of in the world. The sort of day where, if only for a little while, there was balance to the city and it felt as if the very gods above were smiling down on them.

Perched on the precipice of the warehouse's roof, one leg over the edge and lightly swinging, Isuelt dug out an apple from the pouch at the back of her belt and bit into the sweet, crisp fruit with a decidedly loud crunch. As she chewed on her snack, she inhaled deeply through her nose, letting the salted air become the perfect accompaniment to the apple's flavor. Isuelt's bent knee came up and she rested her chin on the smooth leather as she let her arms drape around her leg. The Scathachian stayed secure on her roost for some time, keeping watch on the people down below. The brilliant sun moved slowly across the sky until it was mostly behind her, shining through her deep brown hair to create a haloed illusion of light. Of course, she didn't see or know this, but something about her altruistic pose in silence only added to the angelic image.

For the better part of the last thirty minutes, a large clipper ship had been newly docked and have its cargo uncrated. As Isuelt's shoulders lifted in a sighed inhale, she turned her face to watch the progress. Crates mostly, of all sizes and a few cages which must have contained animals of some sort, though they were covered and offered little display for her prying eyes. Another set of prying eyes were fixed not upon the unloaded cargo, however, but upon Isuelt herself. Garbed in an oiled dark leather longcoat, deep blue trousers and black boots, the captain of the ship was secured in a long leering lean upon the railing of the bow, staring up at the lone Scathachian on the rooftop. There was no telling how long the raven-haired sailor had been studying her from his spot near the bowsprit. Isuelt only noticed him after the majority of the cargo had been left upon the docks to be inventoried by the tariff master. As her gaze took another turn over the pier, she blinked as she caught sight of the ogling sailor. Their eyes locked, her espresso ones and his blazing green, and it was as if he wasn't on the bow of a ship so far down below, nor her up upon the warehouse roof. There was something familiar about the seafarer that Isuelt couldn't quite put her finger on. The Judge's brows lowered as she searched her brain for a recollection or a memory that would place him. Yet, even as she did so, she didn't break her gaze. Neither did he. And it was when the captain reached up with two fingers and tipped his tricorne hat, displaying a lewd glimmer in his eye that denoted he was quite familiar with this Scathachian, that Isuelt felt a shiver come over her leather-clad shoulders. He had obviously placed her first, or had he? Perhaps his lascivious expression was a side-effect of his occupation. Though Isuelt could have sworn that she saw his shoulders shake with a laugh as he pushed off of his lean and moved along the ship to disappear somewhere below deck.

Still perplexed, Isuelt drew up her legs and stood up on the roof, walking along the roofline, dragging her eyes over the mast, bow and hull until she could make out the name of the ship: "Jester's Pride." It was not the epiphany she was seeking. However, in smaller letters, following the name of the ship, was the name of the home port and that was what stifled her steps and caught her breath: Metro City. Isuelt's eyes widened and she sought in vain for another glance at the captain. But he had either stayed in the cabin down below or perhaps he had disembarked. There was one way to find out, wasn't there? Isuelt's lean body made short work of the system of pipes and ladders that led down to the street level. In a flash, she was hurrying toward the Jester's Pride with a few questions on the tip of her tongue.
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Issy
Tough As Nails
Great Wyrm
Great Wyrm


Joined: 31 May 2005
Posts: 1311
See this user's pet
Jobs: Sword for Hire, Body Guard
Can Be Found: Toujours le Vert or Batten Tower
59509.90 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Tue Jul 22, 2014 1:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It didn’t take that much time for the black leather-ensconced Scathachian to relinquish her rooftop perch and pick her way across the bustling wharf. Amid longshoremen, day laborers, working ladies and the occasional young pickpocket, Isuelt swerved her path toward the Jester’s Pride with an agile grace known only to those who spend their nights living on Rhydinian rooftops. The general volume of the place was something to be marveled at during the days: merchants bargaining for their newest wares, orders being yelled ship to shore, ladies striving to stand out in the crowd and catch a sailor’s eye, drunken seamen singing at the tops of their lungs and the various fight or seven breaking out. But as the setting sun was dictating the time of day, the liveliness of the docks was winding down as well.

Isuelt tipped her chin up, her hand coming to act as a visor against the rays of the sunset. “AHOY!” She knew better than to simply hop the gangplank and board. That was how pirates got their jolies – and she wasn’t really up for beating the hell out of some unfortunate slob just at the moment. Dark eyes scanned the rails and deck for some signs of movement, some indication that someone had heard her. After some time passed with no response, she wondered if the ship were empty. It was possible that while she had descended the rooftop across the way, the captain had left the ship. Her hand swung down from her brow and the Scathachian looked behind her. Some merchants chatting a ways off and a few loud barks of laughter from a swarthy gaggle of chaps entering the Mermaid’s Tail Tavern were just about the only highlights of the activity going on behind her at this later hour. Shrugging to herself, most likely talking herself into it, she turned back to face the gangplank to The Jester’s Pride and stepped on up. Her boots, at least to her, made an uncharacteristically loud landing as she began her sloped ascent. And although she hesitated during the first step up, once she had committed to boarding, she didn’t stop. One can stop in mid-faux pas to call attention to it…just keep going.

Over the rail and the warrior spent a moment to look around to see mopped deck, ropes in neatly piled coils along the perimeters, sails harvested and strapped down. It looked as if this ship were planning on staying at least the night in harbor. If that was so, then where was the crew? Surely not all of them had gone into town for a meal, a few pitches too many of ale and the companionship of Rhydin’s fairest ladies. Isuelt’s hands rested on her hips, just above the hilts of her lowly handing twin swords; her gloveless fingers rubbed over the crimson satin at her waist. Her long legs began to move, propelling her to take a silent and steady walk-around. No noises from below deck to signify that whoever was down there had heard an intruder up above. Before she circled back to the main mast, Isuelt let a huff of a sigh push through her lips. Apparently, she’d let her imagination get the better of her. After all, what evidence did she have that this boat had anything to do with Scorpion Wraitharan, other than its home port? Metro City had a booming economy and a vast export market. Her tongue dragged over her bottom lip as if to taunt her with the memory of a lover.

Just about then, there came a warm, baritone chuckle from behind her. Pivoting on her boot’s heels, she erratically sought the source. Was that him? As if she’d wished him into existence here. There, up on the quarter deck, leaning against the ropes, was the captain. He’d shed his longcoat and tricorne hat and appeared the very image of roguish charm as his shoulder length raven hair bristled against the sea breeze. He pushed off of his lean and started toward the Scathachian, his voice deeply cushioning each syllable as it rolled off of his tongue, “Well, as I live and breathe. Isuelt DeRomiano.”

Well, that was done. What Isuelt had suspected upon the rooftop was true: he had placed her and she, unfortunately, was still at a loss as to why this man looked so familiar. “I thought that might have been you up there. Word made it back to Metro that you’d set up shop in this city. Though why you’d want to leave Metro behind is beyond me. What with all that it has to offer and everything?” There was something about the way his honeyed tone licked at that last sentence that had the hair on her neck standing on edge. This man definitely knew who she was. Or perhaps more accurately, what she was. Ever since the latest issue of The Rydin Post had come out, the article by Alexis Laurent had opened a can of worms that Isuelt had hoped had been buried forever. Her past in Metro City stood as a testament to everything she fought against here in this new beginning. She’d admitted her sins to her only confessor in Rhydin, Edward Batten, in the highest confidence. And while she didn’t suspect his wagging tongue in the least, her secrets had found a way to the ear of a senior columnist at The Post. Almost as if admitting them, even to the great secret keeper, had set something in motion. And now it seemed as if those sins were about to be slathered all over the front page; Laurent had as much as hinted about them in the course of her scathing article .

The only thing to do was try to divert the flooding river at its source, right? She drew a deep breath, lifted her posture and raised her chin to produce what she knew to be an impressive, if not imposing, silhouette. “I’m guessing that my reputation precedes me.” It was a gamble, and she was bluffing.

The captain laughed, his brilliant green eyes catching an illuminating spark from the setting sun. “It always had, I-Max.” A rather pointed look to the warrior as he used that name with a touch of good-natured venom. He was upping the ante.

He knew her name. He knew her. Her shoulders slumped however unseeingly beneath her leather vest. “I know you. I know I do.” She paused as her brain tried one last ditch effort to drudge up his name from the depths of memory. Thick, black lashes narrowed at the arresting captain: he was handsome, rugged with sharpened features, a few days’ growth of facial hair, a deep olive tan to his skin and uncanny emerald eyes. It was killing her that she couldn’t remember this man, even on the basis of his good looks alone.

“Yeah, you do,” he smirked as he started slowly toward her. There was no mistaking the swagger in his step as he knew he had her at a disadvantage; and he rather seemed to be enjoying it. “But I ain’t gonna help you out. It’s much more fun to watch you flounder.” Again his eyes left her face to glide down her body and back up again, certainly taking his time with it. It would have been unnerving if she wasn’t already so annoyed as to have misplaced this beautiful man’s name.

Always the hubris of pride rearing its head, Isuelt lifted her chin and exhaled at the man. “You’re a captain who obviously thinks he knows me from Metro. You could be anybody. I wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet back then.”

He barked out a laugh, “That is god damned truth right there. But it’s a little more than a casual recognition.” His corded hands went to his hips as he stood roughly a body-length apart from her. “I’ll tell you what, Iz,” he employed the familiar nickname, “I’m going to be in port for the next few days. When you remember who I am, you can come back here and we’ll have a drink. Until then, I’ve got some things to attend to below deck.” Pausing to ogle her once more with a slight shake of appreciation to his manner, “You still do look fantastic.” Another breeze came up and pushed most of the black hair from his forehead as his tongue dragged at the corner of his lips. “Good night, Iz.” And with that he turned from her and moved toward the companion way doors to disappear below deck.

Isuelt heard the distinct ‘click’ of a lock which signified that the encounter was indeed over. She had no other recourse than to look to the sky and wonder just how much worse her life here in Rhydin was about to get. After all, secrets should sometimes stay secret for a reason. She shook her head and hopped up to the gangplank to disembark; now brimming with more foreboding than curiosity.
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