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The Hunt is On- to Catch a Shade Messages in this topic - RSS

Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 433

3/3/2017
At least thirty dead. Maybe more, that the constables don’t know of. Mister Mauvais, Drake’s lodger, savagely beheaded; his remains scattered throughout London. Jimmy Mariner, an acquaintance of the Dynamos and the man responsible for their security, crushed in a tragic carriage “accident.” A host of constables slaughtered in a jailbreak. The violence has reached a fever pitch. But, only if you are looking. After all, the officiants of the law are keeping the stories suppressed- it is all they can do about the matter. Something has to be done

This is why, one cold evening, in a elegantly decorated residence at the Bazaar, Drake and Emma sit in a study drafting flyers to be distributed throughout London. The doors and windows to the home are securely bolted, and the servants sit vigilant with the Dynamos, clutching various household items as weapons. The Shade has to be stopped, and soon.

And so, the flyers are finalized, and sent by courier to all the gathering spots of London. They read as follows:

“The Shadow of London has moved about unhindered for too long. It is time for it to face justice. As such, Drake and Emma Dynamo will be funding a party to track down and stop the fiend. All parties involved will be heavily compensated upon the elimination of the Shade. We are looking for trackers, monster-hunters, scholars, fighters, doctors, and inventors. If you are interested, please come to the Dynamos’ residence at the Bazaar.”

And so, they wait.

(OOC: This quest may have permanent consequences. Our foe is an incredibly deadly one, and as such no one is safe. Limbs could very well be lost. I have spoken with some other RPers and will be using a random number generator to determine the victims of the Shade’s violence. But please, don’t let this deter you from joining- there are plenty of opportunities for replacement limbs in London! If you do end up being a victim of violence, I’ll PM you and discuss how you want the scene to go down.)
edited by Drake Dynamo on 3/3/2017

--
Oh no. Another post from that goon who goes on about statistics.

Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker , Matchmaker, and Paramount Presence
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A ghostly skullduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

Guide to becoming a Poet-Laureate
If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
+4 link
Barse
Barse
Posts: 491

3/3/2017
The Scorched Sailor tramps up the half-familiar stairs to the Dynamo residence. Broken out of New Newgate, and by the Shade, no less? Interesting times. He is not quite sure whether he hopes the rumours are true or false.

It's been a long while since he first entered Drake's house, before they two even knew each other, and he feels the same reluctance now as he did then, the unwillingness to enter the house of a stranger. They're hardly strangers now, but even so he hesitates at the door, wondering if Drake will even be glad to see him after his abject failure to be of any assistance during the Dynamo's incarceration.

He steels himself, and resolves to be a better acquain- friend now than he has been. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Kno-


Drake Dynamo is ebullient, and pulls the Sailor into a fraternal embrace even before the front door is fully open, let alone before the Sailor could offer his hand for a handshake. "Glad you could make it, glad you could make it!" He ushers the Sailor inside with unusual haste, and does a bad show of hiding the brass candlestick that he's wielding in his right hand. "You saw the flyer?"

The Sailor finds his behind escorted into a deep armchair before he quite knows what has happened. From across the room Emma is testing the bolts on a window - why are there bolts on a window? - and idly fiddling with a hefty-looking paperweight. She raises an arch eyebrow at him. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

The Sailor blusters. "Flyer? No, I - prison, you're out? I thought I should -" A long pause. A long think. "Ah." He has a terrible suspicion that he knows what this is about, and, as the Dynamo siblings sketch out the details of their escape, the slow weight of dread settles in his stomach as his suspicions are proved correct. Another flyer. Another quest. This time, an obligation to a friend. He listens, settles in, and waits for the others to arrive, as he knows they will.

--
The Scorched Sailor, Captain of The Reckoning Postponed.
+6 link
Edward Frye
Edward Frye
Posts: 257

3/4/2017
Edward Frye finds his way to the Dynamo's residence, armed with a short barreled custom made pistol and a sabre from Venderbright. He knocks on the door and them enters, "Hello! I heard this is where I go to contact you about this murderous shade thing. Forgive me if I've gotten the wrong address...". Then, noticing the Scorched Sailor exclaims "Oh! You're the zailor from the salon, Hello again!". Then he turns to Emma and Drake and says, "And you must be the Dynamos! I'm Edward Frye, at your service."

(OOC: This is my first RP (besides the salon) so I'm sorry in advance if it goes horribly because of me)
edited by Edward Frye on 3/4/2017

--
My profile, http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Edward~Frye
Edward Frye's Appearance http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=7
My alt http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Ulysses~Beechworth
My Mr. Eaten profile http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/Laurens~Haymore
Edward Frye is currently open to pretty much any social options except loitering.
+1 link
Mr. Hamilton
Mr. Hamilton
Posts: 78

3/4/2017
Mr. Hamilton walks into the residence armed with a long rifle (polished recently by the looks of it) and a short dagger. "I saw that flyer in the salon." he says, "I am considered a doctor by some and I've been dueling for a long time. Some also would say that I'm a scholar. I suppose some monster hunting (or whatever The Shade is) wouldn't do me any bad. Well of course I may lose an arm... but that's okay!" then noticing Edward, "Hello Edward! Good Evening!"
edited by Mr. Hamilton on 3/4/2017

--
I am open to any calling cards and most other social events.



My alt: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/George~Albany

My alt's appearance: http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=8#post164336

My main profile: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Mr%20Hamilton

My main profile's appearance: [urlhttp://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=6#post164298
+1 link
Azothi
Azothi
Posts: 105

3/4/2017
What the hell are you doing, Azoth?

Ascending the stairway to the Spire-Emporium of the Dynamos, that one thought raced across Azoth's mind, leaving her heart pounding faster than she'd like to admit. She was a veteran of the Great Game, a Midnighter and an academic who had journeyed across the zee, yet she still felt afraid, climbing up a stairwell to answer a flyer of all things. The Dynamos -- their reputation preceded them. Whispers across London had spoken of these immortals, locked away high above the city. Without a doubt, they had the potential to be dangerous, and here she was, walking straight to their door? And for what? Hunting a "shade" -- the Shadow if she understood correctly? She shook her head.

No, she thought, you know what this is about. An open invitation to the lodgings of these immortals? The opportunity to learn from these admittedly dangerous individuals? It was worth the risk. It was worth risking death for. A few steps ahead stood the door to the residence. With a last glance out, as if to remind herself that she could still walk away, she knocked.

A stranger opened the door, and behind him, she could see several more people gathered. She said a few cursory hellos and stepped inside, moving off to the side to silently watch the proceedings.

Here we go.
edited by Azothi on 3/9/2017

--
Azoth I - Midnighter - Available Watchful Patron - Long History - Appearance

Daneri, the Nothingness of Everything: Old soul. Where are you going, old soul?

Celebrating one year in Fallen London, September 1895.
+4 link
Shadowcthuhlu
Shadowcthuhlu
Posts: 1424

3/4/2017
Dirae Erinyes' heavy knocks echo throughout the house. As the echoes die away, Dirae Erinyes and Evensong entered into the last round of a tired argument.

"You don't have to be here." Dirae Erinyes deals the first blow of this new round. Five rounds have already happened, with them the loser. But hope springs eternal in this argument.

"We have been over this before." A standard block, but not enough to deter her opponent.

"I'll be fine. I've been hunting men long before I met you."

"I am more then just prey." Evensong stops playing on the defensive. While her verbal right hook might seem to be glancing blow to an inexperienced audience, it aims for an old wound.

"What I meant to say is that this sort of business isn't usually the concerns of a Foreign Office. . .clerk. You're supposed to be dealing with Carnelian Coast imports and illegally smuggled unfinished hats, not cleaning up the streets of London." Now, the reigning champion is on the defensive, giving ground to Evensong.

"I can say with certainty that the Shade is a more dangerous illegal import then solacefruit or an aggressive Pentecostal Ape. Thus it's the concerns of a Foreign Office Clerk."

"Still. . ."

"Where you go, I follow." That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the knock-out blow. Dirae Erinyes' only hope is that the siblings get to the door soon and end Evensong's triumphant silence.

OOC: For all you new people, you can find a physical description for Dirae Erinyes and Evensong here:
http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=5
Feel free to add your own character description for the other rpgers.
edited by Shadowcthuhlu on 3/4/2017

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Dirae~Erinyes
+3 link
phryne
phryne
Posts: 888

3/4/2017
Watching from the other side of the street, hidden in the deep shadows between two lesser apartment buildings, Lady Orosenn was despondent. It was just as she had feared: this hunting party would resemble a travelling circus very soon. She had no doubt that even more people were on their way here and that the Dynamos would accept most or all of them, probably believing in ridiculous concepts like "strength in numbers". She snorted. She had always worked alone.
It would be a new experience for her, at least, though not one she particularly looked forward to. And, of course, there was still the matter of payment. Obviously, Drake Dynamo had the means to pay for her services. If he should turn out a miser though, she'd be out the door again faster than he could spell her full name and title.

----

Another loud knock echoed through the Dynamos' residence. An armed footman answered it, and soon brought an exceptionally tall* dark-skinned woman into the drawing-room where everyone was gathering. Tall as she was, she moved soundlessly in her heavy Wrecking Boots. Her profession could be perceived at a glance, both by her peligin eyes and the notched bone harpoon slung over her shoulder (did it quiver ever so slightly? surely a trick of the light?). Black hair in long, thick matted braids descended far down her back. She was wearing full body armour of indiscernible colour—it seemed to blend in with the background wherever she moved. She spoke in a deep contralto voice:

"Lady Timmel Orosenn, Monster-Hunter. What exactly is this thing you're looking for, and how much are you paying?"

Her words carried a hint of foreign accent. Not a Londoner, then.

*not quite as tall as Dirae though wink
edited by phryne on 3/5/2017

--
a Scarlet Sainta Monster-Huntera Memorya Raven?
Exceptional Stories poll results: 20162017
List of useful thingsFavours & Renown Guide
+4 link
Bertrand Lyndon
Bertrand Lyndon
Posts: 95

3/5/2017
Perched on a high rooftop, Lyndon has a clear vision of the entrance to the Dynamos’ mansion and the nearby street. He strikes a match on the rough rooftop tiles and lights a cigarette – a glowing red point in the darkness. He is too high up to be noticed from the streets anyway. He smokes in long, slow drags while he studies the applicants who enter the Dynamos’ mansion. Those flyers had been more effective than Lyndon would have thought, and fortune-seekers from all around the city are already flocking to that house like moths to the flame. It’s easy to predict that some of them are going to get burnt before the end.
The candidates are dangerously heterogeneous: fortune-seekers, spies, zailors, hunters, and other curious exemplars from London’s varied fauna. It’s going to be difficult to keep such a mixed group cohesive, but that might work to his advantage: the confusion that inevitably accompanies a large group of varied people will draw attention from him. However, a smaller, more organized group would have probably been a safer company in the long run.
Lyndon shrugs. That isn’t his expedition, and he has no saying in how the members should be chosen. Besides, losses are to be expected during that chase. From what he has heard, the Shade is a vicious foe – the kind of foe one can’t hope to put down without a fight. He crushes the cigarette butt and quickly descends from the rooftop.
It’s time to join the hunt.


§§§


Lyndon stops in front of the Dynamos’ house. He knocks on the door twice with a loud noise, and soon he's greeted by a guard. He pays little attention to the man. “Sergeant Lyndon. I’m applying.” he says, before shoving the footman aside and entering the house.
The drawing-room is predictably crowded. Lyndon slides in unnoticed and takes a seat on an empty armchair in a corner. He lights another cigarette. There will be time for introductions, and he’s the kind of man who prefers to know about others rather than being known himself.


(OOC: I'll follow Shadowcthuhlu's advice and leave Bertrand's description for my fellow RPGers: Appearance. Backstory.)
edited by Bertrand Lyndon on 3/5/2017
edited by Bertrand Lyndon on 3/5/2017

--
Bertrand Lyndon, a former Sergeant of the 7th Dragoon Guards who deals in crime and secrets.

(My main profile: a Midnighter available for Orphanages)

Jordan Farchild, a kid who often meddles in things bigger than herself, and Bertrand's ward.

(I check this profile less often than Bertrand and I use it only for very light roleplay)

Call me Barren on the IRC.
+1 link
John Moose
John Moose
Posts: 237

3/5/2017
It was time to go, if Noah wished to be at Dynamo's on time. It would do no good to arrive late and give a possible new employer the impression of tardiness. The money would certainly come in handy; his practice had seen little customers lately. The rumours were probably starting to spread. Oh well.

He was wearing his usual suit of black tweed: expensive enough that toffs wouldn't mind associating with him, cheap enough that they wouldn't pay any actual attention to him, and good for staying warm and hidden while the police were trying to find out who was responsible for the toff's current condition. In his jacket he had a well-sharpened kitchen knife, in his vest pocket a a set of lockpicks, and in his sock a tiny rat-made revolver. The doctor looked himself up and down in the mirror and nodded. He took his doctor's bag and left for the meeting.

-----

Three precise, polite knocks interrupt the conversation at Dynamo's. When the door is opened, a young man dressed in black carrying a brown bag enters the room. He looks around with an uneasy smile on his face. His shoulders are rather broad, but so slumped that the general impression is that of a sheepdog that's not quite sure whether it's allowed to be in the room.
"Good evening. I do hope I do not disturb. An acquaintance informed me of a possibility for employment on an... uh.... hunting expedition, I believe? I am dr. Noah Rache, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I own a small practice in Spite. I'm confident that I'd be up to the task of giving care to any who should have the misfortune of sustaining injuries during the hunt. I also specialize in the treatment of maladies of the mind and the ill effects of traumatic memories, should any require" and here the more observant notice an involuntary twitch of an eye "help with such issues." As no one makes any objections or shoos him out of the room, he slowly proceeds to an empty seat. "Thank you kindly. At your service."
edited by John Moose on 3/5/2017

--
Gone. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/John Moose
A veteran of a war never foughthttp://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Leonine Veteran
+2 link
JimmyTMalice
JimmyTMalice
Posts: 212

3/5/2017
It is far too early in the morning for Gideon’s psychoses to be getting uppity, but there they are, at it again.

The first voice is quiet, timid, paranoid. we shouldn’t be here. feels wrong. feels like a trap.

The second voice is loud and boisterous. It sounds remarkably like a certain Bishop. Projection? Undoubtedly. WILL YOU SHUT IT WITH YOUR TRAP TALK? IT’S TIMES LIKE THIS I WISH I WASN’T A VOICE IN SOMEONE ELSE’S HEAD SO I COULD COME OVER THERE AND GIVE YOU A GOOD SEEING-TO.

Gideon kneads his temples. Voice 1 and Voice 2 are like a pair of squabbling infants at the best of times. He only hopes Voice 3 won’t make an appearance today.

He calls up a jaunty hymn to hum and drown out the voices’ bickering as he skips up to the mansion’s entrance. He is a fresh-faced young man in a crumpled black silk suit; surprisingly young for someone in his position, as people like to remark, although nobody is entirely sure what that position is.

He likes to keep them guessing. The Truth is out there, if one knows where to look.

NOT THIS TRUTH S__T AGAIN, groans Voice 2.

Gideon clears his throat and knocks on the door. When the doorman opens it, Gideon says “Good morning!” and shoves past, politely.

He barges into the drawing room, ignoring – or, more likely, oblivious to – the stares his proprietary clockwork monocle attracts. The device clicks and whirrs, zooming in on random objects in the room and causing his left eye to flick between a range of magnifications, each of which is more alarming than the last.

“Gideon Stormstrider, at your service!” he announces to anyone who cares to listen. “That’s right – the renowned experimental theologician and madcap inventor extraordinaire, before your very eyes! I’ve heard there’s a frightening apparition to catch, and by golly, we’ll give it a good drubbing with the help of my various occult practices!”

He strikes a suitably dramatic pose for a moment before sinking into a nearby armchair and rearranging the cushions into a more comfortable position for slouching.



edited by JimmyTMalice on 3/5/2017

--
Gideon Stormstrider, the Episcopalian Esotericist
Jimmy T. Malice, gone.

A Squid in the Polls
+3 link
suinicide
suinicide
Posts: 2077

3/6/2017
Gregory Henchard turned up on the Dynamos’ doorstep, staggering slightly as he made his way to the door. Not drunk, he doesn’t touch the stuff, but clearly affected by something. He started thumping at the door, the flier in his clenched fist crunching with every blow.

By the second knock, the door had been opened and Henchard bustled inside by an armed servant. He stood in the room for a moment, watching the people cluster into groups. Inventors, scientists, fighters. Each chatted in their little group, or lurked in one of the many, many dark corners this room seemed to have. Some calm, some nervous. He wondered how many would be dead by the end of this. None, hopefully. But considering what they were hunting...a guilty smile stretched across his lips. It was never an adventure without a measure of risk.

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to see the servant, gesturing for him to take a seat.

Well, he couldn’t expect the Dynamos to meet with every person, not with a group this large. He settled into the chair to see what would develop, eyes flicking between the door and the windows.
edited by suinicide on 9/17/2017

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/sunnytime
A gentleman seeking the liberation of knowledge, with a penchant for violence.
RIP suinicide, stuck in a well. Still has it under control.
+1 link
Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 433

3/6/2017
With the arrival of David Henchard, Drake ceases his light conversation with the Sun-Scorched Sailor and motions to Emma. She nods and crosses to the door, closing and bolting it. Drake clears his throat and walks to the center of the room. The various brooding individuals all turn their attention to him.

"That's funny, there seem to be more chairs in here then I recall." Drake shakes off his moment of existential dread. “But I suppose you’re all wondering about this Shade character. Well, it’s my Shade. I suppose one might say I created it, but that was by sheer accident. I think the Sailor here can attest to that.” Drake indicates the Scorched Sailor at this point, who gives a ponderous nod. “Well, from what I understand, it came back to London, and, uh- well, I suppose it began killing people. Permanently.”

The group members turn and murmur to each other. Emma silences them with a stomp of her foot. Her skirt billows up to reveal a long knife strapped to her left leg.

“And, I suppose, it’s our duty to stop it. It did break us out of prison.” Drake pauses briefly here. “We were detained without trial for crimes we most definitely did not commit. The Sailor can also attest to that.” Another ponderous nod. “But yes, stopping the Shade, that’s why you’re here. If you agree to join our- hunting party, let’s call it, I will pay you a considerable sum- some forty five hundred pieces of rosty gold. I will also cover any medical expenses that may arise from this task.”

There are some more interested murmurs from the group. Emma stamps her other foot this time, revealing a derringer strapped to her right leg. Drake continues

“I’m afraid I don’t know many of you, but I can only hope that you will help me put this matter right. If you do intend to join, please sign this contract here-” Drake produces a rather plain document with a large amount of room for signatures- “and then we will begin to look at what we know about the Shade, so we can begin hunting it.”

--
Oh no. Another post from that goon who goes on about statistics.

Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker , Matchmaker, and Paramount Presence
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A ghostly skullduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

Guide to becoming a Poet-Laureate
If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
+2 link
Shadowcthuhlu
Shadowcthuhlu
Posts: 1424

3/6/2017
Dirae Erinyes will sign their name with a flourish. This will earn them a look from Evensong, who will sign their contract like a normal person.

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Dirae~Erinyes
+3 link
Mr. Hamilton
Mr. Hamilton
Posts: 78

3/6/2017
Mr. Hamilton gets up from his chair, walks over and grimly signs the document.

OOC: My backstory is here: http://community.failbettergames.com/topic1093-what-brings-you-to-the-neath--backstory--goals.aspx?Page=5

--
I am open to any calling cards and most other social events.



My alt: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/George~Albany

My alt's appearance: http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=8#post164336

My main profile: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Mr%20Hamilton

My main profile's appearance: [urlhttp://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=6#post164298
+1 link
suinicide
suinicide
Posts: 2077

3/6/2017
“Gregory Henchard,” the pen scrawled in blocky handwriting. “No fee necessary. Medical expenses still expected.”
edited by suinicide on 9/17/2017

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/sunnytime
A gentleman seeking the liberation of knowledge, with a penchant for violence.
RIP suinicide, stuck in a well. Still has it under control.
+1 link
phryne
phryne
Posts: 888

3/6/2017
Lady Orosenn, who had certainly not been chatting with anyone, was flabbergasted. That rich b-----d! 45 Echoes worth of Rostygold!? That wasn't miserly, it was a slap in the face! Was she a common ratcatcher? Add the fact that the silly toff was himself the source of all this trouble with the shade, and it was just unbelievably rude. She considered running him through on the spot, immortality be d----d: it would surely hurt at least. But no, this was his residence. Her manners were better than that.

Ignoring the idiots running forward to sign the contract, she stood up from where she had sat in a corner and approached her would-be employer, slowly shaking her head. "Not good enough, Mr Dynamo. Not good enough by half. I suggest you improve your offer—significantly—or you can go find yourself another monster-hunter."
edited by phryne on 3/6/2017

--
a Scarlet Sainta Monster-Huntera Memorya Raven?
Exceptional Stories poll results: 20162017
List of useful thingsFavours & Renown Guide
+2 link
John Moose
John Moose
Posts: 237

3/6/2017
After some people have gone over, Noah looks around and makes his way to the document. After reading through the contract over David's shoulder, he scribbles on it an utterly illegible signature neatly below the previous one. It's a rather handsome sum on offer, one that will not only cover his expenses for a while but also let him move to new premises to access utterly unwary clientele. There seems to be little risk involved; he'll probably get to stick to stitching others' wounds and stay out of harm's way. Just the way he likes it.

edit://(OOC) Seems like phryne posted while I was writing. Noah's signing takes place before the episode.
edited by John Moose on 3/6/2017

--
Gone. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/John Moose
A veteran of a war never foughthttp://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Leonine Veteran
+1 link
Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 433

3/6/2017
Drake looks at Lady Orosenn and sighs. Before he can open his mouth, Emma walks up to Orosenn and looks up at her. Her hands are clenched into fists.

"You will accept the payment you are offered, or you can leave. Or, if you insist on staying, I will ensure that you leave in a considerably worse state than you arrived in." Emma declares. Drake gently moves his older sister to the side.

"I will give you Mr. Henchard's share of the pay. A full ninety echoes worth of rosty gold. In addition, since you want something special, in lieu of medical expenses, I will give you a small bottle of Hesperidean Cider. If you're good enough to warrant such pay, you won't need me to pay any medical bills, and that Cider will be a hefty reward." Drake declares. He holds out his hand.

"Shake on it?"

--
Oh no. Another post from that goon who goes on about statistics.

Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker , Matchmaker, and Paramount Presence
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A ghostly skullduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

Guide to becoming a Poet-Laureate
If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
+3 link
Azothi
Azothi
Posts: 105

3/6/2017
The smallest smile broke out across Azoth's face over Emma's forwardness. She always loved a good threat, and the smile helped conceal a twitch of fear inside her. Permanent death? She'd risked fighting in the Black Ribbon, but she'd had time to prepare and study her opponents for that. This was a threat she barely knew anything about, and if she were to face it ... well, she'd hunted in the past, capturing beasts across London, but this? This was dangerous.

You still have the chance to back out, she reminded herself. The thought seemed awfully appealing, but ...

This was serious. How many people had this Shade killed? She didn't know, and ... well, it couldn't be allowed to continue. Even if it meant risking her own life. She made her way over to the paper, skimming over its contents. Taking a quill from one of her many pockets, she tried to sign her name on the paper. Unfortunately, Bastet decided to wake up and crawl on her arm right at that moment. There was a weird splotch of ink at the end of her signature now, but she thought it was legible enough. Walking away, she tapped the rifle under her cloak, the one that had lasted her through all her previous hunting. Somehow it seemed inadequate.

--
Azoth I - Midnighter - Available Watchful Patron - Long History - Appearance

Daneri, the Nothingness of Everything: Old soul. Where are you going, old soul?

Celebrating one year in Fallen London, September 1895.
+1 link
phryne
phryne
Posts: 888

3/6/2017
Lady Orosenn completely ignored the obviously retarded woman's antics. Those English toffs and their in-breeding! It was a shame. But apparently, Mr Dynamo at least could be made to see sense.

"I accept. This is only in case of success, of course. If I am no help, no need to pay me at all. Those are my usual terms." They shake hands.

"Now, it would probably be of great benefit to everyone assembled if you could elaborate a little on the peculiar characteristics of this 'Shade'?"


(OOC: Let everyone else sign first though. There have been a lot of posts within a few hours now.)
edited by phryne on 3/6/2017

--
a Scarlet Sainta Monster-Huntera Memorya Raven?
Exceptional Stories poll results: 20162017
List of useful thingsFavours & Renown Guide
+3 link
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