Mage's Guild
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Renown
Human (Fiend Pact)
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Feb 7, 2024 15:58:27 GMT -5
Pomegranate-laced smoke danced in the air and bellowed from the lips of hookah partakers reclining on a surplus of ornate pillows. Cymbals crashing and Ouds plucking along to hand drums resonated within the lush lounge area. This was Zeinav—the land of fortune and Intrigue. This music has existed for hundreds of years, from nomads to Sultan did their strings and harmonies please. Yet, in a room clad in brilliant contrast, hues of tangerine upon deep navy and vermillion upon jade, a being loomed near the bar. A fingernail easily an inch in length traced the marble countertop as the other hand supported a brass chalice. Some reddish liquid danced within. His eyes, bright as the stars themselves, traced the room yet in all the revelry he was scowling.
“Master Amilcar…is the wine to your liking?” The bartender said from beyond a rather enormous mustache. Bellighul almost snarled, staring into the liquid with some form of malice and hate. “As a matter of fact- it’s a bit dusty. What is the providence?” His nose picked up notes of salinity, rich orange blossoms and licorice. This was an oceanside wine. Thin but floral, perfect for the hot desert evening. The Villa of Lost Souls made a once comparable wine, though, objectively better. At least to the Dark Lord. The bartender lifted his finger towards the gilded ceiling, and proudly began to speak. “Well, it happens to be Sol City’s finest…” Before he could utter another word Bellighul interrupted. He suspected it was an island wine and certainly, he suspected it from the Kingdom appellation. “Ahhh, that explains it. The only thing that island can do right is burn apparently.” Amilcar spoke venomously and without warning tossed the wine into a nearby vase, refusing to take another dram. “The sommelier should be flogged for not having my wine available…but I am generous. I’ll buy every bottle of that Sol City vintage.”
The bartender, dumbfounded and curious replied “I…I don’t understand?” Allowing the Lord of Ghouls to continue. “I will buy every bottle of that vintage so that you may break them in the street lest someone suffer them any longer.”
A small heap of gold was lifted from his vest pocket, spread about with the arc of his hand. Yet, in the moment, he heard footsteps approaching and turned to face new bar arrivals, coursing his fingers through the enormous white mane he manicured.
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Golden Consortium
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Renown
Zeinav Desert
Scam? I’ve never pulled a scam in my life! I don’t even know what a scam is!
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Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Feb 9, 2024 8:49:25 GMT -5
Ah, there’s truly nothing better than the sound of desperate fools down on their luck.
If they were being honest, casinos were Morrigan Moonweaver’s favorite den of inequity. Where else could you find such lavish trappings, designed to draw the eye and give common folk an opportunity to feel bigger than they were, if only for a day? The charlatan had to admire the design of such a trap - the multicolored, twinkling lights and the music and the smell of jasmine and spiced food, luring in the crowd. You came willingly, you stayed willingly to indulge in games and the feast and the high life, and by the time you pried yourself away from the card tables come sunrise, your pockets were empty. An ingenious bit of robbery, one the casino’s inhabitants weren’t even privy they were part of.
And Morrigan loved to gamble.
Not at the tables, mind. The so-called Wizard of the Wastes enjoyed playing a game of their own private design… casino patrons played games of cards and craps and chance, and Morrigan? They made a game out of the people. Patterns and behaviors, how far they were willing to drive themselves into debt, how much of their fate they were willing to put in the hands of a kind wizard to “cast a spell of good fortune” on them to turn their luck around. Easy to make money preying on the vulnerable in a place where the vulnerable had already marched their happy little asses right into the maw of the desert beast.
Oh, but Morrigan wasn’t returning to an old haunt by the name of the Dusty Refuge for work matters. It was their night off… of sorts. They fully intended to enjoy a drink, relax, and spend some coin on a few games. But never say never if the opportunity arose, yes? They were nothing if not an opportunist.
The setting sun painted the sky a dusty pink and red, fading to opulent indigo as Morrigan arrived at the casino. An attendant took their fur coat to a side room, allowing Morrigan to breathe in a floor-length silk brocade and layered chiffon skirt. Lavender opulence framed in silver and gold. They spared a wave for a few people who recognized them as they passed. Though they did not don the moniker as often as they used to, the Wizard of the Wastes was still a household name amongst the people they’d scammed - er, helped. Helped.
A drink would do them some good.
They traipsed towards the bar, just barely catching the tail-end of a conversation. Something about Sol City wine… a trail of gold along the counter. A business transaction?
Morrigan grinned. They might not have been here for work, but there was a possibility they’d just struck gold.
The charlatan made their way to the bar, leaning against solid wood and offering the handsome stranger an award-winning smile. “Congratulations on your purchase.” An utterly frivolous one, but one Morrigan might be able to take advantage of. It all depended on how much the stranger wanted to play.
Rapping their fingers against the bar, they caught the attention of the mustachioed maestro behind the bar, twirling two coins between their fingers before setting them on the table. “A Blood and Sand, if you please.”
The bartender nodded and scurried off to prepare Morrigan’s drink, giving them a chance to turn back to the stranger, the plastered smile never once leaving their face. A more seasoned traveler might recognize the look of a shark who’d scented blood in the water, but… well. Kamille had once found them charming. And if they were about to step in shit, may as well go all in.
“I didn’t mean to overhear your private business, but I do think that this is a rather fortuitous circumstance on both of our parts. You are clearly a master of acquiring goods - but I sense you might be at a loss as to what to do with your fine new asset. I might be able to help you turn a profit out of such a thing, should you be interested in a new business venture, friend.”
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Adventurer
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Renown
Crescent Isles
Practically Perfect in Every Way
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Post by Nieven Oakenthorn on Feb 13, 2024 3:38:10 GMT -5
A Sylvan elf opens the outside door and is welcomed to the sounds of excitement and the wails of sorrow that have drawn his fancy. Bright lights filled the casino with a radiance of class. Indeed, told by the graceful soothing music and its sophisticated appearance, Nieven was at the right place, the Dusty Refuge. A place where the weak come to perish and the fantastic relish in their success. A smirk of satisfaction can’t help but come across the man’s face as he walks through glancing around at the wondrous sight. Losers crying and whining about their bad luck, and winners screaming for joy at the raw emotion of those playing for their livelihood placed him in a good mood. Lady Fate was a cruel mistress who only shone her light on those who were worthy, people like him. The sight of classy people in formal attire, a lavish interior, and the smell of good wine ah Nieven was home. As much as gambling was an enjoyable sight he’d decided to just relax and take in the night. Having a couple of drinks at the bar enjoy the ambiance of the environment was all he planned to do. Finally, after the last few days of adventuring going over the silliest absurd tasks he just wanted a nice night to himself, after all, it’s what he deserved. For the gods smile on the beautiful and he was one of them. He sat at the bar next to two well-dressed individuals, they both certainly did not match him in terms of style and perfection however that was hard to do anyway considering he was perfect. He paid for their conversation and didn't mind considering his business more important than theirs.
He patiently waited for the bartender to get the purple fellblood’s drink in order before placing his order.
He tapped his fingers against the bar counter until the bartender finished and raised his finger, “Hello there dear bartender, may I have one of everything on the menu?” before pausing, “Hm… you know what, I'm feeling a little charitable at the moment. Can I have three of everything on the menu and the other two to the two fellows to my right?”.
The Sylvan elf before hearing a response simply reaches into his turquoise jacket pocket and hands the attendant a very large wad of solars not even bothering to count it.
“I think that should be enough to cover it, keep the rest of the change darling. I don't mind giving to others, after all, what is Nieven Loreas Oakenthorn but generous?”, he chuckled softly amused at himself. The Sylvan Elf then waited patiently as the bartender hurriedly prepared his tall order.
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