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Messages - Rigby

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Underground / Black Markets / Of Burgled Wags and Wagging Tongues [LETTER]
« on: February 17, 2018, 04:05:02 PM »
For one who had spent years underground in many a city and abreast of the black markets, whispers among the disreputable of the silver-tongued man were impossible to ignore. However much certain dealers tried, after a time.

And it seemed that finally now, one denizen was sent to follow the whispers: a rather young pine marten, often bearing the pseudonym 'Sortilege,' one riddled with scars that purposefully twisted into stylized eyes marring his coat - a little hustler and snakesman-for-hire that to anyone who'd been in the undercity for any amount of years had been known to follow the money from master to master.

Sortilege bore a plainly folded piece of paper; if pressed, the marten would shrug and tell whoever recieved him that a Jack of Diamonds handed it to him, utterly baffled. And after a beat (and some rifling around in a musty pocket), he would hold up the offending card, too - a rather ordinary member of a rather ordinary French deck - though less ordinarily, it appeared mildly burnt around the edges, ashes curling into colors bright orange and acidic green, the 'face' of the card removed but the frame and suit markings remained.

Sortilege hadn't opened the letter. Perhaps he couldn't. It wasn’t for his eyes, after all.



Silvertongue, you beautiful braggadocio.

Small potatoes are good in moderation, and go well with many things, but too many spoil the stew. Sloppiness will not be tolerated, and neither will thoughtless overconfidence be allowed to further endanger secrecy and good business.

I had been confident in my decision to refrain from seeking out whatever you'd been attempting to organize below-ground, and have forbade mine likewise. You do yours, I do mine, as they say. But it is difficult to ignore distinctive items of noble connections change hands, including between some of my own.

Our eyes are on you. Step carefully from here on out, Silvertongue, lest we entertain a far more literal interpretation of that moniker.



--

The letter would be written almost cheekily in several different handwritings, often switching mid-word; notably, one stretch of lettering matched the loops and whirls of the more public reports of one Councillor, and if one were prone to investigating further, the rest would appear to echo the writing of several others about the capital and Valsheim, all bearing no common ground whatsover.

Whoever the forger in the note-sender's employ was, they appeared to be kind of a dick.


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Continuity Knowledgebase / Re: Who's Who
« on: July 25, 2017, 09:06:37 PM »
Arron and Even - Lore/Storymaster label (either-or)

Tech Society at present: Ev, Gibbit, Den, Noman, Rapt, Dergo, Vallahd (and feel free to kick me if I'm missing any!)

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Character Sheets / Re: HERR ANTONIUS
« on: December 17, 2016, 01:26:03 PM »
[I immediately fell in love with his face.]

[Ev just gets increasingly concerned with everyone's eyeballs in this frikkin' city.

Slash-really intrigued by aforementioned goggles, dat craftsmanship]

4
It wasn't above ground, but in the underground that a stray little poster had slipped through the cracks of the miniature signboard scuffle and come into possession of a tall, dark and spindly gentleman, who watched the proceedings with a detached sort of amusement.

It wasn't him that took it, of course; that privilege was solely for the little pine marten that accompanied him, who had rather bravely grabbed it (after a rather alarmed yelp and admirable football toss as the thing popped like a firecracker) for the lurker around the corner.

Even as the poster stubbornly continued splitting and dividing noisily like a demented papery firework, they finally managed to hang what remained of it once more (it continued to complain nonetheless). But the damage had already been done: a pair of runes had slipped into the pockets of both marten and man.


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