[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XI

[lord pringle]

"It's over by the volcano. As for what you'd be doing, it depends. What are you good at?" Flynn mentally debates getting a third drink and then decides to just get a roll of bread.

[Beans]

I am an accomplished climber, I can produce webbing, I am equipped with venomous wrist-spurs filled with numbing poison, and in general I am good at keeping to darkness to remain stealthy and unobtrusive.

[lord pringle]

"Ooh! Sneaky people! Sneaky is always good. Flynn hiccups and takes a bite of bread.

[Beans]

Nefila nods. Indeed, that is the skillset of my caste.

[lord pringle]

"Your... Caste?" Flynn asks. It's obvious that he's drunk now. "Can you cast magic?" He asks nervously

[Beans]

She shakes her head. No, only the Kahzess can do that... She blinks. Allow me to explain concisely:
My species is divided into seven castes. She pulls out a bit of paper and some pens, drawing little stick-figures in the shape of people of her race.
The red ones are heat-tolerant berserkers.
The blue ones are water-striders and swimmers who try to keep the peace among all the rest of us.
The green ones are razor-legged speedsters, hard to predict.
The white ones are cold-resistant planners.
The brown ones are camouflaging snipers and trackers.
The black ones, like me, are the often-pushed-around thieves in the dark, able to read minds a very limited amount and imitate voices. She ends the sentence with Flynn's voice, then a giggle in her own.
Then there are the higher caste, the Kahzess, who rule us, with no special venom but access to a shadow dimension. They are also the only caste who reproduce regularly; we really don't know where the babies of regular castes come from and they won't tell us.

[lord pringle]

Flynn just kinda blankly looks in response. "So, you can sound like anyone?" He tilts his head in confusion.

[Beans]

She nods. Indeed. I am capable of pulling voices from people's minds and imitating those as well, but a strong mind can stop it.

[lord pringle]

He waves his mug around, "So, you can do magic?"

[Beans]

I already said I cannot.

[lord pringle]

"But how can you go into minds without magic?" Flynn orders himself another drink.

[The Alexandrian]

((Closed Scene))

Character Description:

Spoiler

Show

She is the very model of the modern maiden sensual! She has the cutest smile and a mischievous little devil tail! Her pretty little angel wings are the purest and whitest hue. Tucked away in her back both inconspicuous and ignorable! Her pointy little cat ears animated and adorable! Her fair skin has a light tan that is wonderful and radical. Many folks have lost their heads staring into her baby blues (and if they had a second chance that's not the only thing they'd lose)! Her lips are red as blood and she is naturally voluptuous. Alluring and flirtatious she's the subject of alot of fuss. To sum, if you like excellence both physical and magical she is the very model of the modern maiden sensual! What's more, her purple eyes shine with much radiant intelligence. Her mannerisms playful and lascivious her preference! She has the cutest nose and perfect features (all mammalian)! With teeth like those her diet must consist of things animalian. Her lustrous raven hair magnificent in its simplicity, brushing against the sword that she armed like nobility. That said, she has a thing for vice and for simple common trickery! They say she has no moral problems with sins such as adultery ('cause her curtaintastic talents, when she's not in the least hungry, are attributed directly to the line of her ancestry)! To sum, if you like excellence both physical and magical she is the very model of the modern maiden sensual!

As the veritable angel of ineffable beauty, grace, and debonair confidently saunters into the den, wading through the ignoble criminals and deplorable filth that are the very dregs of the Nexus society, an awed, unnatural silence sweeps across the formerly boisterous crowd assembled here. The lips and tongues of garrulous braggarts are still. The cheering of revelers at once dying to nothingness in but a heartbeat. The despair of the beggarly, bereft of fortune, Fates spitting upon them, torn from all that they held dear and cast into a dangerous alien land with naught but the clothes on their backs vanishes and a stream of radiant, ephemeral hope floods into their hearts that this is not a punishment but an opportunity to begin life anew.

A minute elapses, and again, the room is abuzz with mirth and merriment, though she is not forgotten. Try as the patrons of the tavern might, the slurred words of their amusing conversations apropos of this and that inevitably lead to one topic and one topic alone. Her.

Of her, they know nothing, and so they embellish, as characters of their nature are wont to do when they desire seem to know and a lie might make them a king and all others their thralls if their "truth" is never challenged. Like an contagious and baneful disease, odious rumors of her alleged romantic conquests spread. How she, like Helen of Troy, drove men mad or plunged her world into the maw of chaos. She, the fabled instrument of Eris. How she only appeared in the presence of the greatest of warriors and how she rewarded the influential, the strong, and the wise. She, the consort of the regent and of the champion. How she, like a succubus, preyed upon the hapless fools who fell victim to her salacious features and her bewitching smile. She, the promiscuous predator.

These false shepherds and their sheep invent a dozen names and thrice as many tales for her, none of which even faintly resemble her own.

So occupied are they with enhancing the "truth" and convincingly speaking of things they know not of in fact that nobody takes notice when Khyli, for that is the hot angel-demon's name, stealthily slips into a secluded booth at the far side of the den, far, far, far away from the unsolicited attention she would have continued to draw to herself and the dozens of free likely drugged drinks that would no doubt eventually accompany it. This isn't one of her usual haunts. It isn't as comfortable or low-profile as she is accustomed to, but she is starving and this was the nearest restaurant, according to her cell phone. One of her hands rests near a pouch of throwing knives clipped onto the belt wrapped around her waist just in case as her other hand slips into the pocket of her black jeans and she withdraws a wallet from within. Purses are just too easily stolen or cut in dives like this (and she should know as swiped wallets out of at least three purses while everyone was conveniently distracted with disrespectfully chattering about her).

[Beans]

"But how can you go into minds without magic?" Flynn orders himself another drink.

"Psionics." She shrugs, sipping her beer.

[Arkhosia]

A female half-elf with a dark red ponytail and green eyes enters the bar and sits down at a random seat, introducing herself to whoever is occupying the seat next to her.

((Open Interaction))

[Devixer]

The person next to her happens to be a woman in reinforced leather armor, with a steel helmet on the bar in front of her. She's clearly an aasimar, if the half-elf knows what those are, with very pale skin and eyes that gleam like sapphires. "Good day."

[Arkhosia]

Hello, I'm Valia.[ Pleased to meet you.
Valia turns to the waiters
May I please have some bread and whiskey?

[Devixer]

"My name is Imesah," the woman says. Oddly enough for someone at the Dragon's Den, she's just drinking water, and doesn't look to be nursing a hangover.

[Arkhosia]

Nice to meet you, Imesah. What do you do for a living?

[Reinholdt]

You leave for a few days and suddenly the place is booming with business. It's almost as if your very presence drives off customers Reinholdt.

Ah well. You still like it here and it is still less crowded than Trog's.

Flaming Hawt human Reinholdt enters, solid pink eyes scanning the room as his hands adjust the strap holding his sniper rifle on his back. He quickly finds a seat and orders some coffee. He notes quite a lot of chatter and does his best to start listening in on various conversations, picking up interesting tidbits here and there, even if only from NPCs.

[5a Violista]

Also, someone who enters is a woman who's dressed like a pirate-poet. (She's actually a dragon, though.) She also has a Pokeball, attached to near where her sword is.

She goes over to where the darts are and begins playing, throwing knives at various things.

((If you want to talk to her and don't want to get up, then I can have her stop playing.))

[Reinholdt]

Reinholdt doesn't have to as he's sitting right near the dart playing area. Not in a position to get a dart thrown at him, of course. More the throwing line.

"What on earth's that thing?" Reinholdt asks, pointing at the pokeball.

Fun fact! Ghar's pokemon person had a chance to catch Reinholdt as a pokemon when he was in cat form, but didn't take it.

[5a Violista]

She, Alvilda, stops throwing knives for a moment so she can answer.

She looks down at her Voltorb. "It's called...a Pokerman, or something, I think." She never really did learn the correct pronunciation. "Its name is Evil Doll."

She throws another knife. Oh, how she wishes it could explode or catch fire in mid-air. That would be so cool.

[Reinholdt]

That would be kinda cool. Probably overdoing it for a dart board though.

"... Evil Doll? Well that's really creepy. Is it just that then? Some sort of evil doll? Is that what pokermon are?"

[Gnrlshrimp]

Somewhat nervously, a young woman makes her way into the Den.

This wretched hive of scum and villainy is not the sort of place she'd normally enter, but she has no idea where to go. Surely someone here can be of some help to her, right?

She makes her way over to the bar, taking care to avoid having her pale white dress catch on anything. Though it clears the ground by a good few inches, there is still a good deal of fabric that could easily snag on something and be torn. Her outfit would suggest that she's someone fairly well-off, though the dress has a rather faded look to it, and she stumbles slightly on her shoes as if they are in need of replacing, suggesting she may have fallen on hard times...

One white gloved hand reaches up to flick a loose strand of her pale blonde hair out of the way while her other reaches down into her handbag, taking out a purse that has precious few coins in it. The ladies' hair is perhaps her most interesting feature, being such a pale colour that one might almost think it as white as her dress would be...were it in a better condition.

With a quite, timid voice, she addresses the nearest bartender. "I...I would like a drink, please. N-nothing too strong though..." She is passed a menu and starts looking through it, jumping slightly and looking around as if thinking someone had touched her for a moment.

[Gullara]

Spoiler

Show

((Closed Scene))

Character Description:

Spoiler

Show

She is the very model of the modern maiden sensual! She has the cutest smile and a mischievous little devil tail! Her pretty little angel wings are the purest and whitest hue. Tucked away in her back both inconspicuous and ignorable! Her pointy little cat ears animated and adorable! Her fair skin has a light tan that is wonderful and radical. Many folks have lost their heads staring into her baby blues (and if they had a second chance that's not the only thing they'd lose)! Her lips are red as blood and she is naturally voluptuous. Alluring and flirtatious she's the subject of alot of fuss. To sum, if you like excellence both physical and magical she is the very model of the modern maiden sensual! What's more, her purple eyes shine with much radiant intelligence. Her mannerisms playful and lascivious her preference! She has the cutest nose and perfect features (all mammalian)! With teeth like those her diet must consist of things animalian. Her lustrous raven hair magnificent in its simplicity, brushing against the sword that she armed like nobility. That said, she has a thing for vice and for simple common trickery! They say she has no moral problems with sins such as adultery ('cause her curtaintastic talents, when she's not in the least hungry, are attributed directly to the line of her ancestry)! To sum, if you like excellence both physical and magical she is the very model of the modern maiden sensual!

As the veritable angel of ineffable beauty, grace, and debonair confidently saunters into the den, wading through the ignoble criminals and deplorable filth that are the very dregs of the Nexus society, an awed, unnatural silence sweeps across the formerly boisterous crowd assembled here. The lips and tongues of garrulous braggarts are still. The cheering of revelers at once dying to nothingness in but a heartbeat. The despair of the beggarly, bereft of fortune, Fates spitting upon them, torn from all that they held dear and cast into a dangerous alien land with naught but the clothes on their backs vanishes and a stream of radiant, ephemeral hope floods into their hearts that this is not a punishment but an opportunity to begin life anew.

A minute elapses, and again, the room is abuzz with mirth and merriment, though she is not forgotten. Try as the patrons of the tavern might, the slurred words of their amusing conversations apropos of this and that inevitably lead to one topic and one topic alone. Her.

Of her, they know nothing, and so they embellish, as characters of their nature are wont to do when they desire seem to know and a lie might make them a king and all others their thralls if their "truth" is never challenged. Like an contagious and baneful disease, odious rumors of her alleged romantic conquests spread. How she, like Helen of Troy, drove men mad or plunged her world into the maw of chaos. She, the fabled instrument of Eris. How she only appeared in the presence of the greatest of warriors and how she rewarded the influential, the strong, and the wise. She, the consort of the regent and of the champion. How she, like a succubus, preyed upon the hapless fools who fell victim to her salacious features and her bewitching smile. She, the promiscuous predator.

These false shepherds and their sheep invent a dozen names and thrice as many tales for her, none of which even faintly resemble her own.

So occupied are they with enhancing the "truth" and convincingly speaking of things they know not of in fact that nobody takes notice when Khyli, for that is the hot angel-demon's name, stealthily slips into a secluded booth at the far side of the den, far, far, far away from the unsolicited attention she would have continued to draw to herself and the dozens of free likely drugged drinks that would no doubt eventually accompany it. This isn't one of her usual haunts. It isn't as comfortable or low-profile as she is accustomed to, but she is starving and this was the nearest restaurant, according to her cell phone. One of her hands rests near a pouch of throwing knives clipped onto the belt wrapped around her waist just in case as her other hand slips into the pocket of her black jeans and she withdraws a wallet from within. Purses are just too easily stolen or cut in dives like this (and she should know as swiped wallets out of at least three purses while everyone was conveniently distracted with disrespectfully chattering about her).

"They really are a bother, aren't they." Someone says as he steps closer. The person in question is a moderately handsome individual. Certainly not matching her own supernatural charms, but he's nice to look at. Not to mention he dresses rather well with a white shirt and black waistcoat and pants. He's a tiefling by all appearances. Slightly reddish brown skin, red cat's eyes, slightly sharp fingertips, and pointed teeth. No tail for him, though. "I hope you done mind some company, though. Can I order you a drink?"

[5a Violista]

Someone should make one, though.

"I think there's more kinds of these Poker-men," Alvilda the Pirate says. "I met a woman who had one that was a giant bug made of rocks." Another knife thrown. "There's probably some fire ones, too. I haven't seen them," but she really wants to (as she throws another knife), "but there was a burnt-out building once. Apparently, if you throw a ball at them, they become your slaves or something."

[Reinholdt]

"WHAT?! That's horrible!"

Reinholdt was all nodding in a vaguely understanding way until that very last part.

[5a Violista]

Alvilda shrugs. "That's just what someone else told me."

She stops throwing knives so the next shady character can do it. She goes to sit by Reinholdt. "I think they're nice, though." She grabs her Voltorb, and its eyes open (since it's now waking up). "See?"

"It likes rolling around, shooting lightning, exploding, and catching fire."

[Artemis97]

[Bar]

The goblin behind the bar serves up a glass of golden liquid, Cormyrian Fireamber, from a bottle hidden under the counter. That particular vintage wasn't on the menu, and, in fact the bottle belonged to the Den's owner, but the goblin figured the drow wouldn't mind. He was always taking on charity cases, and the poor woman looked like she could use something to warm her up.

A young man sat at the bar nearby, sipping something dark from a tall glass. He was dressed in loose fitting clothes in shades of smoke and charcoal. His black hair was close cropped, an even length. One would guess he had recently been shaved bald. The man looks up at her when she speaks, his dark eyes kind and curious. When she jumps, he asks "Is everything alright, miss?"

[Reinholdt]

"So... you can command it and it does whatever you want it to do?" Reinholdt asks, eying the voltorb cautiously. All three of those last things would be bad for his health. Particularly exploding.

...
"Wouldn't it die if it explodes?"