[Old]The Cult of Thieves - Sign Ups and OOC

[rissa]

the cult

of thieves

Information is power, and power is easily acquired.

ROMILLY LECADRE

"I'll cut you with my silver tongue, make you bleed prayers you hoped you'd never have to use."

Name: Romilly Lecadre
Nickname: Milly
Aliases: Arianell Maran, Vela Artov

Age: 25

Race: Half-Naveri
Magic: Arcane

Appearance: Romilly, a half-elf of Faledren, takes after both mother and father equally. She has her father's tanned skin and her mother's dark blue hair. Milly has tarnished silver colored eyes, a plethora of freckles, and curly hair of the untameable kind. Slight of stature, standing at barely five-foot-three-inches and weighing a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. With years of farming alongside her father, then moving on to living on the streets, Milly has hardened and toned her body.

Weapon(s) of Choice: Whip, daggers, throwing knives

Years within the Cult of Thieves: Almost five years

Specialization: Acquisition

As one attuned to the Arcane, Milly uses wards to mask her presence, and in this lies her greatest strength: invisibility. With an indomitable will, stealth, agility, and a surprising amount of strength, Romilly, even before joining the Cult of Thieves, made a name for herself as a thief. Able to slip in and out of places unseen, Milly can take as she pleases, and as such, breaking and entering has been one of her greatest strengths since the beginning of her criminal career.

Personality Traits:

Positive: LOYAL - INSTINCTIVE - CLEVER - RESOURCEFUL
Neutral: QUIET - RESERVED - AMBITIOUS - SHREWD
Negative: SLY - SUSPICIOUS - UNFORGIVING - CRITICAL

HISTORY

Born to a Naveri of Eversyth and a Faledren native, Romilly was raised in her father's homeland where they could live as a family without fear of persecution and the inevitable possibility of death.

Though well below the poverty line, Milly grew up in a happy, loving home where hard work and laughter dictated the landscape. Romilly spent her younger years tilling the land and handling livestock with her father and learning how to cook and needlework with her mother. As she grew older her mother furthered her education and her father began teaching her how to use the bullwhip for the livestock they raised.

When she was nine, her mother left Faledren to return to her own homeland. Though she loved her husband and daughter very much, she loved what she left behind even more. As one who would live much longer than the two she loved, she did not wish to see their inevitable deaths and left with much regret.

A few short years after puberty, Romilly found her attunement. Without her mother's guidance and wealth of elven knowledge, her arcane attunement was severely neglected. Until about two years later, when another caster attuned to the arcane found her. He recognized her attunement and offered to train her. There was only one condition: when the time came, she do whatever it was he asked. Young and naive to the world, Romilly agreed. Years passed and her magical education flourished. Illusions were difficult but attainable with enough hard work and practice, conjured weapons were almost impossible, same with energy blasts, but wards... Since the beginning Romilly has shown an extreme aptitude for wards.

She and her father continued their farming ways until his death shortly after Milly's fifteenth birthday. Once the news spread, she was kicked off her family's farm as new farmers arrived to claim it. Heartbroken and without a place to live, Milly found herself on the streets with no money, no food, the clothes on her back, and the few mementos she was able to grab before fleeing her childhood home.

For months she struggled, living as a beggar outside Windfeld's protective wall. Then, as winter threatened Faledren, her arcane mentor found her. Her one condition was due and it changed her life forever. He clothed and fed her and gave her the details of her one condition. She was to sneak into a noble estate, steal an import ledger that contained maritime information and give it to her mentor. She was given two weeks of preparation. She scouted the estate, gouged her warding abilities, and then, finally, broke into the estate early one morning. The job went surprisingly well, and Milly, struck with a new found confidence, refused to return to begging.

Thievery was something she was always told not to do, but her father was dead and her mother gone. She needed money to survive. Food. Warm clothing. She did what she needed to with only one of her own conditions: never take from someone who's worse off than you. Life from then on was easier... dangerous and full of adrenaline spiked heists... but easier. Slowly her moral compass fell away as her theft grew from food and clothing to jewels, ledgers, and eventually, living, breathing, people.

Though life had its ups and downs, Milly kept one thing as a token of her previous life. Laughter. Smiles. Til this day Romilly still smiles and laughs, if only to keep the memories of her mother and father. Some might think it ungenuine or odd, but it keeps her sane, it keeps her focused on the next job, the next heist.

When she was nineteen she accidentally found the Labyrinth and started using the massive catacombs as a hideaway, a place to lay low when things topside get too dangerous. Little did she know what they would soon mean to her...

The Cult of Thieves CS | @rissa

 

[rissa]

MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION

Name: Romilly Lecadre
Nickname: Milly
Aliases: Arianell Maran, Vela Artov

Age: 25

Race: Half-Naveri
Magic: Arcane

Appearance: Romilly, a half-elf of Faledren, takes after both mother and father equally. She has her father's tanned skin and her mother's dark blue hair. Milly has tarnished silver colored eyes, a plethora of freckles, and curly hair of the untameable kind. Slight of stature, standing at barely five-foot-three-inches and weighing a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. With years of farming alongside her father, then moving on to living on the streets, Milly has hardened and toned her body.

Weapon(s) of Choice: Whip, daggers, throwing knives

Years within the Cult of Thieves: Almost five years

Specialization: Acquisition

As one attuned to the Arcane, Milly uses wards to mask her presence, and in this lies her greatest strength: invisibility. With an indomitable will, stealth, agility, and a surprising amount of strength, Romilly, even before joining the Cult of Thieves, made a name for herself as a thief. Able to slip in and out of places unseen, Milly can take as she pleases, and as such, breaking and entering has been one of her greatest strengths since the beginning of her criminal career.

Personality Traits:

Positive: LOYAL - INSTINCTIVE - CLEVER - RESOURCEFUL
Neutral: QUIET - RESERVED - AMBITIOUS - SHREWD
Negative: SLY - SUSPICIOUS - UNFORGIVING - CRITICAL

HISTORY

Born to a Naveri of Eversyth and a Faledren native, Romilly was raised in her father's homeland where they could live as a family without fear of persecution and the inevitable possibility of death.

Though well below the poverty line, Milly grew up in a happy, loving home where hard work and laughter dictated the landscape. Romilly spent her younger years tilling the land and handling livestock with her father and learning how to cook and needlework with her mother. As she grew older her mother furthered her education and her father began teaching her how to use the bullwhip for the livestock they raised.

When she was nine, her mother left Faledren to return to her own homeland. Though she loved her husband and daughter very much, she loved what she left behind even more. As one who would live much longer than the two she loved, she did not wish to see their inevitable deaths and left with much regret.

A few short years after puberty, Romilly found her attunement. Without her mother's guidance and wealth of elven knowledge, her arcane attunement was severely neglected. Until about two years later, when another caster attuned to the arcane found her. He recognized her attunement and offered to train her. There was only one condition: when the time came, she do whatever it was he asked. Young and naive to the world, Romilly agreed. Years passed and her magical education flourished. Illusions were difficult but attainable with enough hard work and practice, conjured weapons were almost impossible, same with energy blasts, but wards... Since the beginning Romilly has shown an extreme aptitude for wards.

She and her father continued their farming ways until his death shortly after Milly's fifteenth birthday. Once the news spread, she was kicked off her family's farm as new farmers arrived to claim it. Heartbroken and without a place to live, Milly found herself on the streets with no money, no food, the clothes on her back, and the few mementos she was able to grab before fleeing her childhood home.

For months she struggled, living as a beggar outside Windfeld's protective wall. Then, as winter threatened Faledren, her arcane mentor found her. Her one condition was due and it changed her life forever. He clothed and fed her and gave her the details of her one condition. She was to sneak into a noble estate, steal an import ledger that contained maritime information and give it to her mentor. She was given two weeks of preparation. She scouted the estate, gouged her warding abilities, and then, finally, broke into the estate early one morning. The job went surprisingly well, and Milly, struck with a new found confidence, refused to return to begging.

Thievery was something she was always told not to do, but her father was dead and her mother gone. She needed money to survive. Food. Warm clothing. She did what she needed to with only one of her own conditions: never take from someone who's worse off than you. Life from then on was easier... dangerous and full of adrenaline spiked heists... but easier. Slowly her moral compass fell away as her theft grew from food and clothing to jewels, ledgers, and eventually, living, breathing, people.

When she was nineteen she accidentally found the Labyrinth and started using the massive catacombs as a hideaway, a place to lay low when things topside get too dangerous. Little did she know what they would soon mean to her...

 

[Effervescent]

Quinnis Travers

Age: 32 years
Race: Baladuri human
Magic: a sharp tongue and a quicker wit
Height: 6'00"
Weight: 185 lbs
Appearance: Not a small man by any means, Quinn is of middling size for a man, with perhaps a bit more lean muscle than bulk. His form is regularly hidden beneath several thin layers of clothing, designed for adapting to the temperature; each piece is old, tinged with a bit of shabbiness and wear, but nevertheless well cared for. His long yellow hair he keeps mostly in braids, as well as his longish mustache. Quinn wears a perpetual smirk on his face, as if seeing some joke that no one else seems to understand, and the twinkle in his eye only serves to encourage that perception.
Personality: Practically dripping suave charisma wherever he goes, Quinn is perhaps one of the most likeable rapscallions one is ever to meet in Faledrin. He is quick to speak first, quick to greet a newcomer, and quick to get those around him laughing at some joke or other. Not that they laugh alone; Quinn is usually the first to do so. He focuses heavily on the lighthearted or the pleasant, having found that people respond far less readily to a sad or sour tone.
Character strengths/weaknesses:
+ Observant: Quinn is highly clever. A quick study in people, he can after a few words divine the right ways to poke and prod a person to go the direction he wants them to.
+ Clever: Knowing what to say isn't enough; knowing when to say it can be just as important. Quinn is quite skilled in thinking on his feet, finding the game of mental cat-and-mouse addictive.
+ Manipulative: Arguably as much a failing as it is a strength, the manipulation of others comes easily to Quinn. He finds emotions easy to direct, given the right push and prod. In fact he enjoys the effort of doing so, and will oftentimes pit people against one another for the hell of it.
- Unempathetic: There is a distinct separation to be found between conscious emotional distancing and a practiced and subconscious lack of empathy. Quinn falls quite decidedly into the latter class. It's not to say he doesn't work for his perception of the greater good; rather, he puts far more weight on the Ends. The Means are strictly unimportant detail.
- Hedonistic: Oddly, despite the more goal oriented view of 'the Ends justify the Means" he regularly employs, Quinn cares little for the future. If there is a good time to be had, he would rather be involved, consequences be damned.
- Feckless: No, that's an "E", not a "U"; go back and reread it. Quinn habitually shirks responsibility, either for his actions or for requests made of him. Strongly tied to his hedonistic nature, the Baladuri would rather just enjoy himself and forget the consequences of doing so.
History: Quinnin Travers was born in Windfeld in the upstairs room of a tiny inn in the poorest part of the shabbiest dock in town. The son of immigrants fleeing Baladur for reasons he himself never heard nor cared to find out, Quinn grew up around the outcasts of society. Criminals on the lam, prostitutes too old or broken for the richer docks, and sailors down on their luck were the regular patrons of his family's meager tavern, the Rest. His parents were almost always busy with work, so the customers practically raised him, and from them he learned a great deal about living in their world. He learned to keep your eyes open and to use what you saw. He learned that what you saw could be to your advantage, if you played it right. He learned that to get ahead someone else often had to fall behind. But mostly, he learned that life was harsh and dispassionate, and ended so frequently as suddenly as it'd started, and that as a result it was only right to live like tomorrow wouldn't come.

One woman in particular took especial interest. A half-elf madam at a brothel not too far from the Rest, Eswayt spent much of her time off in the small inn, making small talk with the other patrons and making allusions to her own sordid if colorful past. Quinn would listen intently, fascinated that she could hold her audience's attention for so long on seemingly uninteresting subject matter. Or, as was sometimes the case, intrigued that she could so easily turn one against the other. He eventually found the courage to ask her about her skill, but she laughed him off, stating without reservation that he was far too young to know about such things. Eswayt had seen the boy's own close observations and indeed his less than successful attempts at the art of Gab, so she assured him that he was welcome to come find her when he was a man; she would teach him the ways of the world, she said. Quinn, being all of 13 at the time, had no idea what she meant but was determined to take her up on it. So six years later he did, leaving the Rest without his mother's blessing to visit Eswayt at Dusk's Welcome.

The year he spent within its confines wasn't all bad: he certainly learned much from both Eswayt and her girls in the art of conversational manipulation, not to mention several different pickpocketing tricks, and one of the girls in particular he enjoyed very much. But Eswayt was a harsh task master, demanding perfection, always pointing to the door when he might complain. But he had no home to return to: as his mother had refused him her blessing of travel, his father had refused him a place to return. So Quinn stayed, pushing through the worst and focusing on the best. And so the year passed.

It was after that year when Eswayt introduced him to the Cult of Thieves. Dusk's Welcome, as it turned out, was a place of ready information, and Eswayt was one of the Cult's stand out broker's of such information. She recommended him to her own bosses with glowing praise, and after a few days of debate, Quinn was welcomed into the organization.

In the years since he joined, Quinn has gotten to know most everyone there to some degree or other; certainly well enough to accomplish the goals set before him. He became successful, organizing several jobs that turned out to be significant windfalls for the Cult over the years. His front is a small inn, much in the style of his parents, if perhaps a mile or two away: the Laughing Eel. It's a reasonably popular joint; the beer is always flowing, funded as it is by the Cult, and the well received alcohol loosens otherwise closed lips most effectively. And Quinn is always there, waiting to hear what spills from them.
Weapons: Quinn does his best to avoid fighting at all. Not because he hates hurting people; he couldn't care less. But it's a lot of effort... When he's arsed at all, Quinn fights with a heavy and broad long sword, preferring the power of a heavy blow to the finesse of a precise one.
Time and Specialization within the CoT: Quinn has been with the Cult of Thieves for nearly a decade now in Acquisitions as a Front Man. By no means a high level member, the man has nevertheless made a name for himself within the organization and has consequently been trusted with jobs of medium import. The jobs he does are arrangement or ambassadorial in nature: Quinn meets with clientele to plan and contract the Cult's involvement in some scheme, and he meets with suppliers to arrange for whatever they might need to get a job done. He's also been known to stir up a crowd for fun, inciting them to near or actual riot, though he's yet to have used this talent in any particular official manner.

Approved. Player not required to submit a writing sample due to our roleplaying history dating over a year.

 

[Effervescent]

the cult

of thieves

Information is power, and power is easily acquired.

ROMILLY LECADRE

"I'll cut you with my silver tongue, make you bleed prayers you hoped you'd never have to use."

Name: Romilly Lecadre
Nickname: Milly
Aliases: Arianell Maran, Vela Artov

Age: 25

Race: Half-Naveri
Magic: Arcane

Appearance: Romilly, a half-elf of Faledren, takes after both mother and father equally. She has her father's tanned skin and her mother's dark blue hair. Milly has tarnished silver colored eyes, a plethora of freckles, and curly hair of the untameable kind. Slight of stature, standing at barely five-foot-three-inches and weighing a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. With years of farming alongside her father, then moving on to living on the streets, Milly has hardened and toned her body.

Weapon(s) of Choice: Whip, daggers, throwing knives

Years within the Cult of Thieves: Almost five years

Specialization: Acquisition

As one attuned to the Arcane, Milly uses wards to mask her presence, and in this lies her greatest strength: invisibility. With an indomitable will, stealth, agility, and a surprising amount of strength, Romilly, even before joining the Cult of Thieves, made a name for herself as a thief. Able to slip in and out of places unseen, Milly can take as she pleases, and as such, breaking and entering has been one of her greatest strengths since the beginning of her criminal career.

Personality Traits:

Positive: LOYAL - INSTINCTIVE - CLEVER - RESOURCEFUL
Neutral: QUIET - RESERVED - AMBITIOUS - SHREWD
Negative: SLY - SUSPICIOUS - UNFORGIVING - CRITICAL

HISTORY

Born to a Naveri of Eversyth and a Faledren native, Romilly was raised in her father's homeland where they could live as a family without fear of persecution and the inevitable possibility of death.

Though well below the poverty line, Milly grew up in a happy, loving home where hard work and laughter dictated the landscape. Romilly spent her younger years tilling the land and handling livestock with her father and learning how to cook and needlework with her mother. As she grew older her mother furthered her education and her father began teaching her how to use the bullwhip for the livestock they raised.

When she was nine, her mother left Faledren to return to her own homeland. Though she loved her husband and daughter very much, she loved what she left behind even more. As one who would live much longer than the two she loved, she did not wish to see their inevitable deaths and left with much regret.

A few short years after puberty, Romilly found her attunement. Without her mother's guidance and wealth of elven knowledge, her arcane attunement was severely neglected. Until about two years later, when another caster attuned to the arcane found her. He recognized her attunement and offered to train her. There was only one condition: when the time came, she do whatever it was he asked. Young and naive to the world, Romilly agreed. Years passed and her magical education flourished. Illusions were difficult but attainable with enough hard work and practice, conjured weapons were almost impossible, same with energy blasts, but wards... Since the beginning Romilly has shown an extreme aptitude for wards.

She and her father continued their farming ways until his death shortly after Milly's fifteenth birthday. Once the news spread, she was kicked off her family's farm as new farmers arrived to claim it. Heartbroken and without a place to live, Milly found herself on the streets with no money, no food, the clothes on her back, and the few mementos she was able to grab before fleeing her childhood home.

For months she struggled, living as a beggar outside Windfeld's protective wall. Then, as winter threatened Faledren, her arcane mentor found her. Her one condition was due and it changed her life forever. He clothed and fed her and gave her the details of her one condition. She was to sneak into a noble estate, steal an import ledger that contained maritime information and give it to her mentor. She was given two weeks of preparation. She scouted the estate, gouged her warding abilities, and then, finally, broke into the estate early one morning. The job went surprisingly well, and Milly, struck with a new found confidence, refused to return to begging.

Thievery was something she was always told not to do, but her father was dead and her mother gone. She needed money to survive. Food. Warm clothing. She did what she needed to with only one of her own conditions: never take from someone who's worse off than you. Life from then on was easier... dangerous and full of adrenaline spiked heists... but easier. Slowly her moral compass fell away as her theft grew from food and clothing to jewels, ledgers, and eventually, living, breathing, people.

Though life had its ups and downs, Milly kept one thing as a token of her previous life. Laughter. Smiles. Til this day Romilly still smiles and laughs, if only to keep the memories of her mother and father. Some might think it ungenuine or odd, but it keeps her sane, it keeps her focused on the next job, the next heist.

When she was nineteen she accidentally found the Labyrinth and started using the massive catacombs as a hideaway, a place to lay low when things topside get too dangerous. Little did she know what they would soon mean to her...

The Cult of Thieves CS | @rissa

Approved. Player not required to submit writing sample due to our roleplay history dating back over a year.

 

[Akashi]

Do I have to submit a brand new writing sample? Or can I just show you from another RP? A recent writing sample that is.

One more thing. If what I said above is denied, I assume you want me to write a sample as the character I am to play in this roleplay? In this setting?

 

[Effervescent]

Do I have to submit a brand new writing sample? Or can I just show you from another RP? A recent writing sample that is.

One more thing. If what I said above is denied, I assume you want me to write a sample as the character I am to play in this roleplay? In this setting?

Brand new writing sample using your new character in this setting.

 

[rissa]

@Clyde just a heads up the text in your cs is super hard to read on daylight without highlighting it

 

[Sir Salty]

@Clyde just a heads up the text in your cs is super hard to read on daylight without highlighting it

I'm using the dark default one with black and the default text is white.

 

[Effervescent]

I'm using the dark default one with black and the default text is white.

Just make sure to make your text without any color!

Highlight your text, click the box with the X in it and you'll be good to go!

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

Age: Twenty-six| Place of Birth: Faledrin | Race: Human | Magic: Shadow | Specialization: Information
Origin Age: Fifteen | Eye Color: Blue | Hair Color: Light brown| Height: 5'4" | Weight: 110 lbs | Weapon: Stiletto knife​

---

APPEARANCE

---

Inside and out, Cordelia Briggs is an unusual young woman. Of average height and thinly sculpted, she carries herself with an air of fluidity, every motion carefully composed and intentional, though never severe or sharp.

Pale for a Fallenite, she nevertheless bears characteristics attributed to her people. Light brown hair is kept in loose waves, which fall well past her waist, often pulled back in scraps of cloth and plaited - ornamented with beads and bangles, blue eyes, wide and eerily bright, set beneath thin, arched brows and thick, dark lashes.

Her clothing choice generally trends towards softer shades and fabrics, primarily varying patterns of lace. Rarely is she seen with shoes, something of a statement towards her more free spirited nature.

PERSONALITY

---

Cordelia is a simple creature, with a very complex sense of morality. Where the Cult is concerned, whatever is necessary is fine by her standards, but in everyday life, she exists within a strict parameter of self control seen pertinently in the way she approaches her abilities. Most particularly, Cordelia will not 'read' anyone that she has any sort of deeply rooted emotional attachment to. She can be exceptionally guarded, where her feelings are concerned, but is nevertheless a warm, open individual, quite easy to talk to, promoting a sense of trust and reliability in most she interacts with. When working, Cordelia is extremely focused, tackling every job with the uttermost attention to detail. She can be a bit of a magpie, collecting odd trinkets here and there, largely for strangely sentimental reasons.

PERSONALITY TRAITS

POSITIVE: Intuitive | Focused | Encouraging
NEGATIVE: Guarded | Emotional | Wary

.

[/font]

no-lightbox

"You're out of your bleedin' mind, Oracle..." Slamming the tankard on the table, Joshua rose to his full height, which where Cordelia Briggs was considered, was rather towering. All six feet four of him glared down upon her, but the small brunette gave little indication of any anxiety, a single brow arching as she sank back in her seat, flame-blue eyes fixed, lip twitching into a small smirk.

"That was our deal, Joshua. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but I do believe I've made my conditions quite clear. One cannot barter with information if no information is given, Love. My services are not free, and this has never been a disputed factor of our arrangement. Repressing memories is hardly work and I told you when we began it was going to cost you. This is a transaction. Services rendered, and now it's your turn."

"But he'll kill me... If he finds out I told you--"

"You won't be telling me anything, Joshua. You know that." Extending her hand, she turned her palm up towards the ceiling, giving her fingers a delicate wiggle, "Come on, now. It won't hurt..."

Frowning, Joshua stretched out his own hand, his fingers pulsing with a twitch before he settled palm against palm to Cordelia's.

Reality swam out of existence with the feeling of falling, a plummeting deep in the guts, as sight and sound and smell evaporated into brief, but all encompassing nothingness. Then slowly at first, and steadily faster, like a ripple across the surface of a pond, the vision came to life. Color and space, scent and sound swirling to life. Beside her, Joshua stood slightly hunched, shivering, but a second Joshua stood across the way, the imposing figure he preferred to present, speaking softly to a man very few within Faledrin could mistake. Torrin Balast was the elite of the elite, a dock master with a penchant for stiffing his employees (though that seemed to be the least offensive of his character traits). For six years now, Joshua had been working his way up the rungs until he'd come directly under Torrin, and at last it seemed the Cult would have some valuable intelligence to use against the man.

Joshua's voice rose suddenly, in bellowing baritone, carrying across the dark, empty shipyard, "I told you! Fifteen shipments is too damn many for that few workers, Balast! We can't--"

"You would presume, Mister Habberdash... to tell me what you can or cannot do? Have you forgotten who I am, or are you so miserably thick headed that you honestly think this is something in which you have any say at all? Fifteen shipments... arriving in three days time. Only you, Orson and Casper will handle them... with precision. Should you fail to do so, it is more than your job you will lose. Understood?"

Fists balled tightly, jaw clenched severely, Joshua stepped back, curtains of dark blonde pooling around his haggard features as he bowed his head in a nod, "Understood."

Without another word Balast turned and walked away, leaving Joshua alone.

With the same concussive force, like the jolt of waking from a dream, the scene began to spin away and in moments, the dimly lit back room of the inn returned to focus. Joshua dropped almost unconsciously into his chair, but Cordelia remained on her feet, tapping her chin in thought.

"I... I told you--"

"No." Holding up a finger, Cordelia shot the fisherman a withering look, "Not a word. You know how this works. You finish that statement, Joshua, and I cannot help you."

Swallowing, he lowered his head, "So just do it already... so I can quit feelin' so..."

Opening a box on the table, she produced a small crystal orb, roughly the size of a coin. Palming this in one hand, she reached out with her other, her fingertips glancing along Joshua's jawline, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When they opened again, she dropped her arm to her side and set the orb back into the box. Slowly, Joshua turned his gaze upwards, a brow quirked as a quizzical look stole over his features.

"Sorry... what... what was I saying?"

"You were saying how excited you were that Master Balast has afforded you a night off, in light of all your hard work this season. How you were planning on taking Maggie into town to celebrate."

"Ah, right. Yeah. About damn time, I'd say, but Mags is always so patient. Deserves it, she does."

"Indeed. Well, thank you for your time Joshua. It's been a pleasure as always. You take care of yourself." Smiling faintly, Cordelia moved to the door and the fisherman followed behind. After he'd gone, she moved swiftly, crossing the room. In the corner was a desk and producing a quill and parchment, Cordelia penned out a coded message as fast as her hand would fly. She had to get the letter to her courier within the hour, or it would never reach the Thieves in time. Two nights remaining... it wasn't much for planning, but a hit like this? Fifteen shipments. It was sure to ruin Balast and for that, utter haste was of dire importance... This was what she lived for, these moments, these take downs. As she wrote she glanced up to the large ring hanging from a hook above the desk. The obsidian stone still shown as brilliant as it had the day she'd taken it, the gold inlay glimmering in the candlelight. Slowly, she smiled.

"We've got him, now, Your Majesty."

HISTORY

---

no-lightbox

Fortune favors those with a fortune to favor… or so the story goes in Faledrin. A glittering bandage slapped over a festering wound looks are always deceiving for anyone who lacks the vision to really see. One thing Cordelia Briggs has never lacked is vision. Born on a starless night, she came into a broken, damaged world more tool than child and for this, the first several years of her life were hard.

Shadow Magic was not a dirty word in Cordelia's home, but a way of life, one taught to the child before her mind could comprehend the consequences. Visions, her mother called it. The ability to see into the minds, the thoughts, the memories of others. The perfect con… her father's preferred term. And he wasn't entirely wrong. They made an enviable team, sweeping through the city, accruing wealth and infamy, and no one the wiser for it. It really was nearly flawless… until her mother died.

Delving into the Shadows always comes with a price, and Farrah Briggs paid hers shortly before Cordelia's tenth year. By her eleventh, her father had honed her as his new partner. She took to conning like a fish to water, and made of herself a valuable enough commodity. And so they existed for the next five years.

Then one man charged everything. It had been a simple job, a bit of showing off, really. But a brush of the arm, a brush of something secret and her life was forever altered. He called himself Sothal, and he spoke of an opportunity… one greater than her meager existence beneath the heel of her father. He spoke, in many ways of salvation, and Cordelia fell wildly, madly in love with an ideal… a concept. A purpose. She could not say no…

Setting fire to her life and all she knew, Cordelia Briggs vanished into ash and dust, and so it was, the Oracle was born. Her life became a mystery, her identity a vague enigma. The Cult of Thieves became her family, and information… her craft.

SPECIALIZATION (IN DEPTH)

---

Cordelia utilizes a mild form of Shadow magic, tapping into the Darkness to allow her the ability to sift through thought and memory of an individual she comes in physical contact with, or, conversely to shield memories from said individual. This ability makes her an extremely efficient purveyor of information, which she uses to aid the Cult of Thieves. Because of the sensitive nature of her magic, and admittedly a bit of paranoia on her part, Cordy is extremely cautious and shields her location using the same method she would to repress a thought or memory - she also uses a pseudonym, to protect her identity, going by the name Oracle for almost any she comes in contact with.

 

[Effervescent]

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Age: Twenty-six| Place of Birth: Faledrin | Race: Human | Magic: Shadow | Specialization: Information
Origin Age: Fifteen | Eye Color: Blue | Hair Color: Brown| Height: 5'4" | Weight: 110 lbs | Weapon: Stiletto knife​

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APPEARANCE

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Inside and out, Cordelia Briggs is an unusual young woman. Of average height and thinly sculpted, she carries herself with an air of fluidity, every motion carefully composed and intentional, though never severe or sharp.

Pale for a Fallenite, she nevertheless bears characteristics attributed to her people. Brown hair is kept in loose waves and dreadlocks, which fall well past her waist, often pulled back in scraps of cloth and plaited - ornamented with beads and bangles, blue eyes, wide and eerily bright, set beneath thin, arched brows and thick, dark lashes.

Her clothing choice generally trends towards softer shades and fabrics, primarily varying patterns of lace. Rarely is she seen with shoes, something of a statement towards her more free spirited nature.

.

no-lightbox

"You're out of your bleedin' mind, Oracle..." Slamming the tankard on the table, Joshua rose to his full height, which where Cordelia Briggs was considered, was rather towering. All six feet four of him glared down upon her, but the small brunette gave little indication of any anxiety, a single brow arching as she sank back in her seat, flame-blue eyes fixed, lip twitching into a small smirk.

"That was our deal, Joshua. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but I do believe I've made my conditions quite clear. One cannot barter with information if no information is given, Love. My services are not free, and this has never been a disputed factor of our arrangement. Repressing memories is hardly work and I told you when we began it was going to cost you. This is a transaction. Services rendered, and now it's your turn."

"But he'll kill me... If he finds out I told you--"

"You won't be telling me anything, Joshua. You know that." Extending her hand, she turned her palm up towards the ceiling, giving her fingers a delicate wiggle, "Come on, now. It won't hurt..."

Frowning, Joshua stretched out his own hand, his fingers pulsing with a twitch before he settled palm against palm to Cordelia's.

Reality swam out of existence with the feeling of falling, a plummeting deep in the guts, as sight and sound and smell evaporated into brief, but all encompassing nothingness. Then slowly at first, and steadily faster, like a ripple across the surface of a pond, the vision came to life. Color and space, scent and sound swirling to life. Beside her, Joshua stood slightly hunched, shivering, but a second Joshua stood across the way, the imposing figure he preferred to present, speaking softly to a man very few within Faledrin could mistake. Torrin Balast was the elite of the elite, a dock master with a penchant for stiffing his employees (though that seemed to be the least offensive of his character traits). For six years now, Joshua had been working his way up the rungs until he'd come directly under Torrin, and at last it seemed the Cult would have some valuable intelligence to use against the man.

Joshua's voice rose suddenly, in bellowing baritone, carrying across the dark, empty shipyard, "I told you! Fifteen shipments is too damn many for that few workers, Balast! We can't--"

"You would presume, Mister Habberdash... to tell me what you can or cannot do? Have you forgotten who I am, or are you so miserably thick headed that you honestly think this is something in which you have any say at all? Fifteen shipments... arriving in three days time. Only you, Orson and Casper will handle them... with precision. Should you fail to do so, it is more than your job you will lose. Understood?"

Fists balled tightly, jaw clenched severely, Joshua stepped back, curtains of dark blonde pooling around his haggard features as he bowed his head in a nod, "Understood."

Without another word Balast turned and walked away, leaving Joshua alone.

With the same concussive force, like the jolt of waking from a dream, the scene began to spin away and in moments, the dimly lit back room of the inn returned to focus. Joshua dropped almost unconsciously into his chair, but Cordelia remained on her feet, tapping her chin in thought.

"I... I told you--"

"No." Holding up a finger, Cordelia shot the fisherman a withering look, "Not a word. You know how this works. You finish that statement, Joshua, and I cannot help you."

Swallowing, he lowered his head, "So just do it already... so I can quit feelin' so..."

Opening a box on the table, she produced a small crystal orb, roughly the size of a coin. Palming this in one hand, she reached out with her other, her fingertips glancing along Joshua's jawline, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When they opened again, she dropped her arm to her side and set the orb back into the box. Slowly, Joshua turned his gaze upwards, a brow quirked as a quizzical look stole over his features.

"Sorry... what... what was I saying?"

"You were saying how excited you were that Master Balast has afforded you a night off, in light of all your hard work this season. How you were planning on taking Maggie into town to celebrate."

"Ah, right. Yeah. About damn time, I'd say, but Mags is always so patient. Deserves it, she does."

"Indeed. Well, thank you for your time Joshua. It's been a pleasure as always. You take care of yourself." Smiling faintly, Cordelia moved to the door and the fisherman followed behind. After he'd gone, she moved swiftly, crossing the room. In the corner was a desk and producing a quill and parchment, Cordelia penned out a coded message as fast as her hand would fly. She had to get the letter to her courier within the hour, or it would never reach the Thieves in time. Two nights remaining... it wasn't much for planning, but a hit like this? Fifteen shipments. It was sure to ruin Balast and for that, utter haste was of dire importance... This was what she lived for, these moments, these take downs. As she wrote she glanced up to the large ring hanging from a hook above the desk. The obsidian stone still shown as brilliant as it had the day she'd taken it, the gold inlay glimmering in the candlelight. Slowly, she smiled.

"We've got him, now, Your Majesty."

HISTORY

---

no-lightbox

Fortune favors those with a fortune to favor… or so the story goes in Faledrin. A glittering bandage slapped over a festering wound looks are always deceiving for anyone who lacks the vision to really see. One thing Cordelia Briggs has never lacked is vision. Born on a starless night, she came into a broken, damaged world more tool than child and for this, the first several years of her life were hard.

Shadow Magic was not a dirty word in Cordelia's home, but a way of life, one taught to the child before her mind could comprehend the consequences. Visions, her mother called it. The ability to see into the minds, the thoughts, the memories of others. The perfect con… her father's preferred term. And he wasn't entirely wrong. They made an enviable team, sweeping through the city, accruing wealth and infamy, and no one the wiser for it. It really was nearly flawless… until her mother died.

Delving into the Shadows always comes with a price, and Farrah Briggs paid hers shortly before Cordelia's tenth year. By her eleventh, her father had honed her as his new partner. She took to conning like a fish to water, and made of herself a valuable enough commodity. And so they existed for the next five years.

Then one man charged everything. It had been a simple job, a bit of showing off, really. But a brush of the arm, a brush of something secret and her life was forever altered. He called himself Sothal, and he spoke of an opportunity… one greater than her meager existence beneath the heel of her father. He spoke, in many ways of salvation, and Cordelia fell wildly, madly in love with an ideal… a concept. A purpose. She could not say no…

Setting fire to her life and all she knew, Cordelia Briggs vanished into ash and dust, and so it was, the Oracle was born. Her life became a mystery, her identity a vague enigma. The Cult of Thieves became her family, and information… her craft.

SPECIALIZATION (IN DEPTH)

---

Cordelia utilizes a mild form of Shadow magic, tapping into the Darkness to allow her the ability to sift through thought and memory of an individual she comes in physical contact with, or, conversely to shield memories from said individual. This ability makes her an extremely efficient purveyor of information, which she uses to aid the Cult of Thieves. Because of the sensitive nature of her magic, and admittedly a bit of paranoia on her part, Cordy is extremely cautious and shields her location using the same method she would to repress a thought or memory - she also uses a pseudonym, to protect her identity, going by the name Oracle for almost any she comes in contact with.

Approved.

 

[Sir Salty]

Just make sure to make your text without any color!

Highlight your text, click the box with the X in it and you'll be good to go!

But then I won't be able to read my post?

 

[Effervescent]

But then I won't be able to read my post?

Sure you will! By clicking the X it makes the default change to whatever background setting a person is using. So for me using "Evening" it would be black but for you using "Night" it would be white.

 

[Sir Salty]

Sure you will! By clicking the X it makes the default change to whatever background setting a person is using. So for me using "Evening" it would be black but for you using "Night" it would be white.

Ah okay. I never used that feature. I fucked with the spoiler tag last night because it was behaving like a bitch, hahaha. It literally was giving me a bunch of spoilers for empty space and I'm like, *shakes fist at Iwaku BBtags*

 

[Effervescent]

Ah okay. I never used that feature. I fucked with the spoiler tag last night because it was behaving like a bitch, hahaha. It literally was giving me a bunch of spoilers for empty space and I'm like, *shakes fist at Iwaku BBtags*

Yeah coding here can get wacky with rich text, but I had to quickly learn the font color feature because when I copy/paste from word documents the font automatically goes to black, so all my poor players using "Night" couldn't read my posts!

 

[Sir Salty]

Yeah coding here can get wacky with rich text, but I had to quickly learn the font color feature because when I copy/paste from word documents the font automatically goes to black, so all my poor players using "Night" couldn't read my posts!

It happens to me too, so I've always changed it white because I thought there was no feature to make it default for everyone for the longest time.....*sweat drop*

 

[rissa]

It happens to me too, so I've always changed it white because I thought there was no feature to make it default for everyone for the longest time.....*sweat drop*

I can seeeeeeee! Thanks for editing it, def easier on the eyes now

 

[Sir Salty]

I can seeeeeeee! Thanks for editing it, def easier on the eyes now

I can see clearly now that the text is default!

lol I'm sorry I don't know what that was

 

[Effervescent]

---

S O T H A L

⦙⦙ RACE | Human ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 31 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 162 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT | 5'10"

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personality

He has a mind for business and a knack for divvying out responsibilities for almost any situation. Sothal can pick out a person's strengths and weaknesses with ease and through that he puts everyone to good use. More often than not, he is a serious man with a lighthearted disposition that only reveals itself in the rare moments of downtime, which often includes heavy drinking. It's as though he were constantly under unspoken stress and by the grace of his patience he is able to keep the overflow in check. He carries an addiction to his relief in inebriation that is only rewarded in excess upon success of a completed task. His mind is always on the job, and always thinking of all paths and possibilities to where he easily misses a joke or glosses over conversation.

Luckily, he is not a man devoid of emotion despite his serious nature. When he allows himself the opportunity to wind down, he becomes a little more vibrant. The alcohol indeed helps to soothe his severity which degrades into a stupor if the night carries on for too long before work arises once again. But in the hours before blackout he can become quite lively, and often the storyteller. Most of his stories are more along the lines of exaggerations, taking from real life experiences and expanding upon them. To him, reality is boring, and he would rather have the thrill of a tall tale than the monotony of realism in his entertainment.

history

Weapons of Preference || Daggers and knives

Cult Specialization || Organizer

Magic Skills || Shadow Jumping - utilizing a connection with The Darkness to transport himself over a short distance

Not much is known of Sothal's past. Those who agreed to bring him into the Cult of Thieves refuse to speak on it either. Sothal has no last name, likely due to it being a pseudonym to begin with. He joined the Cult of Thieves nearly thirteen years ago, though he nearly lost his life in the process. Using his Shadow Magic, he skillfully jumped from path to path within the forgotten catacombs of the Labyrinth until he appeared right in the Underbelly itself. Shadow jumping without knowing where one is headed is ill advised, but Sothal had been experimenting and quickly picking up on the nuances of its manipulation. He landed right within the secret den of the Cult of Thieves taking them all by surprise.


They were going to kill him. They had their weapons drawn, yet instead they hesitated long enough to consider his skill. Here was a man who could get anywhere, even places meant to be secret. Sothal could have easily run away just as he came, and yet he too found himself hesitant within intrigue. These people were the fabled Cult of Thieves, and the stories he had heard over the years blossomed into an invigorating sense of new purpose. He wanted to be one of them, and with his starry eyes they took him under their wing.


He inherited the role of the Organizer around eight years ago after the former organizer, Jensen, died while trying to take down a Tainted. Since then, he has helped in continuing the Cult of Thieves' operations running smoothly by organizing assets and ensuring the right task is given to the right hands. The numbers within the Cult of Thieves has dwindled over the years, mostly due to untimely deaths either on the job or due to plague.

details

STRENGTHS

Intelligent

Strategist

Patient

WEAKNESSES

Serious

Workaholic

Alcoholic

appearance

He is a man whose face changes with the lighting. In darkness, he gives off an eerie air as his deep brows and slight features cast shadows to give an unsettling air. His eyes are dark grey carrying bags of sleep deprivation and age that always look a bit lifeless and worn, especially emphasized in dim lighting. During the day he looks well groomed to a degree, at least more so than the typical citizen parusing Windfeld. He shaves on occasion, but more than likely his jawline will carry the result of grooming negligence.

The scars that line his body are rarely seen, for he tends to dress in layers that cover most of his skin. His upper lip is prominent when not covered by his cowl, and his cowl is only used when he feels it is needed. Being around Windfeld's lower class means being around people who don't particularly care how one dresses or if they don fabric to conceal half their face. It was a typical appearance regardless as plagues began to spread through the city, and so it suited him best to continue anonymity.

While not overly tall, Sothal's lithe build carries toned musculature under his attire, which mostly consists of overused coats, outdated and dulled from weather and time. His leathers are often soften and faded from use, though never combersome. He keeps his ensemble simple to allow for maneuverability with minimal contributions to noise.

---

 

[Effervescent]

Mobile Friendly CS

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Sothal

---

RACE | Human ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 31 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 162 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT | 5'10"

---

Personality

---

He has a mind for business and a knack for divvying out responsibilities for almost any situation. Sothal can pick out a person's strengths and weaknesses with ease and through that he puts everyone to good use. More often than not, he is a serious man with a lighthearted disposition that only reveals itself in the rare moments of downtime, which often includes heavy drinking. It's as though he were constantly under unspoken stress and by the grace of his patience he is able to keep the overflow in check. He carries an addiction to his relief in inebriation that is only rewarded in excess upon success of a completed task. His mind is always on the job, and always thinking of all paths and possibilities to where he easily misses a joke or glosses over conversation.

Luckily, he is not a man devoid of emotion despite his serious nature. When he allows himself the opportunity to wind down, he becomes a little more vibrant. The alcohol indeed helps to soothe his severity which degrades into a stupor if the night carries on for too long before work arises once again. But in the hours before blackout he can become quite lively, and often the storyteller. Most of his stories are more along the lines of exaggerations, taking from real life experiences and expanding upon them. To him, reality is boring, and he would rather have the thrill of a tall tale than the monotony of realism in his entertainment.

---

History

---

Weapons of Preference || Daggers and knives

Cult Specialization || Organizer

Magic Skills || Shadow Jumping - utilizing a connection with The Darkness to transport himself over a short distance

Not much is known of Sothal's past. Those who agreed to bring him into the Cult of Thieves refuse to speak on it either. Sothal has no last name, likely due to it being a pseudonym to begin with. He joined the Cult of Thieves nearly thirteen years ago, though he nearly lost his life in the process. Using his Shadow Magic, he skillfully jumped from path to path within the forgotten catacombs of the Labyrinth until he appeared right in the Underbelly itself. Shadow jumping without knowing where one is headed is ill advised, but Sothal had been experimenting and quickly picking up on the nuances of its manipulation. He landed right within the secret den of the Cult of Thieves taking them all by surprise.


They were going to kill him. They had their weapons drawn, yet instead they hesitated long enough to consider his skill. Here was a man who could get anywhere, even places meant to be secret. Sothal could have easily run away just as he came, and yet he too found himself hesitant within intrigue. These people were the fabled Cult of Thieves, and the stories he had heard over the years blossomed into an invigorating sense of new purpose. He wanted to be one of them, and with his starry eyes they took him under their wing.


He inherited the role of the Organizer around eight years ago after the former organizer, Jensen, died while trying to take down a Tainted. Since then, he has helped in continuing the Cult of Thieves' operations running smoothly by organizing assets and ensuring the right task is given to the right hands. The numbers within the Cult of Thieves has dwindled over the years, mostly due to untimely deaths either on the job or due to plague.

---

Strengths

---

Intelligent

Strategist

Patient

---

Weaknesses

---

Serious

Workaholic

Alcoholic

---

Appearance

---

He is a man whose face changes with the lighting. In darkness, he gives off an eerie air as his deep brows and slight features cast shadows to give an unsettling air. His eyes are dark grey carrying bags of sleep deprivation and age that always look a bit lifeless and worn, especially emphasized in dim lighting. During the day he looks well groomed to a degree, at least more so than the typical citizen parusing Windfeld. He shaves on occasion, but more than likely his jawline will carry the result of grooming negligence.

The scars that line his body are rarely seen, for he tends to dress in layers that cover most of his skin. His upper lip is prominent when not covered by his cowl, and his cowl is only used when he feels it is needed. Being around Windfeld's lower class means being around people who don't particularly care how one dresses or if they don fabric to conceal half their face. It was a typical appearance regardless as plagues began to spread through the city, and so it suited him best to continue anonymity.

While not overly tall, Sothal's lithe build carries toned musculature under his attire, which mostly consists of overused coats, outdated and dulled from weather and time. His leathers are often soften and faded from use, though never combersome. He keeps his ensemble simple to allow for maneuverability with minimal contributions to noise.