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- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
The North American Trade Convention took place in the same location every year. Right in the heart of downtown Toronto resided a massive structure, a behemoth made up almost entirely of glass and triangles. Even at a passing glance, anyone would be able to see that the architects had tried to make the building as “modern” as possible, which naturally meant that the exterior of the building seemed far more interested in expressing itself aesthetically than it was in actually being functional.
Luckily, even though the outside of the building looked far more like a glass mosaic than it did a wall, the people who had ultimately come to take control of the convention center had not spared any expense when it came to the building’s security. Wards were placed so thickly across every surface that a trained eye would see nothing but a blaze of light through the glass. Two spirits had been bound to the front door, and while they would simply politely open the door for anyone with permission to enter, anyone who tried to force entry would soon find themselves laid flat by the spirits’ powerful energy. The interior of the building had been painstakingly alarmed to ensure that, even if anyone with harmful intent did make it past the wards and door spirits, any trace of battle magic anywhere in the building would lead to the offender being swarmed by the door spirits that littered the building’s interior. No one doubted that the Toronto Convention Center was the ideal place to hold a large gathering of any form.
The complex was much longer than it was wide, running the length of almost five city blocks, but only heading about two deep. This made it easy to divide up the NATC into different sections, ensuring that business trading, manufacturing, agriculture, health care, and research and education each had their own wing. The titans of each industry would set up their home base, before wandering out into the convention at large to make small talk and drink with each other, making sure they left just enough time to actually discuss the necessities of the coming year.
Of course, there were plenty of other people who showed up to events like these. Politicians from all over the nation were prompt to arrive, taking the occasion to schmooze and solicit donations for the coming elections. Partner businesses within each of the major industries would show up to help ensure their bosses’ needs would be met for the coming year. Entrepreneurs who had successfully pulled off the next big idea would wander from location to location, trying to promote their good or service while they struggled to look as though they had always been here. And that didn’t include the numerous security workers who watched for trouble from the corners, serving staff who wandered from room to room with the refreshments, or the massive number of behind-the-scenes workers required to prepare, maintain, and clean up after an event of this scale.
But the event was not limited even to such a broad range of people. Ultimately, anyone who could afford one of the exorbitantly priced tickets could turn up, whether simply to socialize with the business elite, or to conduct business themselves.
One such individual was Nora Tempestari, a wavy black haired, pale skinned woman who, despite her obvious youth, was easily one of the most influential people in the current room. Seven years ago, Nora’s father Deron Tempestari, the former CEO of the North American Weather Company, had found himself unexpectedly inflicted with the symptoms of an ancient curse that had been placed upon the Tempestaris 19 generations ago, when the small weatherwitch family had offended the master of a mountain village. Five years ago, the curse had progressed to the point where even a stubborn, prideful man like Deron was forced to admit that he no longer had the capability to manage the spells that were needed to create nation-wide storms. Deron had ended up handing NAWCO over to his daughter, against strong opposition from the other board members, because he thought he’d be able to continue to manage the company by controlling her.
Unfortunately for Deron, Nora was a lot more competent of a businesswoman than he had suspected, and, finally free to make a few of her own decisions for the company, Nora had struck out on her own. Battling through the attempted hostile takeover of the company, Nora not only maintained the company but caused its profits to skyrocket through a combination of her own powerful weather magic and sheer ingenuity.
Now no one, except perhaps her father, questioned Nora’s right to run NAWCO, although the battle and subsequent firing of her former board of directors had left Nora with a number of bitter enemies who were quick to lash out against her in any way they could.
But such matters were of essentially no concern, especially not in the agricultural wing of the NATC. The four middle aged men who had gathered around Nora now were full of nothing but praise and flattery, hoping that a few rightly placed words might enable them to make a deal with the Weather Queen of North America.
“But Ms. Tempestari, you should consider it. Creating an extra storm a month would allow California’s rice paddies to flourish from the extra moisture,” one of the men propositioned for what had to be the fourth time since they had started talking fifteen minutes ago. “I’m sure we would be able to use the extra profits from the field this year to offer a… contribution to the Rainy Days Charity Fund.”
“The rice paddies, perhaps, but the vineyards require very carefully monitored, carefully controlled watering during the harvest season, otherwise it will reduce the quality of the grapes. An extra storm would be devastating on this year’s quality,” another man all but spat in the first’s face. He turned to Nora a moment later. “Ms. Tempestari, I would be more than glad to send you a bottle of our finest product, but I cannot do that if the weather pattern changes like that.”
Nora lifted the glass that was in her hands to her lips, before carefully swallowing the last of the liquid. It glided over her tongue without her even tasting it. However, right about now Nora was wishing she had a real drink in hand. The mild buzz it would give her might make listening to middle aged men talk in circles and try and buy her out with more and more outrageous gifts all the more tolerable.
However, if there was one thing that her parents had solidly beaten into her during the years of her training, it was that it was absolutely essential for her to maintain a clear head when it came to matters of business. When it came to a company the size of NAWCO, even a small slip of the tongue on her part could end up having far reaching, potentially even catastrophic, consequences.
But at least the empty glass gave her an excuse to get out of this conversation, and she would make sure not to return before these men were able to find other people to have these conversations with.
“Gentleman,” Nora said softly, a smile playing across her lips. “You know I can’t make a decision like that without first speaking to the weather division of both the US and Canada. Unless you are suggesting that your own business, Mr. Huang, is going to front the bill.”
Nora couldn’t help but let out a faint chuckle at the look of momentary panic that crossed the rice merchant’s face, or the look of victory on the wineseller’s. “As I thought. Now, you simply must excuse me for a couple minutes while I go and get a refill. Please, do continue without me.”
With one final, alluring smile, Nora stepped away before either of the men had a chance to object, and maintained a steady stride until she had escaped the room, and the ten other men who had been waiting in the wings to rope her into another pointless conversation as soon as she had a free moment.
Of course, that didn’t mean she had the opportunity to relax once she left the room. The hallway was just as crowded as every other part of the convention center, and people of every creed lined the hallway in groups of three or four, passing gossip and meaningless flattery back and forth. Nora did not let her steps falter or her purposeful gaze waver as she confidently walked forward, and the few people who tried to intercept her were forced to step away at her focused expression, unwilling to impede her in whatever her goal may be and risk bringing down her disapproval.
Of course, Nora also acted as though she couldn’t feel all of their gazes turned upon her, as though she didn’t notice the way that most people paused briefly in their conversations as she passed by, either to nod once in her direction before returning to their own conversation, or to stare as soon as they’d passed beyond the range of her vision, only to start whispering to each other the moment they believed she was out of earshot. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been subject to stares and whispers all her life.
However, she was forced to slow as she drew closer to the very heart of the convention. This was not because she wanted to, but was simply due to the abrupt increase in the number of people filling the room. If she hadn’t slowed, she would have been bound to run into something.
The heart of the convention was not a place for business, except for the most shady of kind. The pounding sound of the music made it almost impossible to hear your own voice, let alone a neighbor’s, without some kind of magical intervention, but most of the people who occupied this area were too drunk to notice that the trade convention had transformed into little more than a glorified party.
Nora wound her way through the edges of the transformed ballroom, towards the bar on the far wall. While there were other, less crowded and sweaty, places for her to acquire a drink, the noise was actually a benefit to her. It would ensure that no one noticed that she was getting a drink that was far closer to water than alcohol, and might mean that someone else would let something slip, believing her sufficiently intoxicated to try and take advantage of.
The line at the bar was short despite the number of people, and it didn’t take Nora long to work her way to the counter. She lifted two fingers, flagging the nearby barkeep, before lifting her voice slightly to ensure the man could hear her.
“What can you make me that looks alcoholic but isn’t?”
Luckily, even though the outside of the building looked far more like a glass mosaic than it did a wall, the people who had ultimately come to take control of the convention center had not spared any expense when it came to the building’s security. Wards were placed so thickly across every surface that a trained eye would see nothing but a blaze of light through the glass. Two spirits had been bound to the front door, and while they would simply politely open the door for anyone with permission to enter, anyone who tried to force entry would soon find themselves laid flat by the spirits’ powerful energy. The interior of the building had been painstakingly alarmed to ensure that, even if anyone with harmful intent did make it past the wards and door spirits, any trace of battle magic anywhere in the building would lead to the offender being swarmed by the door spirits that littered the building’s interior. No one doubted that the Toronto Convention Center was the ideal place to hold a large gathering of any form.
The complex was much longer than it was wide, running the length of almost five city blocks, but only heading about two deep. This made it easy to divide up the NATC into different sections, ensuring that business trading, manufacturing, agriculture, health care, and research and education each had their own wing. The titans of each industry would set up their home base, before wandering out into the convention at large to make small talk and drink with each other, making sure they left just enough time to actually discuss the necessities of the coming year.
Of course, there were plenty of other people who showed up to events like these. Politicians from all over the nation were prompt to arrive, taking the occasion to schmooze and solicit donations for the coming elections. Partner businesses within each of the major industries would show up to help ensure their bosses’ needs would be met for the coming year. Entrepreneurs who had successfully pulled off the next big idea would wander from location to location, trying to promote their good or service while they struggled to look as though they had always been here. And that didn’t include the numerous security workers who watched for trouble from the corners, serving staff who wandered from room to room with the refreshments, or the massive number of behind-the-scenes workers required to prepare, maintain, and clean up after an event of this scale.
But the event was not limited even to such a broad range of people. Ultimately, anyone who could afford one of the exorbitantly priced tickets could turn up, whether simply to socialize with the business elite, or to conduct business themselves.
One such individual was Nora Tempestari, a wavy black haired, pale skinned woman who, despite her obvious youth, was easily one of the most influential people in the current room. Seven years ago, Nora’s father Deron Tempestari, the former CEO of the North American Weather Company, had found himself unexpectedly inflicted with the symptoms of an ancient curse that had been placed upon the Tempestaris 19 generations ago, when the small weatherwitch family had offended the master of a mountain village. Five years ago, the curse had progressed to the point where even a stubborn, prideful man like Deron was forced to admit that he no longer had the capability to manage the spells that were needed to create nation-wide storms. Deron had ended up handing NAWCO over to his daughter, against strong opposition from the other board members, because he thought he’d be able to continue to manage the company by controlling her.
Unfortunately for Deron, Nora was a lot more competent of a businesswoman than he had suspected, and, finally free to make a few of her own decisions for the company, Nora had struck out on her own. Battling through the attempted hostile takeover of the company, Nora not only maintained the company but caused its profits to skyrocket through a combination of her own powerful weather magic and sheer ingenuity.
Now no one, except perhaps her father, questioned Nora’s right to run NAWCO, although the battle and subsequent firing of her former board of directors had left Nora with a number of bitter enemies who were quick to lash out against her in any way they could.
But such matters were of essentially no concern, especially not in the agricultural wing of the NATC. The four middle aged men who had gathered around Nora now were full of nothing but praise and flattery, hoping that a few rightly placed words might enable them to make a deal with the Weather Queen of North America.
“But Ms. Tempestari, you should consider it. Creating an extra storm a month would allow California’s rice paddies to flourish from the extra moisture,” one of the men propositioned for what had to be the fourth time since they had started talking fifteen minutes ago. “I’m sure we would be able to use the extra profits from the field this year to offer a… contribution to the Rainy Days Charity Fund.”
“The rice paddies, perhaps, but the vineyards require very carefully monitored, carefully controlled watering during the harvest season, otherwise it will reduce the quality of the grapes. An extra storm would be devastating on this year’s quality,” another man all but spat in the first’s face. He turned to Nora a moment later. “Ms. Tempestari, I would be more than glad to send you a bottle of our finest product, but I cannot do that if the weather pattern changes like that.”
Nora lifted the glass that was in her hands to her lips, before carefully swallowing the last of the liquid. It glided over her tongue without her even tasting it. However, right about now Nora was wishing she had a real drink in hand. The mild buzz it would give her might make listening to middle aged men talk in circles and try and buy her out with more and more outrageous gifts all the more tolerable.
However, if there was one thing that her parents had solidly beaten into her during the years of her training, it was that it was absolutely essential for her to maintain a clear head when it came to matters of business. When it came to a company the size of NAWCO, even a small slip of the tongue on her part could end up having far reaching, potentially even catastrophic, consequences.
But at least the empty glass gave her an excuse to get out of this conversation, and she would make sure not to return before these men were able to find other people to have these conversations with.
“Gentleman,” Nora said softly, a smile playing across her lips. “You know I can’t make a decision like that without first speaking to the weather division of both the US and Canada. Unless you are suggesting that your own business, Mr. Huang, is going to front the bill.”
Nora couldn’t help but let out a faint chuckle at the look of momentary panic that crossed the rice merchant’s face, or the look of victory on the wineseller’s. “As I thought. Now, you simply must excuse me for a couple minutes while I go and get a refill. Please, do continue without me.”
With one final, alluring smile, Nora stepped away before either of the men had a chance to object, and maintained a steady stride until she had escaped the room, and the ten other men who had been waiting in the wings to rope her into another pointless conversation as soon as she had a free moment.
Of course, that didn’t mean she had the opportunity to relax once she left the room. The hallway was just as crowded as every other part of the convention center, and people of every creed lined the hallway in groups of three or four, passing gossip and meaningless flattery back and forth. Nora did not let her steps falter or her purposeful gaze waver as she confidently walked forward, and the few people who tried to intercept her were forced to step away at her focused expression, unwilling to impede her in whatever her goal may be and risk bringing down her disapproval.
Of course, Nora also acted as though she couldn’t feel all of their gazes turned upon her, as though she didn’t notice the way that most people paused briefly in their conversations as she passed by, either to nod once in her direction before returning to their own conversation, or to stare as soon as they’d passed beyond the range of her vision, only to start whispering to each other the moment they believed she was out of earshot. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been subject to stares and whispers all her life.
However, she was forced to slow as she drew closer to the very heart of the convention. This was not because she wanted to, but was simply due to the abrupt increase in the number of people filling the room. If she hadn’t slowed, she would have been bound to run into something.
The heart of the convention was not a place for business, except for the most shady of kind. The pounding sound of the music made it almost impossible to hear your own voice, let alone a neighbor’s, without some kind of magical intervention, but most of the people who occupied this area were too drunk to notice that the trade convention had transformed into little more than a glorified party.
Nora wound her way through the edges of the transformed ballroom, towards the bar on the far wall. While there were other, less crowded and sweaty, places for her to acquire a drink, the noise was actually a benefit to her. It would ensure that no one noticed that she was getting a drink that was far closer to water than alcohol, and might mean that someone else would let something slip, believing her sufficiently intoxicated to try and take advantage of.
The line at the bar was short despite the number of people, and it didn’t take Nora long to work her way to the counter. She lifted two fingers, flagging the nearby barkeep, before lifting her voice slightly to ensure the man could hear her.
“What can you make me that looks alcoholic but isn’t?”