Shopping in Port Dawson (Open for all)

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This topic contains 17 replies, has 4 voices, and was last updated by  Shelby Miller 4 months, 2 weeks ago.

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    Nicholas Gritsipis

    At the mention of winning the war, Perth had a slight moment of melancholy. He had no intention of being around for the aftermath. His comrades were too self assured in their victory, talking of statues and monuments before the worst had even hit them. He didn’t plan to lay down and die, the exact opposite was true. He would fight until there was nothing left to fight but oblivion. His grip tightened on his own hip, knuckles turning white. After a moment his demeanor returned, and he quickly hid his hand clasped with the other behind his back.

    “Well, when they’re all dead and gone, our stories will be told for centuries. Some of us may be around to hear them ourselves! Devlin, the lucky bastard, better get my one liners right!”

    The awkward attempt at small talk made Perth feel wrong, but it didn’t matter. The escapism had passed anyway. Perth sighed and stood straight backed once more. He would be pleased to skewer just one of the many bastards that wronged him before the end, but he figured that it was a drop of misfortune in an ocean of tragedy at this point. The three souls inhabiting his body all longed for the same goal. Make sure there ARE survivors to tell the stories of the fallen. With a flick of his wrist, Perth flipped a bronze coin in the air, and hung it mid air in his minds eye. Even after he caught it and put it away, to him, it stayed in the air. It would not fall until the final immortal lay broken and bloody.

    Perth crouched over and picked back up the belt that Delphie had dropped, handing it back to her.

    “What will our new age be hallmarked by? What legacy do we leave for the world?”

    The question was asked at Delphie, but was obviously intended for three responses from three opposite people.

    I am The Jagged Shadow, The Ravens Mist, The Blade Dancer, The Spell Sunderer, and the wrecker of your shit.


    Dean Howell

    Jack smiled, mostly to himself, at Lady Rayne’s commentary. A kindred soul, he thought, but never out loud.

    “I was their best customer before I decided to invest… Though, I’ve invested heavily in Port Dawson after Portia attacked… I think I might be a Red Cap at this point, technically?”

    He wasn’t actually sure if that was a joke, but as long as the kept taking his money and bent to his suggestions, it didn’t matter to the self-made merchant-prince.

    “And yes Delphie” he added further to Violet’s point “that’s a Gohrrim red. I’m suprised you’d let the Solari hold you back from representing your own clan… Besides, you already own that dress now, so make the most of it.”

    Jack was almost cought off guard by how quickly Delphie jumped at the thought of an enemy in favor over her home, but she was Gohrrim, and wild, and elf in all the most traditional senses. And he didn’t view most of those things favourably.

    “But did you all come in here just to browse?” Jack chimed up, trying to change the subject before Delphie could lash back in the way he was accustomed. “Because I’ve got a clear schedule now that my records are in order and at least 2 of you need fashion… encouragement “

    Hand to The Envoy of Fir'Bolg, Captain of Fortune's Fate, Master Merchant of The Gilded Albatross, Master of Medicine, Prince of Peace, Ally to All, and Handsome by popular vote.


    Shelby Miller

    The hot headed girl of Gohrrim glanced down at the dress in her hands again in return to comments made by both The dark haired hand of the Bolg and Violet. They both were right though she’d hate to admit it and wouldn’t. Some of her clan sisters had taken to the Gohrrim colors in town even, while others took to the green of the Bolg like her, that was true . Delphie however still thought the sour thought of it being too close for comfort to the Sun elves’Red. This Reminded her much of the blood shed of per own people and the war that had almost lost the Bolg their King. “Whatever… fine I’ll look like a Labby then… “ the feeble excuse from her lips was pathetic to say the least but over the years she had learn many things.She learned to fight, even learned to read. Yet she still failed to lose her stubbornness.

    “Who gives a flying fuck what people think anyway, hell, I’m sure whatever Pendrakken tale they write will be all noble with all the warm fuzzy feels anyway. They’ll write some book that would sit and collect dust. Who the hell would even want to read about us anyway? Sounds like a boring read.. “ the blonde huffed as she maneuvered the torn dress in between other dress to avoid the shopkeep’s anger before taking the belt from Perth, who asked I’m interested in what legacy she wanted to leave behind.

    “I’m definitely not drunk enough to answer that question…”
    Delphie responded with tight lips, the actual question wasn’t something she had given thought to before. “We were looking for a distraction…the tavern would’ve been a better idea.” The elf looked over to Jack with a sigh as she patted her pockets in search of a flask of something thought she knew she finished the last of her small liquor stash before reaching the Port this morning.

    Delphie Cu Gohrrim~ Dyed Woman ~ Hand of the Enovy of Fir’ Bolg

    Bitch of the Bolg

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