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((Forum RP you say? Let's try. Open to absolutely anyone, hop in as you please.

Only specification is that if you drop out for long strands of time while you were mid-interaction, other participants in the thread may "godmode" you out of the active scene so they can move on.

While this starts out in Dalaran's Underbelly, it can go anywhere and to anything.))

The contrast of the red-maned elf sipping tea in the most prissy manner against the backdrop of the fetid yet active Dalaran sewer-quarter was easily visible. Sitting alone at a table on the inn's "terrace", he would carefully scan around. It made all the more sense though, as mister Highstride casually snapped his fingers and muttered towards staff, not without sliding a neat small stack of silver their way.

"Another, please. Less gunk and more bisthle this time, hmm?"

Looking out over the infamous Underbelly as he awaited his refill, Singe could not help associate the activity about to that of maggots finding fresh carcass. Fighting one another for the juciest bits in the arena, working together on the sides for everyone else to get some share, risk and reward as scum fought scum. You couldn't argue with scum. Reprehensible as scum may be, it wasn't high-minded one way or another. He'd never admit it, but he loved it down here. He nodded in thanks to the waitress, and with a hidden smile, sipped from the blood thistle tea.
[Image: Boys.jpg]
Something about that city eased her.

Perhaps it had to do with the magical bustle, or the history the walls were steeped in, but being in Dalaran invigorated her as no other place on Azeroth could. Even the pit in its stomach warmed her heart, in which she found a source of a different kind of intellectual pursuit. The scholars and academics above would spend their lives between the pages of a book, and yes, that was all right. However, there was greatness to be discovered outside of a leather bind, and if one was willing to gamble, there was priceless knowledge to be won.

Adeptly, she clipped and clopped her way around and past burly, robust guardsmen, over the heads of those rat-faced green-skins. She might not have fallen below their notice if not for a thin, preternatural veil worn as though for a wedding. Not powerful enough to prickle even the senses of the astute, but adequate for the purpose of blending into the scenery, drawing all the interest of the moss clinging to the dripping stone walls. The path had been fraught with peril, the divinist having almost taken a tumble into the sewage when a gesticulating Orc clipped her in the back. She'd taken it all in her stride, and with, perhaps, a pinch of eccentric amusement. It was with the same amusement that she greeted her acquaintance, the illusory veil doffed to the fetid winds.

Given where we were introduced, Highstride, imagine my surprise to find you sequestered away in Dalaran’s bowels!” There was an intrigued glimmer to those bright eyes of hers as she pulled up a chair beside the elf.
*L inks of golden chains almost chime as they swing across a background of pale fure, all part of the lavish raiment of a child of the mountains. The dwarf strides down the passage closest to the tavern establishment of the Underbelly, moustache and beard trimmed neatly and treated with orca-blubber, a thick scent of lavender not strong enough to cover the smell of the fat or the stink of the sewage.

His hardened heels click against the wooden boards that make the causeway into the tavern. With a face bundled up in wrinkles and a festive smile he catches the first barmaid to pass him by the hand, kiss her on the hand before placing an order for heated and spiced wine.*

"Ye both nae look like yer makin' this place yer home. Here to be placin' bets on a fight or curin' some akward ailment picked up from a tarty golbiness?"
(02-24-2012, 10:15 AM)Piroska Wrote: Conspiracy. That's all it is; Kret's afraid that your pure, digital awesomeness would crash the server if it were allowed.
(06-14-2013, 05:42 PM)McKnighter Wrote: Bovel, Lord of Beards

Character About Involvement
Causticity Blackbreath Goblin Alchemist -
Telaah Draenei Anchorite Writings of an Anchorite

[Image: kiXJxhI.gif]
Looking up at the smooth-tongued draenei, he would tilt his head and smile, pulling the chair next to him in welcoming fashion. The truth was he had no idea who she was, the Singe months ago having been lost to Dazennar's little bio-magical lobotomisation. Yet in the time spent living in Singe's body, with his instincts and bank accounts had taught him, coupled with deft research, to fake all of his first-hour reactions to most things.

"A pleasure to see milady, even in these most fetid of backdrops."

Looking across to the native-to-the-Underbelly-looking figure he simply offered a polite smile indicating that he had taken the question in good humour as he sipped on his wine and looked down to the pits. As the orcish gladiator charged the gnome caster below, arcane blinks saving the frail creature every other second, his smile slowly but surely extended.
[Image: Boys.jpg]
Like so many others, one more seeks something like refuge here. Or contrast to the gilding above.

This one had been seated a while, a couple empty glasses by her. A book rests on the scratched table. Its contents diagrams and formulas mostly. Save for a corner, which she currently uses as a space for a diary entry on a whim. Wrapped in white, a long snow-hued coat covers her tiny figure. A cloak of similar hue wrapped around her shoulders, almost hiding the bottom part of her face. Dark reading glasses rest upon her freckled nose, enhanced goggles hanging about her neck. Her right hand writes, her left hand--like the entire arm, newly mechanical, the metal bronzed in color--holds the book in place.

She doesn't yet seem to notice the other patrons, almost hiding in her work. Something about the noise down here makes it easier for her to concentrate. It was too quiet up in Dalaran sometimes, experimental arcane explosions aside.

"Aiding Silverfangs tomorrow...can't believe I'm related to Bisen family...wonder how deep fel is...am most likely considered tool...Tarai seems fun." Annabelle mutters to herself as she writes, the two drinks loosening her tongue a tiny bit.
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A pause followed her reply, a dismissible delay that failed to impact on the warmth of her smile, or the white gaze this incarnation of the man known as Singe found himself held by. A pause, regardless.

Tittering softly, she turned her gaze to the owner of a gruff and enquiring voice, “The goblins' prices are higher than I can afford, but I've a silver or two on the Gnome down there.” With a nod, she looked on the fight for the first time, catching the tail end of the aforementioned combatant's latest mystical hop. Pupilless eyes flicked directly to his landing point, then back up for a scout around the terrace. A certain mumbling priestess was focused upon.

Likewise, of course. Of course. On what business would sir find himself enjoying a drink in such a place as this, particularly after going and dropping off the map inexplicably?” Consideration, before, “Though it wasn't only you, was it?
All tales begin with large letters.

Within the depths of the vile Dalaran underground lurked a small possy of goblin sailors. They stepped with an awkward gait, the commonly said phrase of 'I ain't got me ground legs yet' being quite true in this situation. But regardless of the difficultly they pressed on, following their leader with hands resting upon the hilts of their sheathed sabres.

The ongoing contest of skill and might caught the attention of the lead goblin, causing the individual to pause and observe. Soon afterwards this goblin's fellows began to watch as well, curious as to what was so captivating.

A shrill whistle escaped the goblin's lips, black longcoat twirling about when coming to face the inn. Onwards marched the goblin crew, following their leader doefully. As this revered individual took a seat, so too did many of the sailors. With the initial table being too small, more were pulled over, and more and more until all ten could sit down properly. Then came the drinks, a series of cheers erupting from the group as they all indulged in their substances. All save one.

Captain Goldrang sat quietly, eyes affixed to the fight. Not even the roar of the Elfhunter's crew would avert the notorious outlaw's attention.
Quote:[8:53AM] Cassius: Xigo is the best guy ever. he doesn't afraid of anything.
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With faux noble mannerisms all along the way, Singe playfully tilted his head as he looked to the draenei. He traced her features and made note that her manner was well trained, the sincerity of even the casual silken smile actually fully controlled. In passing, his gaze swiftly took stock of the incoming patrons.

"Myess, well. Lives end and begin anew every second, now don't they? Who's to say one's given life isn't to flicker in and out. Who is to say the gnome that blinks from under the falling cleaver is the same that apears two yards back?"

Taking a casual sip as he relaxed even further back in his chair, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath into the glass "Cheap relativism and bisthle-wine cure all..."
[Image: Boys.jpg]
Flashes of arcane and the gleam of swinging metal appeared to hold her attention for a while longer. During her idle observation, a flourish of a hand and a whisper to the palm saw a glass of clear liquid spirited between her fingers. She lifted it to her lips and glanced sideways at the androgynous Captain, plus the motley crew. The cacophonous din drew a grimace, which she directed at Singe.

That is so, that is so, Highstride. A candle relit doesn't burn with the same flame as before.” Pressing into the edge of the table, the Draenei inclined forward, smile growing wry: “But most of us can't survive our flames being extinguished.

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