You are here

Threats

Ixinane's picture

Blacksong

 

Blackened fingers scrawled fine letters across a page:

 

Pretty- 

Teufelia's picture

Why of course it must be Monday....(55 words)

 

"Wrong answer." He threaten

Eyes aglow with something fairly unpleasant as he got too close for comfort.

Neltharian advance stopped as my blade touched his chin.

"You want to know what Palo and I talked about..ask her."

"I make my living by not running my mouth."

Wonderful, someone else pissed at me tonight.

Typical Monday.

Malisson's picture

Spite

“I don’t think you deserve him,”

Lilliana closes the distance between them. A cold, metal-clad finger traces the priestess's cheek, "Why am I undeserving?"

“Because you are wicked, and you have no respect or compassion. Because he couldn’t possibly love you after you married another,” Malisson says softly.

SCORE. That will probably end with...

Light help her, I am being so wicked. The Abbess would be so ashamed.

Humbled Service: Hints and Promises

“You ignored my last few invitations, Ben.  I’m crushed.”  The woman dropped her cigarette into the snow and ground it out under her boot.

“Why’d you drag me out here?”  Harrigan glowered at her through narrowed eyes.   He unconsciously flexed the fingers of his right hand, aching for the sword that still rested in its scabbard.

“Because I can, Ben,” she laughed.  “And you hate it.”

“Get on with it.”

“Direct as ever, Ben,” she smiled.  “I’ve always loved that about you.  Are you the same in bed?”  She licked her lips mockingly.

Castien's picture

Subtle Warning

Rating: 
Players: 

There was blood on the floor.

Too much for the resident of the apartment to have survived.

There was no body; the stains were a few days old and the splatter pattern was similar enough to a slit throat.

It was sloppy, but enough of a message. Porshia was dead and he was the cause.

Alexiia's picture

Accommodation and Negotiations

Players: 

The sun was setting over the walls of the city to the west. Alex's deadline was approaching for giving the mistress an answer. A part of her was still hoping that some mysterious third option would show up and give her a way out, but the reality of the situation was simply that there was no better option.

She walked into the small room that Videl used as an office and sat down on the chair placed in front of the desk.

Ixinane's picture

The Line of Stormcren pt 1: Messenger

Rating: 

 

Her hair smelled of bloodthissle, its soft texture pressed into my cheek, with an underlying smell of some sweet herb and the very subtle tangy scent of poison.  To the outward eye we looked like nothing more then two females sitting on a bench, locked in an embrace of either friends or lovers, my arm around her shoulders and neck, her back against my chest.  What lay hidden was the ever growing stain of red in the mid section of my shirt, and my fingernails embedded in her back, the skin there already twisted black with corruption.

 

Aerella's picture

Information Gathering

Rating: 
Players: 

((Running a bit behind due to the Great Midwest Meddler Road Trip...))

This was not good.

Lormar didn't have time to regard the dead whore sprawled across the bed. He was too busy spinning around to parry the knife coming from the assassin still lurking behind the door.

Must have been an amateur; she made just a bit too much noise. Or maybe she'd slipped.

Zaas's picture

War and Peace 1: Gathering Your Resources

'Master Barten, I will need any records you have of deaths in the area of Hangman Hill.'

Ben Barten, a man born to clerkhood, drywashed his hands as was his habit when thinking. 'Many people committed of murders there, Miss Devereaux. Why bother with convicts and murderers?'

Zaas Glados Devereaux glanced up from her paperwork with a polite expression on her features. 'The dead require justice for their crimes... As do the living, Master Barten.'

~~~~~

Izin's picture

Bookkeeper

Players: 

 

Dalaran was everything I had heard it would be, a teaming city of far too many bodies, far too many parties, and the delicious promise of violence. Night had already made its way over the city by the time I had arrived, but a lamp lit city has always been my preference, and it was the very same promising warm glows that lead me into a shop stacked from wall to ceiling with glass incased scrolls, but it wasn’t the shop itself I had wanted to see, it was what I heard was above it. 

Evil Appetite

Players: 

(( Tips for translating: maki = kill, om = it/him/her, wio = will. It's written mostly phonetically so if you run into troubles, read it out loud ))

Frenz nat iat frenz.

Frenz espeshiali nat iat frenz who laja an/oa more powafoo than dei.

And frenz def-in-at-li nat iben a-temp iat frenz hoo nat onle aa laja an/oa moa powafoo dan dei but a-so let dem wak raun, sap-poz'li witout srinz at-tach.

Cuz even frenz, wen giben powa, wio use dat powa deiz vantaj. Cuz dem-gaiz "hol al da carz"? Ai tink dat rait fraiz.

Laurethelas's picture

A Noble Stain

Players: 

I frowned at the guard leiutenant, before he opened his mouth I could tell I was wasting my time, that he was just looking at a pair of boobs in a dress and didn't give a crap what I was going to say. In fact, that was probably what he was told to do by his superior; stare at my chest, nod a few times, promise me with a dishonest grin that he considered my concerns worth looking into, and then send me away with the cute lie that everything was going to be just all right.

Artisania's picture

At the Heart

 

Artisania Marveloso, barefoot and in her nightgown, did her best to catch her breath.

"Lay in your grave already, Librarian!" Eberict Silverleaf cried out from under the stairs, "You suck the air as though we have limitless ether!"

Artisania's picture

Movements

Artisania Marveloso moved.

Her body curled gently, to fit in accordance to the similarly curled figure of the smaller elf with whom she slept.  Teledriath's petite frame nestled against her, warm and breathing deep and rhythmically, the ebb and flow of her respiration against her breast like a gentle wave.   Artisania sighed a little, embraced by the familiar comfort of their own bed in the Thunder Bluff loft, sleep washing over her to ease away the trials of the week past.

 

 

Artisania's picture

Disappearing Act

Artisania Marveloso gently closed the book.

Scartaris's picture

Tea and ultimatums

"Was it true? Had that artist Rossetti really gone mad and killed himself in the Gallery?

I did not pay much attention to the rumours at first. These people -- my people, I need to remind myself, more often as time goes on -- are always twittering about something. It was not until I heard the deceased man's full name, Maudlin Rosetti, that I took notice.

Scartaris's picture

An unauthorized portrait

Kharris and Artisania have both warned me about this Lady Everbloom and her suspicious art collection. So, what to do about it? I do not think I am in any danger. She is unbalanced, I think, but not dangerous. That she dyed her hair to look like mine is flattering, I suppose. It might even be a little unsettling. But does it cross a line? And what of her hiring Heulwen to investigate me? I have done the same, and I meant no harm, although harm may yet come from it.

Sowelu_Danea's picture

Scarred, Not Scared

The sixth day of the eleventh month of the year 28

 

I seem to be doomed to hurt everyone I love. I’d better start getting used to that, especially since it’s my blood that will kill them all.

My blood... with the Plague of Lordaeron in it. The original Plague. The incurable one which only ever left one survivor. And it’s in the hands of the Cult of the Damned.

Scartaris's picture

Secret admirer

Rating: 
Players: 

(( You may want to read Where the cat has been. ))

The warlock stepped briskly as she made her way from Farstriders' Square to Murder Row. The fading daylight painted the walls and archways in orange and gold, the sun making even this disreputable neighborhood beautiful.

Sowelu_Danea's picture

Notes From the Undercity: Fleeing Shadows

{{ Repost }}

The 26th day of the 9th month of the year 26

My manuscript has been sent, Sashai is still sleeping, the sun won't rise for hours, and I'm staring at a pair of vials. One contains a vile-looking specimen of a plant and the other ... the other a final gift from Arielle. Her blood. Blood will separate within hours, leaving a dark-red layer of sludge beneath a red-tinged layer of water. I've had this for three days now, and it's still mixed; the Plague is maintaining it.

Artisania's picture

Moving

Players: 

Artisania Marveloso was a bit nervous.

After all, it wasn't every night in Silvermoon a man in dark clothing stopped one in the street to whisper, "Wolf comes for you," in one's ear. Artisania cocked an eyebrow as she watched the elf remount his skeletal horse, as stunned by his message as she was by the casual manner with which he had delivered it.

"Just doing my job," he said, turning his mount away.

Aviyanna's picture

[Letter] A Reply to Dr. Vines

(( Originally posted 7/8/06 ))

Dr. Vines,

I'm afraid you've misunderstood the purpose of my letter.

I do not in any way recognize that you and you alone are the sole savior of these two young people. Otherwise, I would not be calling a meeting with as many healers, alchemists and knowledgeable folk as are at hand and who value the two of them.

Tabaqui's picture

Harried

Time seems a blur. I'm just filling hours until the hammer falls. And yet there is a strange quality of unreality to it all. Is he really coming? Is he really going to turn me into a demon? Is Borel really raising an army for my sake? It all seems dreamlike, storylike... as if I've drifted into an old tale, as if I'm a princess or the daughter of a cheiftain... not some bastard half-breed.
Tabaqui's picture

The Knife's Edge

Players: 
"Understand that you’ll have no peace until I’ve had my fun." Valgasha stroked her hair, slowly and gently, with deft but languid fingers. "What creatures the Scourge has made of men and women, eh?"

"I s-suppose. T-to s-see thinking, f-feeling p-people reduced t-to mindless s-screaming m-monsters is... s-something."

Lillashandra's picture

Threats and Promises

Lilly's head hit the ground with a soft thud.  She heard Fiyonna soft gasp as she hit the ground also.  They had been talking in the Valley of Heros, randomly running into each other after so long.  Lilly had just told Fiy that Gray had returned to the Monastary to report in person, when suddenly she felt herself tossed to the ground.

Subscribe to RSS - Threats