Thread: A Heroine's Dark Ink {darkest_fate&Sanoci}

Ramshorn wouldn't be the type of port town one would instantaneously recognize by first glance. once of great importance to the lands, serving as the capital of the realm in terms of commerce. Ramshorn oftentimes would be the Last Port and the most northerly safe harbor on the coast, but as Nelanos New Captial of trade grew, it became relegated to a backwater settlement of much less import. Overwhelmed by the Reaveritis Blightwhich made the structure of magic out of balance, many spells failed or produced unreliable results and rifts that were caused from this caused the tides of Ramshorn to change and the harbors filled with silt. This ultimately made Nelanos an easier haven to reach. With the docks failing and trade dying off, many citizens fled the town or died at the hands of marauding bandits and monsters leaving only a few stubborn holdouts remaining in residence. Thus, this explained the desolated look of the town now, encircled by a crumbling stone wall with buildings made of decaying wood now ripe with degenerate and scoundrels alike with mighty and money as the primary foci for success here. Approaching the establishment itself of this parlor emulated an atmosphere, unlike others. Specifically the chaotic patchwork of architectural styles ranging from the mundane human centric style to the Fae like vegetation enveloping the Celtic stylistic carvings of the Dwarven people in stone. Only significant dwellings curry enough fortune to have their places built of masonries. Magically inclined individuals would recognize the glyphs, perhaps a warding spell woven into the stone to halt erosion or repelling unwanted guests of some nature. Averse to answer immediately, the entrepreneur was busy transcribing something malevolent in the sidelines out back. Caution was mandatory, even his hide triggered some prejudice despite the human exterior with the superstition the demi-races caused ruination to this once thriving place. Magi were mainly loathed with the Reaveritis Blight affecting the area once, now diluted. Paying customer here! Loaded! And super famous The insistent feminine voice sprang to his attention, leaving the salivating wrecked whore bound to be left to her frenzied moans muffled behind the restraint restricting her vocals. The secondary hex for this previous one would need to be finalized later, preferably after hours where closing the shop seems most innocent and mainly to keep up appearances. Vociferous behind each long striding step came out the owner of the business, sunken grey hues seemingly aloof until they rose to trace the identify of the potentially assertive customer. 'My,my is she a beauty ', mentally acknowledging the prospect that advertised her presence. Surmising the type of upbringing, she had on the basis of her attire, figure, and diction...disappointment wasn't within his vocabulary. Skellos Rawlins, at your service if by your boisterous introduction sought out a tattoo? affirming the artist whose tempo vocally melded between raucous yet in the confines of being oddly husky behind it. Carrying stature reaching over seven feet tall, one might mistaken the owner for one of those heinous monsters outside the comforts of the towns and cities of Manna. Physique wise, his obsidian skin was sculptured in muscles, arcantic like tattoos, and two grotesque symmetric scars on the prominent abdominal muscles, hinting at a life as a warrior previously. Limbs all around were elongated and massive in width measured almost like small trees. Too distinguishing was the apparel, torn leather vest with a crimson spade on the back that exposes most of his torso, dark gloves and pants, a belt with a goblin skull-shaped buckle, and spiked boots with spurs. He and his covered in pink tattoos wear spiked bracelets on his arms as well as knee pads with a single spike on them. Piercings made up part of the appearance too, studded silver septum over the cumbersome bushy black beard laying on the jutting jawline with arched eyebrows pierced in a small hoop with layers of the small spikes like piercings on the ears. Hardly bemused, perhaps she could make his evening more interesting versus the project out back. Despite the decaying perimeter they placed frequented, no grim was upon him nor broken canines unlike the majority of denizens left in the port town. I'll include Marco next post..not knowing if he tagged along or not