headlessorpheus

Aboard some petty merchant galley, you creep the deck softly. Around you, night gathers, and with predatory slowness, you slip past the patrolling hireswords, skirting their periphery with your shadow. Picking a cheap lock with your rusty kit, you quietly enter the captain's cabin, bare feet wetly treading fine carpet. The man sleeps with a flintlock in hand, sprawled lavishly across a wide bed of silks. You waste no time in lifting his pistol, shoving its flared muzzle into the merchant's snoring mouth, cocking it with a hooked grin. He wakes panicked, squealing. You lift a finger for silence, and tearfully, he obliges. Outside, the din of battle sounds, masking the sudden roar of gunpowder. Taking the smoking barrel from his mouth and lifting it to yours, you give the muzzle a sly blow before tucking it into the slack of your belt. Your fellows soon join you, their steel painted a merry shade of hiresword red. Proudly, you present your kill, and for a moment, the glory is yours. IC Forward; Bred from the displaced ashes of the old age, when men of war took to the throats of their rival statesmen, when dissolved armies of hireswords were left with naught but villainy to ply, before guilds, before adventurers, there were dogs. Betrayed by the new age, by peace, by empty prosperity, they stood in violent defiance of the changing times, only to be brought to cruel justice, one company after the other. Some died on the highways, robbing wayfolk. Others died in the dungeons, left mad, caged. The surviving fragments of the old armies took either to exile or tried their weary hands at playing lamb in a world once made for beasts. From the latter rose Vandal, and soon, those that would follow him. Throwing anchor in Limsa Lominsa, they've carved themselves a dangerous enterprise from the sweet meat of local intrigue, gradually branching their operations to undercut those of their rival, the Marauders Guild. Their tale, written in the dark ink of the chaos that beats in every man's heart, is fast unraveling, and as new dogs come to run with the old, is destined to only ramble still. OOC Forward; The Slaughterhouse Dogs is a heavy role-playing linkshell that caters to the chaotic evil in all of us. Our agenda is to devour. Our mission, to consume. We are a kinship in perpetual, violent motion. Close-knit and open-wounded, we are a family of savages banded together under a happy pretense of unity. How to Join; Merely send me a private message with links to your OOC and character profiles. Be prepared to submit a sample of roleplay, your reason for joining, and what you can contribute to the linkshell as a whole. Please note, however, that we are currently NOT RECRUITING LALAFELLS OR WILDWOOD ELEZENS as they silly, fluffy creatures.

(( I loave me some spies! Glad you're enjoying our crew's flair! We welcome all villains of different walks and tactics into our wide, backstabbing arms! ))

(( Shoving things forward on account of release being in two months! )) "That soggy pup? Best cut me your purse, gutter sprite, as that's a fool wager." Tossing back a solid pint, Rotter steeped his blood with drink. The weight of it halted his thoughts to a lurching, blubbered crawl, but as it settled, he found the dull brunt of his wits and, with the toss of his head, gave them a fine muster. Wobbling a narrow stare, he measured the woman's cut, and with a snort, nodded in terse approval. It seemed his moon was on the rise, as she was the third sprat he'd marked as a potential knife. Three would do, even if they all were touched by woman softness. He'd thought it'd be good fun to pit the elezen on the ponce, but his appetite for charades was thinning. An impatient drunk, he turned to the woman, curling a finger to beckon her close, "You got the savage look to you. Drag them gambling sods from table to alley. Tell them the Butcher has work for them. Tomorrow at daybreak on the quays. There's a fortune to be had if their hearts are black enough. You too, girl. Seems to me you can handle yourself in a fight."

That's horrible!

If someone could clarify this: will we only be allowed one character at launch if we want to pay the default monthly sub? If so, how horribly archaic of them. I hope that enough movement against this $3.00 an extra character slot will have them drop this PR shattering business.

This thread . . . so funny! Now when I see everyone's characters, the first image that's going to float my mind is those of their celebrity counterparts! Young Gerard Butler, ohmigoshhhh Haydyn lolzzz, too perfect! I'm probably going to end up with a boy-crush on Oryn, though. That Ewan, always a charmer! Don't know who I see Vandal as. Perhaps VIGGO MORTENSEN? The Eastern Promises kind of Viggo.

(( Short for the sake of expedience! )) Wounded, the man clutched hand to codpiece, hitching it with a solicitous flick of the tongue. Laughter boomed, gurgled, and spat from the scabby rounds of his lips, filling the tavern like thunder does sky. Eyes teary, pocked cheeks flushed, Rotter let the last of his chuckles die, trailing them with a giggled wheeze. Giving his knife a sloppy pry from the counter, he swam it from hand to mouth, scraping yellow rot from the shells of his teeth while hunching a lean towards haughty elezen ear. Mildew breath hot against perfumed lobe, he whispered, "That malingering ponce sitting yonder . . . take him for a walk down fisherman's drag. Rough him, but no cold slitting. I'll give you his weight in shimmering recompense if you bring him bloody to the usual quays before sunup," Throwing a passing gesture at the highbrow Valentine, he left the hiresword to go about her business, clawing at an itch beneath his chin, parting with a, "Take it or leave it. There will be more work to come." Casting off, he scooped empty tankard and waddled straight for the nearest tap, hungry for the blear of drink.

(( Fine, it's just going to be you and me for awhile, Ms. Flogging Molly! )) Ugly head turning to catch sight of the brusque elezen, Rotter shook a twitch from his hand and let flagon drop, the cheap crock rolling hollow on the tavern floor. Swinging his legs to cut a jagged approach, the man greased palm with spit and gave it a slick run through his balding scalp, wiping the phlegm and raked fleas on some passing wastrel's back. Easily, he shouldered a path through the swaying throngs, falling beside the long-ear with an introductory belch and the slamming of knife into the counter, the blade sinking into the grain like hot metal through butter. Cordial scowl making a grim ruin of his face, the man said, "You got the look of a blade to you. Them strict angles and steely complexion. What says you to some cutwork, louse-ear? Or are you whore already to One-Eye?" Tongue wagging thick, boastful, he ventured, "Or mayhaps your curves be looking to have a pretty sit on Old Rotter's miserly lap? Answer a man straight, none of your vixen coy." Sporting a studded cuirass of an old, simple fashion, he kept himself with the air of sellsword, his bravado plain, blades dangling in their oiled scabbards. His skin was more hide then flesh, cured thick, notched with scars, threaded with fresh suture wire. Piggish eyes swollen and menacingly dark, he roamed a hard stare, jaw tightening as he discerned her next move, eager to come to blows.

Thank you both for filling me in! I'm officially excited for the FFXIV roleplaying community now. It's great to know that the future is looking bright for FFXIV! I can't wait to get into thick of things!

Hyur Mid-lander, Male, Limsa Lominsa!

As someone who hasn't had much experience with FFXI, why exactly are the RP communities there dwindling? Also, do you think the dwindling state of RP in FFXI will be brought over to FFXIV come launchtime? I plan on trying to convert as many of my roleplaying friends from LOTRO, AION, and AoC to FFXIV come release . . . from what I've read so far of the game's lore and so forth, there is a whole lot of potential! Hopefully they game will have as much support as LOTRO has given to its community instead of say, what WAR gave to its loyalists.

First Day, Evening, The Drowning Wench, Limsa Lominsa; Playing porter, Rotter stood beside the entrance of the port city's premiere tavern, guzzling their finest tapstuff while slanting a brow at the passing adventurers. None of them were worth their salt and he knew it. More importantly, Vandal knew it too. Why the Butcher sent his best scout to sniff at these fishhooked sprats escaped him, especially since he was said scout. His time would be better wasted pawing at some of One-Eye's boys for hire. They could cleanly do what the boss had in mind and they could do it for cheap. Like most veteran cutthroats, they enjoyed the work more then they ever could enjoy the pay. Blood over coin, leather over silk. That's how their world turned, and despite this modern pretense of stability, of peace, of guilds, that's how it would always turn. Throwing back the rest of his flagon, he turned and barreled into the tavern, letting the drink swirl fire in his gut while he staggered towards the tap. "One more night of this, then it's off to One-Eye . . ." He muttered, throwing his back and arms up against the bar counter with a reckless lean, surveying, scouting. One more night.

Prologue; Boots trotting heavy on the quay, thin cloak snapping frenzied in the wind, Bryre carved a path through brine and fog, strides lunging, frantic. Ringed hand greasing hair with sweat, he chewed his tongue and paced his breathing, swallowing the grim rise of bile that gurgled threateningly in the deeps of his throat. This business of skullduggery always left him with shaky bowels. It was as if at any moment he would collapse, retching and shitting himself simultaneously. Some good that alchemist brew did him, that fletcher. Halfway down the wharf, a plank succumbed to rot, taking his leg and a hearty chunk of flesh with it. He stumbled messily, palms scraping wood, bracing his weight against moss and splinters. From above, laughter sputtered then choked, and with a sudden heave, the man was on his feet, knife to knife with some raggedy puller. "That dirk couldn't slit a child's throat, you," the puller said, grin lilting his voice crooked, light. "Come, pray test it on yours?" Bryre spat back. For awhile they stood, tense as beasts, before the stranger relented, stepping back, trading knife for cleaver and draped cowl for open face. Moonlight gave ugly luster to the scarred, filth smeared face. Eyes wide, discolored, and dully shimmering, the Butcher dropped the twist in his lips with a twitch of the hand. "Kindly, sir, surrender I," he said. "Ah . . . it's you. Of course it's you. Yes, I apologize. You caught me unawares," stammered Bryre, his features tight with pain. Hands caked with blood, he gestured for them to move further down the promenade, away from the shore. They went in silence, one swaggering, the other limping. At the end of the pier, a rowboat bobbed, burdened only by oars and a large, dark sack. They climbed in without ceremony, and after rowing past the kelp and shallows, uncorked a bottle of rum and began to talk business. "One-Eye's authority is crumbling. We heard about the pirates and how they've started bringing their business to your men instead of his. You undercutting him like that, skimming just enough to make a profit and a few cheap friends, it's bold, Vandal --," Praise cut short by a hiss of pain as the Butcher poured hard drink on the gash, the man writhed, silent. "Dangerous, yes. No more pillowtalk. What do you want?" The shift of accent made Bryre nervous. Thickening, the air went sticky with tension, pregnant, violent, "The Knights of the Barracuda, as you know, have certain connections to the local pirate crews, and consequently ties to One-Eye and the cruel economics of his little operation. We want out. We want to back someone reasonable. So here I am with my head on the chopping block, offering you a chance to foster relations between our two organizations," Bryce said, letting silence trail. "Yes, about that," Reaching into the sack that he had left sitting ominously between them, the Butcher retrieved a freshly severed head and gave it a toss, letting it land squarely in the lap of his startled passenger. As it rolled feebly about, the poor man shrieked, scooping the awful trophy from boat to sea, shuddering to himself as it gurgled and sunk. Watching on with a flat, bored expression, Vandal continued, "Either you think me a fool or you are a fool. Which is it, Captain Bryre of the Marghast, respected officer of the Barracuda Knights, beloved husband, father, and son?" "You don't think he's mine, do you? Whoever he was, he has nothing to do with me or this offer. I can stake that on my life, Butcher." "Oh?" Head doggedly tilting, the man traced the pale, wiry scar that ran the curve of his throat apple, "A relief, then. Keep only me in the strictest of your confidence. Whatever baited that rat came from your camp." "Yes, I'll be more careful from now on," He replied curtly, impatience winning out. His guts were churning. This had to end soon or else he risked losing them to this monster, "But regardless, the offer stands, and to show we aim to make good on our word, we have a shipment that needs to be collected. It's in the hands of pirate crew that we contract waiting to be smuggled and then fenced. Do this for us and we will offer you a similar favor in return," Letting the weight of his words mount, Bryre smiled, gold teeth gleaming, moonlit. "And what favor would that be, fish captain?" "One-Eye's loyal contacts within the Knights charged with high treason." At this Vandal's face split with a wide, lupine grin, expression sheer glee. "Done."

The Plot; The dogs are gathering. Yellow teeth, red slaver, and mangled jaws. The smell of blood curdled with the musk of dead fish travels on the night winds, giving the tidal spray a portentous flavor. Talk of a fresh division in the underworld factions is abound, each whisper a scream. What part will you play in this unfolding saga of the dogs who would be kings? The Purpose; To provide ample background for my premiere criminal linkshell, whose exact name is still pending and to hopefully rope in a few potential recruits while establishing a presence in the roleplaying community. A note of warning, though, this thread is going to be dark, so for those prone to the vapors, I'd recommend keeping your distance. The Setting; Limsa Lominsa, with the thread kicking off after the prologue outside of the Drowning Wench. Takes place a handful of months before launch timeline and in a separate timeline from any other listed roleplaying threads. The Rules; Stay moderately active. Any absence lasting more then two days will result in your character being put out of commission ( i.e. abandoning ship due to sudden cowardice, contracting dysentery, or getting thrown down and fishooked ). If your leave is temporary and you have the firmest intentions of returning, your character will fall under GM cruise control. Prior notice is mandatory and formal resignation preferred. All posts should be at least one paragraph ( five sentences fleshy sentences ) in length and should spellchecked. OOC blah blah blah should be kept sparse and limited to private messages or the assembly room. Assuming your opponent is some nameless NPC, feel free to dictate their reactive actions as far as combat is concerned during high octane sequences so as to streamline the narrative. Named NPCs, however, are left in the control of the DM. Also, during combat, make sure your character is at least nicked, scraped, kicked, punched, or whatever else at least once. Use common sense. Untouchables suck. Go wild! The Application; Just fill this out or link me your profile in the character directory and send it to me via private message. Looking for at least three people to sign up before progressing past the second introductory post. Looking mostly for characters either in the shades of gray or plain black. Gallant characters won't mesh well with this adventure. Character's Alias ( no real names -- wouldn't want it taken ): Character's Race ( no lalafell -- hyurs are preferred ): Character's Occupation ( optional ): Character's Description ( optional ): Do you plan on bringing this character to launch?