#psiithuros

“Bloody hell...” Naadir murmured quietly to himself as he felt his medallion tug at the chain around his neck. He sighed a defeated sigh and scratched his hair as he approached the woman that was clearly casting a spell, though he had yet to know what spell that was. “You’re scaring the townsfolk. They think you’re a succubus or worse, a witch.” Those weren’t their words exactly, but he did not enjoy dealing with mages.

your ooc tag fit this too. but honestly i'm sorry you're dealing with this ;;

Thanks , hun . I’d say it’s okay but it totally isn’t . I may be a mediocre person with a slightly okay vocal pitch but a bro knows he doesn’t deserve this passive aggression tbh .

valorcorrupt replied to your post “CRACKED  CROWN   ⸺   Oh  my  God  .  Alright  ,  I  ,  honestly  can’t...”

not to ruin the mood but this is some goddamn quality venting. It's funny. It's engaging. It makes me want to titpunch Jan. 12/10

Nothing absolutely makes me happier than one of my rants getting a stellar review like this  🙏 . I mean if worse comes to worse   & &   I can’t find a job maybe I can start a business where people pay me to shit talk tbh . If I learned nothing else in high school ,   & &   , I DIDN’T , I assure you , it was how to shit talk with the best of them .

cygnus-van-markham replied to your post “CRACKED  CROWN   ⸺   Oh  my  God  .  Alright  ,  I  ,  honestly  can’t...”

『People get so easily jealous, but in the end, this is RP. We are not our characters ＆ while some people are fortunate enough to actually be together, it does allow those (that wish to be) to own or are allowed to treat someone else's muse as their ＰＲＯＰＥＲＴＹ. I'm sorry you have to deal with this dear ~♡』

It had been, most of all, a business trip, rather than a journey of pleasure. To be quite frank, if Radonis had wished to travel for his own amusement, he would have sooner visited Antiva rather than Nevarra, for how interesting Nevarra could be. It was, therefore, in the spirit of a business trip that he was heading back towards the Imperium.

And in that spirit that he stared at the innkeeper as if the man were begging to be incinerated on the spot.

Radonis took a deep breath. « My good man », he said, commendably keeping his voice low and level, despite that certain hint that indicates how one is about to consume the last inch of his patience. « I have two dracolisks outside, which need tending. And my bodyguard too, you’ll agree that he also needs some deserved rest. In fact, as I understand, there’s no other inn for miles and I need some rest as well, since it appears to be night. Which means--- »

The man in front of him, his Nevarran accent thick, dragged a hand down his face. « Sir, I get you, but we’ve got no rooms. »

« Which means, that I do not quite care where we will sleep, but it will certainly not be on the stones of the Imperial Highway. »

Now, Radonis did not carry his family staff, that which had belonged to his father. Too ceremonial, too valuable, too much a staff. Instead, he carried one that could just as easily be mistaken for a mere halberd. It did not necessarily classify him as a mage, though he hardly had any doubts that both accent and demeanour would classify him as Tevinter.

The first three in my inbox get a kiss: 3/3

At last, Urian set down the page. His fingertips rested lightly on its surface as he fixed Selenius with a pale green stare. His amanuensis and Left Hand, a friend of many years, bore it easily enough, not squirming in his chair despite the simmering annoyance swimming in those eyes.

“Sephus Porenni, dead,” he said. “Assassinated.” Selenius nodded. “I had plans for young Porenni,” Urian added, mildly.

His lips pressed together. The young Porenni heir had been a crawling worm of a man, prone to decadence of all kinds -- forgivable, if there’d been an ounce of intelligence or political acumen to back it up. In this case, there’d been none, and Urian would likely have disposed of the young man himself in any case. After using him. His sheer stupid piggish avarice had made him useful, easily manipulated with a few careful promises.

And foolish though the young man was, he came of an old, good family, with influence and prestige and weight behind it -- a conservative family, nationalist in a way which Urian found rather distasteful. Urian had planned to manipulate the Porenni heir into publicly supporting a motion set to be introduced in the Magisterium’s next session -- a motion, seemingly quite logical indeed, to tighten restrictions on the lyrium trade and entirely eliminate the black market smuggling of the stuff. It also, not incidentally, cast veiled but venomous aspersions on the two dwarven Houses who currently shared a monopoly on the legitimate trade. 

In short, the motion would anger and incite not only those powerful dwarven Houses and thus the entire Ambassadoria; but the Carta as well, the powerful criminal organization responsible for most of the lyrium smuggling. 

Urian wouldn’t have had to lift a finger to see House Porenni and its associated cabal of nationalists brought down; the dwarves would have done it for him, and all because young Sephus was too stupid and blindered to see the effect of supporting such an incendiary motion.

“Sura Katsaros,” Urian said aloud, thoughtfully, tapping at her name where it sat in black ink upon the page. “And you’re quite certain blood magic was involved? No, of course you are.” Selenius never reported anything he wasn’t entirely certain about; he was quite conscientious that way. Urian sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to call the Templars on her.” He did not sound particularly distressed by the notion, merely weary.

Selenius nodded, shifting his weight as though to stand and write out the order on the spot, but Urian held up a quelling hand. “Or...” said the Divine, his lips curving into a wicked little smile, “perhaps not. Porenni himself was a fool, but a well-guarded one, and she managed to remove him without his people being aware. There’s potential in a young woman like that.”

“Yes, your Perfection,” Selenius agreed, after a thoughtful silence. One thing they shared was a reluctance to discard good tools while there was still use in them.

“Write her,” Urian instructed. “I shall expect her to present herself to me at my family estate in the Gilded Quarter tomorrow, two hours past lunch.”