<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/fUK7FgG.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]The Cock and Bull was Nymeros' idea. Not the organization housed there - just the name of their hideout; he thought himself clever for it.
Perched outside the entrance with a pinch of tobacco rolled into a slender smoking stick, the tall fellow in question peered wearily through the fog. This time of year brought about a great many things he had no like for. Cold weather, difficult heists, and bitter women. Any other man would likely find a more reputable source of income, but Nymeros Kreed was a child of the gutter, and had resigned himself to a life in the trenches long before meeting up with the Cutlass Kings. Back when it was a more scattered band of outlaws than it currently was, Nymeros had again thought himself clever, having infiltrated their base and pilfered a few choice prizes from the leader. It wasn't until he was caught by a mysterious woman that his clever streak ran out, as he didn't think twice to boast his deeds, and she didn't think twice to point a very large cutlass at his family jewels.
And that was how he became acquainted with Quincy Renard, crowned Queen of the Cutlass Kings. As far as Nymeros knew, there had never actually been a King. Just a very frightening woman and her devoted following of murdering marauders, hidden deep beneath the city streets of Dunwich.
Smoke trickled from his lips while he waited for a sign, careful not to lean too far forward in his crouch. Any moment now... Any second...
Then, with wings spread and eyes straight forward, a massive bird flew in the cavernous entrance and landed with a brief hop on the head of a half deteriorated statue. Rising to his feet to close the gap between himself and the avian beast, Nymeros pressed a hand along the spine of his partner. "And they had words to share with us, didn't they?" Mumbled, the words meant little to the owl, who ignored them in favor of preening it's breast feathers. While it was busy, the gentleman removed a small tag from the leg of the bird and unrolled the paper attached. Carefully he skimmed the contents once, and then again a second time, stumbling over a few of the words because of poor penmanship. When the message had been fully digested and understood, Nymeros scoffed and chucked the parchment to the canal, hoping it was swallowed by fish, and shit out near where they dumped bodies to rot with lesser creatures and vermin.
He was so tired of this bureaucratic bullshit.
Long steps announced his presence in the tavern, where a few quiet men drank and played card games he didn't have time to join. "Where is Quincy?"
One pointed upstairs and Nymeros nodded his thanks before continuing towards the meeting room with similar long strides. A strange dichotomy it was, given how ugly and cankerous the rest of their hideout was. It wasn't as though they employed maids to keep the place running, so what little needed to get done was taken care of, and the rest of the upkeep was entirely ignored. Waltzing inside with a familiar squint of his lids, the thief took it upon himself to release a brief cough, in case Quincy hadn't noticed him enter otherwise.
"We have bad news, I'm afraid." Compared to most of their gang, his accent was thick and coarse, and spoke volumes of a life lived underground. "Are you busy?"
Perched outside the entrance with a pinch of tobacco rolled into a slender smoking stick, the tall fellow in question peered wearily through the fog. This time of year brought about a great many things he had no like for. Cold weather, difficult heists, and bitter women. Any other man would likely find a more reputable source of income, but Nymeros Kreed was a child of the gutter, and had resigned himself to a life in the trenches long before meeting up with the Cutlass Kings. Back when it was a more scattered band of outlaws than it currently was, Nymeros had again thought himself clever, having infiltrated their base and pilfered a few choice prizes from the leader. It wasn't until he was caught by a mysterious woman that his clever streak ran out, as he didn't think twice to boast his deeds, and she didn't think twice to point a very large cutlass at his family jewels.
And that was how he became acquainted with Quincy Renard, crowned Queen of the Cutlass Kings. As far as Nymeros knew, there had never actually been a King. Just a very frightening woman and her devoted following of murdering marauders, hidden deep beneath the city streets of Dunwich.
Smoke trickled from his lips while he waited for a sign, careful not to lean too far forward in his crouch. Any moment now... Any second...
Then, with wings spread and eyes straight forward, a massive bird flew in the cavernous entrance and landed with a brief hop on the head of a half deteriorated statue. Rising to his feet to close the gap between himself and the avian beast, Nymeros pressed a hand along the spine of his partner. "And they had words to share with us, didn't they?" Mumbled, the words meant little to the owl, who ignored them in favor of preening it's breast feathers. While it was busy, the gentleman removed a small tag from the leg of the bird and unrolled the paper attached. Carefully he skimmed the contents once, and then again a second time, stumbling over a few of the words because of poor penmanship. When the message had been fully digested and understood, Nymeros scoffed and chucked the parchment to the canal, hoping it was swallowed by fish, and shit out near where they dumped bodies to rot with lesser creatures and vermin.
He was so tired of this bureaucratic bullshit.
Long steps announced his presence in the tavern, where a few quiet men drank and played card games he didn't have time to join. "Where is Quincy?"
One pointed upstairs and Nymeros nodded his thanks before continuing towards the meeting room with similar long strides. A strange dichotomy it was, given how ugly and cankerous the rest of their hideout was. It wasn't as though they employed maids to keep the place running, so what little needed to get done was taken care of, and the rest of the upkeep was entirely ignored. Waltzing inside with a familiar squint of his lids, the thief took it upon himself to release a brief cough, in case Quincy hadn't noticed him enter otherwise.
"We have bad news, I'm afraid." Compared to most of their gang, his accent was thick and coarse, and spoke volumes of a life lived underground. "Are you busy?"
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 11-12-2014, 05:23 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Kat - 11-12-2014, 06:11 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 11-12-2014, 07:06 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Kat - 11-12-2014, 08:25 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 11-13-2014, 12:27 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Kat - 11-13-2014, 07:57 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 11-15-2014, 08:50 AM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Ghostly - 11-18-2014, 09:55 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Kat - 11-24-2014, 07:16 AM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 11-30-2014, 10:36 AM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Ghostly - 12-01-2014, 04:46 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by fishwithaknife - 12-04-2014, 01:43 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by Kat - 12-09-2014, 07:16 PM
Cock and Bull: Tales of the Thieves Guild. - by megs - 01-09-2015, 11:59 AM