Post by Ursula on Apr 8, 2018 6:49:41 GMT
House of Shades
An Open RP with Ursula, for those loyal to the glorious land of Nohr
The House of Shades, an underground lounge in Windmire
Evening
An Open RP with Ursula, for those loyal to the glorious land of Nohr
The House of Shades, an underground lounge in Windmire
Evening
Imagine a secret lounge, a lounge that no member of the noble family had heard about. However, it was the place where those of certain social or military status made their connections, perhaps even made a few friends in the process. There were drinks, on the house if one was a soldier or member of the army, and, of course, comely staff who served at every beck and call.
Of course, why imagine it? In Windmire, this place exists, and this place was reserved only for those who were loyal to the cause of Nohr.
The master of this bar room was enigmatic, unseen, yet existing. None but a select few knew who he was or what he looks like, but nothing was shared of him other than he was an aristocrat and a man after King Garon's own heart.
A burly Faceless stood inanimate in the front of the bar, behind it a handsome young man in dark mage garment. His head lifted, hearing light footsteps approaching from afar off.
"... Do my eyes deceive me..." he smiled, "Or is that the lovely madam Ursula von Brandt gracing me with her presence?"
"Spare me your flattery," the witch hissed coldly, "I am in no mood for it."
"Oooh! What lovely words!" the dark mage cried with his hands clasped together. His sarcasm shifted away as he folded his arms, "Bad day, Ursula?"
"Grr..." One could hear the skin in her fists tightening.
"Okay, okay, I get it, hot-head. Go on in."
Upon entering, the room quieted, and glances were traded.
Alas, "It's just Ursula," and the conversation resumed. With a grunt, the witch proceeded to find an empty booth.
"One day," she grumbled to herself, "One day..."
Of course, why imagine it? In Windmire, this place exists, and this place was reserved only for those who were loyal to the cause of Nohr.
The master of this bar room was enigmatic, unseen, yet existing. None but a select few knew who he was or what he looks like, but nothing was shared of him other than he was an aristocrat and a man after King Garon's own heart.
A burly Faceless stood inanimate in the front of the bar, behind it a handsome young man in dark mage garment. His head lifted, hearing light footsteps approaching from afar off.
"... Do my eyes deceive me..." he smiled, "Or is that the lovely madam Ursula von Brandt gracing me with her presence?"
"Spare me your flattery," the witch hissed coldly, "I am in no mood for it."
"Oooh! What lovely words!" the dark mage cried with his hands clasped together. His sarcasm shifted away as he folded his arms, "Bad day, Ursula?"
"Grr..." One could hear the skin in her fists tightening.
"Okay, okay, I get it, hot-head. Go on in."
Upon entering, the room quieted, and glances were traded.
Alas, "It's just Ursula," and the conversation resumed. With a grunt, the witch proceeded to find an empty booth.
"One day," she grumbled to herself, "One day..."