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GOBLIN RIOT
Rampaging Mob
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2019
- Location
- Goblopolis
I would like a FEMALE to play a poor, desperate girl sold off to a band of ruthless scallywags to pay her Father's gambling debts. I'll be writing three nefarious gents, and you'll be playing one busty, submissive serving wench (She can be a Human, a Halfling, an Elf or a Pixie, but something short and demure and stacked). Together we shall make wonderful, creative, descriptive smut all over the place and all will be well.
Oh, lookit, I even made an intro post to get us started! PM me if you're interested, will you?
_______________________________________________________________________________
Blackbone was the name of the very last city that you would ever like to find yourself in. Short on friendly faces and even shorter on things like mercy, kindness and law, this dreary den of despair was home to all manner of nefarious individuals. In this grim place, life was cheap, and threat was high. It was as if the Gods built this dastardly city purely to house all manner of heartless and cruel sorts, from the common-enough outcast bandit, to the surly, sea-proud Pirate, to beings that couldn’t even be regarded as anything even remotely Human. It wouldn’t be strange to see a pale, be-fanged Vampire conducted sinister, secretive business with a red-skinned, horned Devil in some slim, shadow-crammed alleyway, and if you did come across such a transaction, it would be advised to remove yourself from the vicinity before you were spotted.
Though, for every hell-born fiend and undead abomination, there were a thousand lowly thieves and very mortal, very naughty cutpurses and homeless wretches who haunted the winding, fog-drenched streets and alleyways of this most dismal of places. Street gangs and Guilds of thieves clashed for influence, wealth and the sheer carnage of conflict, waging bloody turf wars to carve up their own chunk of the rotting city. Of all these gangs, few were feared more than the dreaded Blackbone Brood, a motley assortment of scum and filth that would make the chitinous carapace of an insect shiver in revulsion.
Comprised mainly of a sprawling network of thieves, pickpockets and lowlives, what made this most treacherous band of misfits particularly deadly were the triumvirate of terrible souls that led the organization with startling efficiency and brutal mercilessness.
First, there was Hexio the Goblin. Green of skin, large of cranium and fiendish of thought, he was the methodical, massive and squishy brains of the Gang. If an idea needed to be hatched, or an enemy’s weakness discerned, it was his razor-fine perception and mental acumen that could do the trick. His eyes were tiny and glowed a mysterious shade of blue that seemed to alternate between colors. Sometimes, they were an electric and almost neon teal. Other times, they would frost over in the shade of thick and hard ice-frost. Like all of his kind, the Goblin’s head was bald and round and held within it a large brain capable of much mischief and knowing a great many filthy things. If there was a secret to hold worth blackmailing someone over, it was lodged away in that perfect warehouse-memory somewhere. His nose was long and sharp like a blade, and he dressed only in the finest, most refined looking clothing, preferring to wear striped suit-jackets and other accents of posh wealth and upper class camouflage. He was never seen without his thin, black cane, headed at the end in polished, gleaming silver in the shape of a serpent’s head, the eyes of which were two sparkling rubies. With a twist of the snake-head, a thin, wicked blade could be summoned forth from the cane, for those times when negotiations became…tricky.
A pair of very small, yellow-tinted bifocles rested precariously on that long schnozz of his, and he wore a ruffled tie about his thin, skinny neck. How that spine managed to hold up that massive head was anyone’s guess. Always exact, careful, specific, and religiously tidy, the Goblin kept his surroundings obsessively neat and organized. As you might expect, he handled the accounting and the matters of numbers for the gang, using his love of numbers, interest rates and…creative accounting to bring in an embarrassing influx of Gold to the gang’s ever-growing coffers. Hexio was a Master at quickly devising the odds and oversaw the running of the Gang’s casino interests, and many of the dens of card and dice games that took place on Brood turf kicked up a percentage of their earnings directly into Hexio’s greedy and green hands.
Alas, greed and smarts alone could not keep a criminal enterprise as large and successful as the Blackbone Brood afloat, and so, there was always need for muscle. This was the realm of the fearsome entity known only as Mister Baffry (His first name was Jack, but people tended to avoid friendly conversation due to his violent reputation, and so, Mister Baffry would suffice), a lumbering giant of a man who had a build reminiscent of a thick slab of rock covered in flesh. Barrel chested and thick-limbed, he could squeeze the innards out of a man’s mouth with a thorough handshake, and had been witnessed doing so on no less than three occasions. His hair was brown and thick, with a set of bushy sideburns framing a long, dull-looking face. His eyebrow (singular) was dark and thick and went straight across in one large, unattractive line. His eyes were so small and sunken in under a brutal brow that one couldn’t even discern their color. This mountain of a man appeared otherwise Human, save for a set of pointed ears that marked him as something…else.
Indeed, this dim-witted enforcer was just a bit of a Lycanthrope, and could become even more lethal (if such a thing were possible) when the moon shone in the sky, becoming an even larger, even hairier Werewolf that could easily carve rivers of blood through anything foolish enough to not flee a howl of warning.
Mister Baffry dressed simply, sporting a plain, dirty shirt with the sleeves rolled up, simple trousers, and red suspenders. His nose was round and broad, and due to his…curious condition, he could pick up scents and trails and had intuitions that even a canine could not boast. Due to his wild heart, Mister Baffry had an intimate connection with Canines and Wolves, and indeed, a great number of his hounds acted as guardians for many of the Brood’s gambling dens and whore houses. Sometimes, when his more bestial instincts were prime to overtake him, Baffry’s eyes would reflect like and glow a predatory gold. It was not a welcoming stare to fall under, so pray you don’t.
Despite his massive size and animalistic alter-ego, Baffry was the most jovial of the group, preferring simple jokes and bawdy songs and frothy drink. If he wasn’t so scary to be around, one might even consider him friendly…until he wasn’t.
Now, brains and brawn were good things to have in a Gang’s leadership, but even that could be beaten by a strong enough opponent. Enter Naxian, the black blade in the night. One of the rare Dark Elves who chose to leave the cavernous kingdoms of the subterranean depths and make his living topside, the mysterious assassin was rumored to have been banished from his homeland for refusing to marry into a powerful noble Drow house. It was said that the Dark Elf women ruled their society, and rather than fall under the demands of a Woman (or anyone, for that matter), the Dark Elf chose to emerge to the surface and forsake his ancestral home.
Tall and lean and athletic of build, the Dark Elf could seamlessly blend into the darkness and walk through it as casually as an intimate lover navigated the curves of their partners body. Whispers had it that he had unearthed dark secrets that allowed him to control the very stuff of darkness, and one wild claim even told that he choked a man to death with a wisp of pure, living darkness that he made use of like some whip or garrote. As any assassin preferred, Naxian wore simple, unassuming clothing, consisting of dark colored cloaks and ragged cloth that he draped around his nose and mouth, adding to his mysterious allure. His skin was grey like sadness itself, and his eyes were pure, milky white, which made him rather unnerving to be around, for you never could tell just what he was staring at. His ears were elegantly pointed and pierced numerous times along the upper rim, and he sported his head shaved, wearing a line of snowy white hair combed forth down the center of his face.
As an assassin by trade, Naxian had intimate knowledge of poisons and toxins and chemical concoctions of all sorts, and could conduct the delicate art of dishing out death via steel or potion. He slinked through the darkness like a ghost, sinking sharp blades soundlessly into the hearts of those who would dare oppose the aims of the Blackbone Brood.
The Gang had safe-houses throughout Blackbone city, but their primary headquarters was a large gambling hall and brothel known affectionately as The Last Risk. Whether the games of chance or the women were riskier has yet to be determined. From their heavily guarded office atop the Casino, the three morally flexible Men hatched their great and endless schemes upon the world around them.
“Matters of business?” Hexio said from behind his immaculately organized desk, his fingers steepled and that long, pointy nose spearing out above his fingertips. Today, his eyes were an aqua kind of teal, like ocean waves.
Naxian spoke up from behind his wound scarf-mask that concealed his exotic face. His voice was a low, raspy whisper, like one might imagine a specter might sound as it whispered from beyond the pale. “I found those 3 cutpurses who decided it was a good idea to rob one of our games in the South End.” The Dark Elf slinked towards the desk, his footprints making not so much as a sound as he silently drifted along the creaky planks of the floor. He dropped a weighty bag of coin on the desk and quirked an eyebrow. “Most of it is still there.”
Hexio quirked an eyebrow as he appraised the bag, then shifted his gaze to the Drow, growing a little half-grin. “Are they still alive?”
The Drow shrugged his shoulders. “Mostly. I slit the leader’s throat in front of the other two. They watched him bleed out before swearing to me that they didn’t know the game was one of ours.” His blank-eyed expression did not change in the slightest bit, remaining cold and unreadable. “I figured it would be a shame to put all that fear to waste, so I told them that they needed to triple this bag in the next month, as a formal apology. If they could do that, we might let them join up. If they don’t…” The Drow let the sentence trail off.
The Goblin nodded. “Good thinking.” He turned his attention towards the third of their little board of dirty directors. “And how did your collections go, Mister Baffry? Any issues?”
At that, the lumbering Human stalked forth, his footsteps making the floorboards creak so noticeably that it was a wonder that he didn’t fall through them entirely. He had a small treasure chest in his massive, hairy-knuckled hands that he casually thunked down on Hexio’s desk. It was quite heavy, but he carried it with the ease one might whisk around a kitten.
When his voice came, it was gruff and uneducated, possessing the equivalent of a thick cockney accent and a tone that sounded like his throat was made out of sandpaper. “Me didn’t come across any trouble this week. Had to break a thumb or two, but believe me, the message was sent. Bloke at the docks whose thumb I broke last month?” He smiled dumbly, pointing at the chest in pride. “Fully paid up, and then some. Word’s running round proper that the Blackbone Brood ain’t ones t’be trifled with.”
“Good, Gentlemen. Very good.” Hexio said, straightening his tiny glasses that were in absolutely no need of straightening. He instinctively plucked out a fine silk handkerchief from his Suit pocket and meticulously wiped down the battered chest that Mister Baffry had deposited. It was covered in greasy fingerprints that simply could not abide.
“Is that all?” Asked Naxian, who watched in bemusement as the Goblin obsessively delved into his neurosis.
“Actually, one last order of business…” The Goblin pried himself from his cleaning and leaned back in his seat. “As you both know, we have been owed quite a handsome sum from a gentleman known as Plurnander.”
At the mention of the name, Mister Baffry grew another dumb smile. “I reckon I do, yea.” He giggled crudely. “Likes the dice, but sure ain’t good wiff ‘em.”
Naxian nodded his consent. “Yes, this Plurnander hasn’t been making a very concerted effort to pay us back in recent weeks.” He gave a dangerous pause, before uttering even more dangerous words. “Shall I be paying him a visit for final notice?”
Hexio waved off the idea of such…permanent account-closing. “That shouldn’t be necessary, as I’ve gotten word from him earlier today.” He held up a rolled up parchment that left a little glittery trail of sparkles in the air as he did so. The Goblin sighed, brushing some of the annoying stuff off of his suit. “In payment for his rather sizable debt, he’s granting us his daughter, to…as he put it…’Use as we see fit’?”
Naxian and Mister Baffry both looked at each other, then back to the Goblin, who continued. “After mulling this offer over, I counter offered with his Daughter’s, ahm…service, along with his acting as an informant on all the goings on in the courts of his particular part of the world. It wouldn’t hurt to stretch the reach of our influence, and I don’t think you two would mind a pretty little Pixie flittering about the place, would you?” He quirked a sleek eyebrow and held out his hands. “Or, I could always send word and cancel the deal…”
Mister Baffry practically exploded in words. “Could use a bit’a slobber on me cock, methinks! What say you, Elf?”
“Dark Elf.” Naxian corrected with a glare at his compatriot. Turning his attention back to Hexio, he continued. “I doubt that Plurnander is the only degenerate gambler among his kind. Using him as an instrument to suck in more business could be profitable. As for the girl,” He shrugged his shoulders again. “She’ll probably be nicer to look at than you two, so, why not?”
The insult rolled promptly off of Hexio’s finely tailored back and he nodded with a grin. “Very good. She should arrive within the arrow, boys, so, look your best!”
Oh, lookit, I even made an intro post to get us started! PM me if you're interested, will you?
_______________________________________________________________________________
Blackbone was the name of the very last city that you would ever like to find yourself in. Short on friendly faces and even shorter on things like mercy, kindness and law, this dreary den of despair was home to all manner of nefarious individuals. In this grim place, life was cheap, and threat was high. It was as if the Gods built this dastardly city purely to house all manner of heartless and cruel sorts, from the common-enough outcast bandit, to the surly, sea-proud Pirate, to beings that couldn’t even be regarded as anything even remotely Human. It wouldn’t be strange to see a pale, be-fanged Vampire conducted sinister, secretive business with a red-skinned, horned Devil in some slim, shadow-crammed alleyway, and if you did come across such a transaction, it would be advised to remove yourself from the vicinity before you were spotted.
Though, for every hell-born fiend and undead abomination, there were a thousand lowly thieves and very mortal, very naughty cutpurses and homeless wretches who haunted the winding, fog-drenched streets and alleyways of this most dismal of places. Street gangs and Guilds of thieves clashed for influence, wealth and the sheer carnage of conflict, waging bloody turf wars to carve up their own chunk of the rotting city. Of all these gangs, few were feared more than the dreaded Blackbone Brood, a motley assortment of scum and filth that would make the chitinous carapace of an insect shiver in revulsion.
Comprised mainly of a sprawling network of thieves, pickpockets and lowlives, what made this most treacherous band of misfits particularly deadly were the triumvirate of terrible souls that led the organization with startling efficiency and brutal mercilessness.
First, there was Hexio the Goblin. Green of skin, large of cranium and fiendish of thought, he was the methodical, massive and squishy brains of the Gang. If an idea needed to be hatched, or an enemy’s weakness discerned, it was his razor-fine perception and mental acumen that could do the trick. His eyes were tiny and glowed a mysterious shade of blue that seemed to alternate between colors. Sometimes, they were an electric and almost neon teal. Other times, they would frost over in the shade of thick and hard ice-frost. Like all of his kind, the Goblin’s head was bald and round and held within it a large brain capable of much mischief and knowing a great many filthy things. If there was a secret to hold worth blackmailing someone over, it was lodged away in that perfect warehouse-memory somewhere. His nose was long and sharp like a blade, and he dressed only in the finest, most refined looking clothing, preferring to wear striped suit-jackets and other accents of posh wealth and upper class camouflage. He was never seen without his thin, black cane, headed at the end in polished, gleaming silver in the shape of a serpent’s head, the eyes of which were two sparkling rubies. With a twist of the snake-head, a thin, wicked blade could be summoned forth from the cane, for those times when negotiations became…tricky.
A pair of very small, yellow-tinted bifocles rested precariously on that long schnozz of his, and he wore a ruffled tie about his thin, skinny neck. How that spine managed to hold up that massive head was anyone’s guess. Always exact, careful, specific, and religiously tidy, the Goblin kept his surroundings obsessively neat and organized. As you might expect, he handled the accounting and the matters of numbers for the gang, using his love of numbers, interest rates and…creative accounting to bring in an embarrassing influx of Gold to the gang’s ever-growing coffers. Hexio was a Master at quickly devising the odds and oversaw the running of the Gang’s casino interests, and many of the dens of card and dice games that took place on Brood turf kicked up a percentage of their earnings directly into Hexio’s greedy and green hands.
Alas, greed and smarts alone could not keep a criminal enterprise as large and successful as the Blackbone Brood afloat, and so, there was always need for muscle. This was the realm of the fearsome entity known only as Mister Baffry (His first name was Jack, but people tended to avoid friendly conversation due to his violent reputation, and so, Mister Baffry would suffice), a lumbering giant of a man who had a build reminiscent of a thick slab of rock covered in flesh. Barrel chested and thick-limbed, he could squeeze the innards out of a man’s mouth with a thorough handshake, and had been witnessed doing so on no less than three occasions. His hair was brown and thick, with a set of bushy sideburns framing a long, dull-looking face. His eyebrow (singular) was dark and thick and went straight across in one large, unattractive line. His eyes were so small and sunken in under a brutal brow that one couldn’t even discern their color. This mountain of a man appeared otherwise Human, save for a set of pointed ears that marked him as something…else.
Indeed, this dim-witted enforcer was just a bit of a Lycanthrope, and could become even more lethal (if such a thing were possible) when the moon shone in the sky, becoming an even larger, even hairier Werewolf that could easily carve rivers of blood through anything foolish enough to not flee a howl of warning.
Mister Baffry dressed simply, sporting a plain, dirty shirt with the sleeves rolled up, simple trousers, and red suspenders. His nose was round and broad, and due to his…curious condition, he could pick up scents and trails and had intuitions that even a canine could not boast. Due to his wild heart, Mister Baffry had an intimate connection with Canines and Wolves, and indeed, a great number of his hounds acted as guardians for many of the Brood’s gambling dens and whore houses. Sometimes, when his more bestial instincts were prime to overtake him, Baffry’s eyes would reflect like and glow a predatory gold. It was not a welcoming stare to fall under, so pray you don’t.
Despite his massive size and animalistic alter-ego, Baffry was the most jovial of the group, preferring simple jokes and bawdy songs and frothy drink. If he wasn’t so scary to be around, one might even consider him friendly…until he wasn’t.
Now, brains and brawn were good things to have in a Gang’s leadership, but even that could be beaten by a strong enough opponent. Enter Naxian, the black blade in the night. One of the rare Dark Elves who chose to leave the cavernous kingdoms of the subterranean depths and make his living topside, the mysterious assassin was rumored to have been banished from his homeland for refusing to marry into a powerful noble Drow house. It was said that the Dark Elf women ruled their society, and rather than fall under the demands of a Woman (or anyone, for that matter), the Dark Elf chose to emerge to the surface and forsake his ancestral home.
Tall and lean and athletic of build, the Dark Elf could seamlessly blend into the darkness and walk through it as casually as an intimate lover navigated the curves of their partners body. Whispers had it that he had unearthed dark secrets that allowed him to control the very stuff of darkness, and one wild claim even told that he choked a man to death with a wisp of pure, living darkness that he made use of like some whip or garrote. As any assassin preferred, Naxian wore simple, unassuming clothing, consisting of dark colored cloaks and ragged cloth that he draped around his nose and mouth, adding to his mysterious allure. His skin was grey like sadness itself, and his eyes were pure, milky white, which made him rather unnerving to be around, for you never could tell just what he was staring at. His ears were elegantly pointed and pierced numerous times along the upper rim, and he sported his head shaved, wearing a line of snowy white hair combed forth down the center of his face.
As an assassin by trade, Naxian had intimate knowledge of poisons and toxins and chemical concoctions of all sorts, and could conduct the delicate art of dishing out death via steel or potion. He slinked through the darkness like a ghost, sinking sharp blades soundlessly into the hearts of those who would dare oppose the aims of the Blackbone Brood.
The Gang had safe-houses throughout Blackbone city, but their primary headquarters was a large gambling hall and brothel known affectionately as The Last Risk. Whether the games of chance or the women were riskier has yet to be determined. From their heavily guarded office atop the Casino, the three morally flexible Men hatched their great and endless schemes upon the world around them.
“Matters of business?” Hexio said from behind his immaculately organized desk, his fingers steepled and that long, pointy nose spearing out above his fingertips. Today, his eyes were an aqua kind of teal, like ocean waves.
Naxian spoke up from behind his wound scarf-mask that concealed his exotic face. His voice was a low, raspy whisper, like one might imagine a specter might sound as it whispered from beyond the pale. “I found those 3 cutpurses who decided it was a good idea to rob one of our games in the South End.” The Dark Elf slinked towards the desk, his footprints making not so much as a sound as he silently drifted along the creaky planks of the floor. He dropped a weighty bag of coin on the desk and quirked an eyebrow. “Most of it is still there.”
Hexio quirked an eyebrow as he appraised the bag, then shifted his gaze to the Drow, growing a little half-grin. “Are they still alive?”
The Drow shrugged his shoulders. “Mostly. I slit the leader’s throat in front of the other two. They watched him bleed out before swearing to me that they didn’t know the game was one of ours.” His blank-eyed expression did not change in the slightest bit, remaining cold and unreadable. “I figured it would be a shame to put all that fear to waste, so I told them that they needed to triple this bag in the next month, as a formal apology. If they could do that, we might let them join up. If they don’t…” The Drow let the sentence trail off.
The Goblin nodded. “Good thinking.” He turned his attention towards the third of their little board of dirty directors. “And how did your collections go, Mister Baffry? Any issues?”
At that, the lumbering Human stalked forth, his footsteps making the floorboards creak so noticeably that it was a wonder that he didn’t fall through them entirely. He had a small treasure chest in his massive, hairy-knuckled hands that he casually thunked down on Hexio’s desk. It was quite heavy, but he carried it with the ease one might whisk around a kitten.
When his voice came, it was gruff and uneducated, possessing the equivalent of a thick cockney accent and a tone that sounded like his throat was made out of sandpaper. “Me didn’t come across any trouble this week. Had to break a thumb or two, but believe me, the message was sent. Bloke at the docks whose thumb I broke last month?” He smiled dumbly, pointing at the chest in pride. “Fully paid up, and then some. Word’s running round proper that the Blackbone Brood ain’t ones t’be trifled with.”
“Good, Gentlemen. Very good.” Hexio said, straightening his tiny glasses that were in absolutely no need of straightening. He instinctively plucked out a fine silk handkerchief from his Suit pocket and meticulously wiped down the battered chest that Mister Baffry had deposited. It was covered in greasy fingerprints that simply could not abide.
“Is that all?” Asked Naxian, who watched in bemusement as the Goblin obsessively delved into his neurosis.
“Actually, one last order of business…” The Goblin pried himself from his cleaning and leaned back in his seat. “As you both know, we have been owed quite a handsome sum from a gentleman known as Plurnander.”
At the mention of the name, Mister Baffry grew another dumb smile. “I reckon I do, yea.” He giggled crudely. “Likes the dice, but sure ain’t good wiff ‘em.”
Naxian nodded his consent. “Yes, this Plurnander hasn’t been making a very concerted effort to pay us back in recent weeks.” He gave a dangerous pause, before uttering even more dangerous words. “Shall I be paying him a visit for final notice?”
Hexio waved off the idea of such…permanent account-closing. “That shouldn’t be necessary, as I’ve gotten word from him earlier today.” He held up a rolled up parchment that left a little glittery trail of sparkles in the air as he did so. The Goblin sighed, brushing some of the annoying stuff off of his suit. “In payment for his rather sizable debt, he’s granting us his daughter, to…as he put it…’Use as we see fit’?”
Naxian and Mister Baffry both looked at each other, then back to the Goblin, who continued. “After mulling this offer over, I counter offered with his Daughter’s, ahm…service, along with his acting as an informant on all the goings on in the courts of his particular part of the world. It wouldn’t hurt to stretch the reach of our influence, and I don’t think you two would mind a pretty little Pixie flittering about the place, would you?” He quirked a sleek eyebrow and held out his hands. “Or, I could always send word and cancel the deal…”
Mister Baffry practically exploded in words. “Could use a bit’a slobber on me cock, methinks! What say you, Elf?”
“Dark Elf.” Naxian corrected with a glare at his compatriot. Turning his attention back to Hexio, he continued. “I doubt that Plurnander is the only degenerate gambler among his kind. Using him as an instrument to suck in more business could be profitable. As for the girl,” He shrugged his shoulders again. “She’ll probably be nicer to look at than you two, so, why not?”
The insult rolled promptly off of Hexio’s finely tailored back and he nodded with a grin. “Very good. She should arrive within the arrow, boys, so, look your best!”