THE MISSION [ Druuk Island ] Hidden: theme In retrospect, Iván should’ve smelled something was up the moment he got that letter inviting him and a certain someone (@Portia Ahrens) to Druuk Island. They were supposed to go together, emphasis on the word “together,” as guests of some strange guy calling himself The Collector. Iván had never heard of The Collector, whoever he was, but he sure has heard of Druuk Island, this world’s version of Alcatraz, a place that only bad guys called home. Bad guys, and only bad guys, called Druuk Island home. The Collector’s home was in Druuk Island. Put two and two together and what do you get? The Collector was definitely a bad guy. Who even calls themselves The Collector? Sounds like a serial killer. Iván was working at the Curry House when he got the letter. It was addressed to him, to the restaurant, which obviously meant that The Collector knew who he was, evident by his name on the letter, where he lived, and what he did for a living. Maybe he’s looking for a caterer? That could’ve been it, if only Portia wasn’t specifically mentioned, too. “Oh, my! Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my! As I live and breathe! The World’s Greatest Lovers! I knew you guys would come,” the voice rang throughout the halls, drawing the curiosity of the no-longer-masked illusionist. Iván had put on his trademark red stinky mask throughout their trip here, only to realize a few seconds before they entered the unassuming mansion that The Collector probably already know what he looked like, so it was all futile. The angry little girl that had ushered them in left their side and went up the stairs, disappearing at one end before reemerging with a tinier old man who had green skin and did not at all look like an old man. It He turned to the girl and flashed her a smile, “Thank you for helping them inside, granddaughter.” Granddaughter? What. Narrowing his eyes, Iván leaned closer and whispered to Portia, right into her ear that hadn’t gone missing, “They don’t even look like they’re the same species.” Slowly, carefully, the tiny old man made his way down the stairs, stopping just a few inches before the so-called World’s Greatest Lovers. He gestured for Portia’s hands so that he could kiss them, a sign of courtesy. Throughout all this, Iván kept his eyes on him, just in case the old man turned out to be something else, someone else. He couldn’t be too sure. They were in a place famed for terrible people. There could be too many terrible illusionists running around, both in skill and in deed. “We have three other guests on their way here,” the old man seemed certain, which only amplified Iván’s surprise. Did others get the same letter, too? What was going on, anyway? Did he just call them the World’s Greatest Lovers? “Once they’ve arrived, I can explain everything in great detail. Rest assured that you’re safe and nothing bad will happen to the both of you while you're inside my humble abode. Tea?” “Thank you,” Iván deadpanned, his eyes glued on the tiny old man. This was the illusionist's opening to truly find out if the decrepit old man who looked like he couldn't even jump anymore was a bad guy out to add them to his list of victims. “Do you have... Oolong?” The old man paused, seemingly caught surprised by the question. Iván smirked as a response, thinking he had the weak old man where he wanted him. Unfortunately for Iván, he underestimated the old man who proceeded to procure a bell from within his clothes, “Of course. We have all sorts of tea here. What kind of collector would I be if I didn't have all sorts of tea?” The old man chuckled as he rang his bell, a woman in a maid's outfit appearing from out of nowhere. Before giving his maid instructions, he turned to Portia with that same kind grandpa smile, which Iván hated for some reason, “What about you, Mrs. Lovers?” Hidden: OOC Feel free to introduce yourselves however way you want to. You can also use both NPCs however way you like. :> @Bradwynne @Cain Darlite @Leona
Some people owned Curry Houses. Other people were perpetually jailed for a variety of reasons. But when a messenger fell from the sky and professed that they had spent the past two weeks tracking down the ever wandering muse, it had certainly impressed the legendary Flagbearer enough to actually attend to the matter immediately, instead of tossing the request in his growing pile of shit he’s probably never gonna get done. That being said, it was still a fairly nostalgic experience, riding the Merchant-Captain’s armored vessel through stormy weather towards the island of criminal scum: Druuk Island. When was the last time he had set foot upon these sandy shores? Since he was naught but a child, eager to test his might against those he knew were branded by the rest of the world as ‘evil’, even when all they sought was ‘freedom’. Did he regret slaying that crew now? … No, he didn’t mind at all. For all his troubles, for all his efforts, for all his blood shed, it allowed him one last encounter with a fallen friend, and that alone had been worth the efforts. Though he wished he could have parted with Eldhi on better terms, those were just pointless regrets. He was here again, and a breath of the salty air was enough to invigorate him. Humming a cheery tune, Cain followed the hastily scribbled directions and eventually found himself standing before the house of the Collector. An eccentric, it appeared, instead of a serial killer. An unassuming mansion in an island full of pirates, after all, was definitely a sore thumb, considering its surroundings were that of wrecked ships, despondent brothels, and shallow graveyards. Knocking on the door, the midnight haired muse was even more surprised to see a perfectly huggable little girl answer his knocks instead, leading him through the hallways in a manner much too similar to a certain one letter lady, before the meet of the meeting began. A frog-man, an edgy boy that smelled of curry, and a one eared psycho bitch squatted like a bunch of gopniks over oolong tea, while a maid scurried out, slipping her number in Cain’s pocket as he stood by the doorway of the basement room. Nice. Now then, how should he approach this…as the thespian? The veteran? The flagbearer? Or…the Ira? Man, the frogman was probably the employer, and Ivan, mask or not, was still an edgy bludgeoning priest boi, so really, the only opinion he cared for amongst this ragtag group was the raven haired girl who looked like Rose Bitch bait. So that’s how it’s going to be. “Greetings, Collector, Ivan. Seems like you’re both in good shape,” Cain said, briefly nodding to the two equally unappealing men, “Without the entire group assembled, it would usually feel inappropriate to introduce myself completely, but, alas, I can see that somewhere here is deserving of a full unveiling of my character.” A casual flick of midnight curls. A removal of his hat. A slight bend of his knee. The black and red of his corrupted suit writhed a little bit, emanating a more dangerous, exciting vibe than his usual white and gold setup. “Greetings, Mistress of Ravens,” he began with a smile of sharp teeth, “I’ve seen many beauties within this conflicted land, but few have a countenance as vicious as yours. My name is Cain Darlite, Flagbearer of Miracles, Double Blessed of Idna and Iedi, and, evidently, Singer of Many Praises. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. May I have the honor of knowing your name?” Hm, he could have gone further than that, couldn’t he? But there was no need to, not particularly. And no amount of praise would give him immediate knowledge of why she only had one perfectly sculpted ear, after all. @Iván Carl @Portia Ahrens
