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The Lord Ruler's perfect capital city, Luthadel, is doing the impossible: rebelling. Skaa half-breeds are being taught the power of Allomancy, something that the Lord Ruler's obligators said only existed in the nobility. The enslaved skaa, with their murderous benefactor, now fight back against a living god's oppression.

So, the Inquisition was formed. The nobles begin to fear assassination from all sides. The times of nobility Mistborn killing each other are over. The Steel Inquisitors look for aristocrat traitors and insurgent skaa, and the skaa try with all their strength to merely survive. The Lord Ruler's perfect Final Empire is slowly devolving into chaos.

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Night (WIP)


4 replies to this topic

#1 Night


  • Crewleader

354
House Raisaal
  • Age35

  • Relationship StatusCelibate (By Necessity)

  • OriginLuthadel

Posted 23 September 2013 - 03:37 PM

Whew, that's one of my longest applications yet. Let me know what you think :)/>/>/>

NIGHT
Skaa Crew Leader


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Name/Handle: Comatose
Contact:Soft whispers.


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Name: Night
Type: Skaa
Age:35
Gender:Female
Place of Origin:Luthadel
Occupation:Crew Leader
Relationship Status:Celibate (By Necessity)


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Night looks like the man she pretends to be. Her height, tall for a woman at 5'10" is average, and her build, though wiry, when concealed by her clothing is passably masculine. Her shoulders especially, which were considered on the broad side when she was a girl, appear only slightly below average for a man of her height and weight. Her lightly curled black hair falls only to the bridge of her nose and is either slicked back or left to hang in front of her dark eyes. Were she to remove her typical garb, usually a combination of trousers, work-shirts, a vest and a cloak, sometimes accompanied by different pieces of the leather armor typically worn by hazekillers, a well-muscled and wiry frame would be revealed with a feminine curve in the transition from waist to hip, and two ugly scars tracing a line across her pectoral muscles where her breasts used to be.

Night walks with her back straight with a confident stride, usually taking care to square her shoulders and command a room in any way she can. Having to actively learn how to move like a man by observation, Night is very aware of how posture and movement affect how people are perceived, and makes use of this knowledge. Beneath this confidence is the innate wariness and readiness to fight or flee common to most successful members of the underground. She speaks at the bottom of her register, often keeping her voice soft to disguise it's slightly higher pitch, forcing her inferiors to hang on her every word. With her dark mysterious eyes and quiet demeanour, in another life Night might have been a tragic heroine, but her commanding presence and the danger that lingers at the edges of her words makes it hard to imagine Night as anything but the cold-blooded killer and criminal that she is.

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First and formost, Night is a survivor. She will do whatever it takes to come out of any situation alive, no matter whom she has to remove from her path or who she has to betray to do it. A person who is naturally inclined to be highly emotional, Night's strict control of herself makes it seem like she is bristling with emotional energy, and is constantly on the verge of violence. When she does lose control, it is usually in the form of quick and effective violent acts that provide a sort of release for her. The only other way Night really knows how to unwind is through the use of alcohol or drugs such as street spice.

When working, Night is a very focused and careful individual, attributes she has used to get where she is today. She performs every task with the efficiency and quiet intensity she has become known for. Despite her ominous demeanour, she also has a good grasp of interpersonal relations, and is at ease in the company of both men and women. She takes care as a leader to balance the respect, loyalty, and fear her followers have of her for maximum effect, and is quick to deal with any signs of subordination.

Night despises weakness in all its forms, and is quite disciplined to ensure as few weaknesses as possible exist within herself. When faced with weakness in others, she is quick to punish, mock, or exploit it. She sometimes expects others to share her level of discipline, and is often disappointed when people don't measure up to her standards. Her most extreme use of self-discipline is in her use of street spice. Though she is addicted, and cravings for the drug seem to be constantly threatening consume her, she only indulges during pre-determined times when she can ascertain she will be able to let loose. She detests the weakness her mother showed in her inability to deal with addiction, and Night uses her treatment of her own addiction as proof that she is a stronger, better person than her mother was.

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Special Skills: Archery, Knife-Fighting, Reading and Writing, Accounting, Intermediate Knowledge of Drugs, Medicines, and Poisons, Earning Respect and Loyalty.

Strengths: Night's greatest strengths are her survival instinct and the intense drive she uses to fuel her pursuits. She is also a very successful and effective leader, who knows how to elicit loyalty and knows how to put followers in their place. She is also good at using her disgust with weakness to make people want to prove themselves to her.

Weaknesses:To achieve her level of competency, Night is very tightly wound, and in constant danger of losing control, especially under periods of intense stress. Sometimes her strictly controlled cravings for street spice can grow powerful enough to distract her, but she is too stubborn to succumb and deviate from her carefully laid out schedule. Her disdain for the weaknesses of others has also earned her some enemies in the past. Lastly, Night is particularly sensitive about her clothing (stemming from the fear of her secret being revealed), and is also extremely nervous about being touched.


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[CONTENT WARNING: Night grew up under very harsh circumstances, and has seen some of the worst of the underground. I've tried to keep things vague and abstract, but if you think you might feel uncomfortable, I won't be offended if you don't read.]

Night was born in 883, and was called Mist by her mother. Her younger brother, born five years after her and fathered by a different man, was called Ash. From what she had gathered from her mother's mumblings during her less lucid moments, she had also had an older brother once, named Dust, but whenever she asked about him, her mother grew angry and denied his existence, and Night was never able to find out anything more about him.

Night killed her first man when she was twelve years old. He was the latest of a long string of her mother's ill-chosen romantic partners. Night's mother had a delicate quality to her, that made men feel powerful. At first, it often made them want to take care of her, but as time went on, the power often went to their head, and as things grew violent and spiralled out of control, Night's mother would eventually be forced to leave, promising her children that next time would be different, before leaping into the arms of the next scum-bag who could provide for her rampant addiction to street spice.

Night's mother came from a long line of junkies. According to her, she was of noble blood, descended from House Lancaster, whose involvement in the drug trade and other criminal activities had eventually brought the ire of the Obligators and brought the house to ruin. Whether or not this was true, Night was never able to tell for certain. Her mother and aunt both seemed to think this was the case, but both were often using the spice more often than they were sober, and the few other relatives Night had met had been even worse off, and unable to verify the story. Even if the Lancasters had existed, the house had been defunct for ages, and most of its remaining members were living lower lives than many skaa. Besides, if her mother's habits were any indication, there had been enough interbreeding in the generations since the house's supposed fall that Night's family were already skaa in every other way, so she had never seen the point in taking away the name her mother seemed to cling to as if it was her last shred of dignity. For all Night knew, perhaps it was.

Night was an early bloomer, and at the age of twelve, she had already grown to over five and a half feet, nearly her full adult height, and had the shape of a woman rather than a child. She had always kept her hair cut short, and as her chest began to fill out, Night had begun binding herself so that she could still pass as a boy. At twelve, she had already been raped more than once, a few times by her mother's boyfriends, and past experience had taught her that it in the underground it was far safer to be a man than a woman.

Taking advantage of her superior size compared to the other children her age, Night had organized her fellow urchins into an informal pick-pocketing ring, of which she was the leader and took a cut of all the profits. She was also beginning to do odd jobs for some thieving crews, moving boxes of hot merchandise from one safe house to another, or keeping look out at certain safe houses. Since her mother spent most of her time inebriated in one fashion or another, Night was already the primary provider for herself and for Ash.

She had come home from work one night to the decrepit hovel her mother was currently sharing with her latest love interest, a small time crew leader of middling rank within the drug trade, and heard the sounds of shouting coming from within. Things had been rocky between the two lately, and sporadic fights, both verbal and physical, were growing more and more frequent, and Night was becoming increasingly certain that it would soon be time for the family to move on again.

She entered through the back door, keeping as quiet as possible, knowing there was no use trying to stop anything. The few times she had tried to help her mother had only ever earned her slap to the face or a slew of insults. Planning to grab her brother quickly and locking the two of them in her room until the fight was over, Night exited the entryway and froze.

Ash, then only seven years old, was sitting quietly in the corner, seemingly lost in his own world. He was also completely naked.

"Shut yer face, you fat cow! Or I'll shut it for you!"

Up until this point, Night had been able to protect Ash from the abuses she had experienced in her childhood. It helped that he was a boy, of course, and by the time we was moving around on his own, Night was already adept at avoiding troublesome situations and finding places for the two of them to hide until things cooled down.

"Oh, you are so full of ashes. You're the screw-up who's too much of an idiot to keep track of a simple bag of spice."

They were fighting about spice. Ash was sitting in the corner, naked, alone, trying to deal with what was probably the most horrific experience of his life, and her mother was yelling at her lover, not because he had likely just raped her son, but because of some misplaced spice? Taking in the situation, Night realized both of them were out of their heads. Their movements, in another context, would have been comical. Her mother was angrily attempting to throw things, but could barely stand, and the low life wasn't much better, staggering after her with his fists tightened.

After several attempts, one of his swings finally connected with her mother's face, and Night watched her crumple to the ground. The abuse was nothing new, but this time things her different. This man had hit her mother in front of her, and worse, he had hurt Ash. Her mother was useless. Night knew that, and this episode confirmed it in her mind. They had to leave immediately, and go somewhere where her mother could find another lover who could protect them from this one. As she watched them screaming and beating each other, however, Night realized that they wouldn't leave tonight. After watching her mother's relationships crumble one by one, Night had the whole messy routine memorized, and knew that when the yelling was over, someone would locate the missing spice, apologies would be made, and her mother would settle in until the next fight, after which the pattern would repeat a few more times until she had found someone else to get spice from, or had just had enough.

I can't wait for her this time, Night realized. I need to get Ash out of here now.

A chair lay smashed on the floor beside her. Neither combatant had noticed her yet. Night crouched, gripping a broken leg of the chair in one fist. The leg was long and solid, and the end was a mess of jagged splinters. The next time her mother's abuses drove the monster closer to her, Night took a deep breath and swung the leg with all her might at the back of his head.

The swing connected, and the man went clumsily to the ground, dazed both by the blow and by the drugs that were coursing through his veins. Knowing he was stronger than her, and that if he got up she was dead, drugs her not, Night didn't waste any time, leaping on top of him, bringing the chair leg down on his face again and again. She didn't really know what she was doing, or understand the ramifications fully. She'd seen men killed in similar fashions before, but even though her body looked older, her mind was still that of a twelve year old, and was only just beginning to understand the concepts of life and death. After a while, she gripped it by the tip, ramming the jagged end into his face. She was only dimly aware of her mother behind her, screaming at her to stop, or that she herself was screaming as she brought her impromptu weapon down for the final blow.

When she rose from the corpse she had created, Night's front and arms were stained with blood. Her mother was crouched in a corner, weeping to herself and looked like she was on the verge of passing out. Night ignored her, going immediately to Ash and making certain he wasn't in any further danger. Then, she washed herself as best she could and changed into her only other set of clothing. Once she was less of a terrifying sight, she brought out clothing for Ash, got him dressed, and locked the two of them in her room to sleep until morning.

The next morning her mother was furious, and Night was subjected to a torrent of verbal and physical abuse. "He loved me, you useless heap of ash! He loved me! You just wanted him for yourself, didn't you!" Night took her mothers shrieks and slaps in silence, knowing they would end soon, and they would move on as a family. Despite her weakness, Night's mother was a survivor, and she knew as well as Night that when people noticed the man she killed was missing, his allies would come looking for him, and when that happened the three of them would want to be long gone. Night also knew that her mother realized how the money Night brought home from odd work and her circle of pick-pockets was the only thing putting food on the table, and the small piece of mother that existed in her knew that if she drove off Night, she would be unable to take care of Ash on her own.

And so they left, living on the streets for a while until her mother found another dealer to move in with. However, as time went on, Night realized things had changed. Before, she had been helpless, but now, she had the power. And so, Night began to take control of her situation, taking more dangerous work from the thieving crews to earn more coin. When other crew members found out she was a girl, there was usually trouble, but over time, Night began to toughen up, and soon learned how to deal with unwanted attention.

She had also learned a way to escape from the situations her mother was constantly putting their family in. From then on, whenever things started going bad, Night wouldn't wait for her mother to finally decide it was time to move on. Instead, she would wait until an opportune night when her mother and whoever she was living with at the time were sleeping, and then would remove him. Permanently. Over time, her methods became more and more precise, and Night found herself falling into a routine. Even her mother seemed to grow used to it, and Night noted with approval the fear that began to glimmer in her mothers eyes whenever she looked at her.

When she was fourteen, Night found a small, frightened girl crying in the alley way. The bully in her wanted to kick up ash in the girl's face as she walked by, or see if she had anything of value on her person that could be stolen. However, as she looked at the girl, so sad and alone, Night felt something within her nearly forgotten heart. Whatever it was, Night found herself unable to pass the girl by. Instead, she approached, taking care to watch for sudden movements, ready in case the girl was faking to get the jump on her. The girl was smaller than Night, and obviously didn't have her experience, but that didn't mean she could be a threat. As Night approached, the girl sniffed, and wiped her tears, looking up at her in defiance. She's strong, Night realized. Despite her vulnerable situation, strength seemed to radiate up out of the girl's eyes, daring Night to test her mettle.

"Are you all right?" Night asked.

"Leave me alone," the girl said almost before Night was done speaking. "I know who you are. You're that beast of a girl who beats up anyone who gets in her way, and who forces everyone else to pay her some of their cut."

Night bristled at the accusation, even though it was true. "I'm not a girl!" she said, trying to lower her voice and keep it from growing shrill.

"Yes you are!" said the girl in front of her. "When you beat up my friend two months ago, he tore your shirt, and he said he saw you were a girl, plain as day. Besides," the girl snorted, and tossed her grimy hair over her shoulder. Beneath the dirt, Night could see it was an attractive brown and long and wavy. Her face, though dirty, was fair as well. Indeed, the grime seemed to emphasize, rather than detract from the girl's appearance. Night had always known she would never stand out because of her appearance. In her view, that had always been a blessing, as it made it easier to pass as a boy. The men had assaulted her had desired her mature body, nothing more, for her severe countenance and ragged hair could hardly be attractive. Standing there, in front of this girl who was obviously pretty and on her way to becoming beautiful, Night felt inferior for the first time since her first kill. Who was this girl, she wondered, who, despite being younger and smaller and in a weaker position, could make her feel inadequate?

"You shut up about that!" she said, not knowing what else to say. "That's none of your business!"

The girl stood suddenly, causing Night to back up a few steps. With her hands on her hips, and her face contorted into a righteous sneer, it seemed that the girl almost resembled a haughty noblewoman, rather than a dirty gutter rat. "And whether or not I am all right is none of your business, so you can just get lost! I'm sick of looking at your ugly hair."

"My hair is not ugly!"

"Yes it is," said the girl, running her fingers through her own locks, and wiping the grime that accumulated on her fingers on her dress. "It's short, and ragged, and thin, and greasy, and... gross! My mother taught me all about what looks good and what isn't, and it certainly is not that!"

"Your mother is a whore," said Night, making a likely guess. Almost all good looking women in the underground were prostitutes. "And you'll probably be one too soon enough, so you can shut your mouth and go use it to kiss some ugly noble."

The girl stared at Night for a moment, anger and defiance shining openly in eyes that had held sorrow only moments before. "You... you are the worst!" Night tensed, ready to deal with the attack she felt was inevitable. However, instead of trying to jump her, the girl gave one last sniff of derision, and turned to walk away in the other direction.

The girl's name turned out to be Dacy, and the two girls quickly became bitter enemies. After their encounter, Night began to notice the pick-pockets in her fledgling crew were snickering at her more than respecting her, and that some of the men she did crew jobs with had funny looks in their eye when they noticed her. It didn't take her long to trace the giggles and looks back to their source: Dacy! Apparently the girl had been spreading rumours about Night, only some of which were true. As soon as she found out, Night knew that if she were ever going to return her life to normal, she would have to get even.

Killing the little wretch was her first instinct. Murder had been an effective way to rid herself of her mothers boyfriends, after all. However, somehow, it didn't seem right to kill the little skaa girl. She was a girl in the underground, just like Night, who had likely faced the same challenges and hardships as Night had. At the same time, she wasn't broken or weak, like most of the other skaa children Night had met. No, Dacy was strong. A worthy opponent like her didn't deserve to die quickly in the night. No, she deserved to suffer for Night's humiliation. Then, Night could prove she was stronger and better than Dacy, no matter how pretty she was, once and for all.

The feud between the two girls quickly evolved into one of the largest urchin prank wars in Luthadel's recent history. This war, of course, went unnoticed by the rest of the world, even other members of the underground, but in the case of the urchins it went down in history. Spiders were placed in sleeping mats, buckets of ash mixed with mud placed over doorways, and worms and dirt were left in people's food. What started as a personal feud between Night and Dacy quickly spread through their friends and allies until almost every urchin in Luthadel was involved, even those in slums across the city, who had no idea how the war had begun.

And, over time, Night and Dacy slowly became friends. It might have been the mutual respect for each other's competence, strength, and determination, or it might have begun as a temporary alliance to take down a mutual foe in the prank war. In any case, soon the duo of Night and Ash became a trio, and with Dacy, they quickly earned spots as some of the most successful urchins in Luthadel. Dacy quickly became the only person other than Ash that Night had ever cared for, and Ash didn't really count because he was family. Dacy was something Night had never had before. A friend.

Eventually, when she was seventeen, Night decided Ash was old enough to look after himself when she wasn't around, packed their things, and left. After that, she'd hear of her mother from time to time, but she never made any move to seek her out, happy to finally be rid of her and her many weaknesses. It hurt her to leave Dacy behind as well, but in the end, she felt she had no choice. In order to escape her past, she was moving across the city. Dacy was already well established, and it would be wrong to ask her to give that up. Even worse would be to ask Dacy, who shared Night's pragmatism and survival instinct, and have her refuse. It was far better to just leave, that way the break would be clean. Dacy would understand, Night was sure of it.

As Ash began to grow up, the two began working together, taking jobs and joining crews when it suited them. She taught her little brother what she knew of the trade, tricks and techniques she had been forced to learn by experience. Together they learned a great deal from their time in thieving crews, pretending to be brothers. They both began to develop a proficiency for combat, Ash growing adept at brawling with his fists or with knives, while Night, who taught Ash the basics of all his skills, added archery to her list of talents.

Her gender still continued to be an issue. As she grew, Night realized that no matter how well she disguised herself, or how good she became at fighting and killing, there would always be those who would be observant enough to tell she was a woman, or the chance that someone in the crowded thieving lairs would nudge her the wrong way, or walk in on her when she was washing herself, or rebinding her breasts. Whenever her secret was discovered, things grew more difficult. People viewed her differently, and she never got the respect she deserved. She was forced to fight in order to protect herself from the greedy hands and lustful filled eyes. She tried just jumping ship and moving to new crews several times, but it was always the same. Just when it seemed like she was beginning to move up in the ranks, to gain some measure of security, someone would find out about her gender and everything would be ruined. She would watch with envy as her brother, now a young teenager, would fall in with the other men so easily, and how they would praise and reward him for his skills. Skills that Night had taught him, but she gained no credit for.

She was twenty-one when she heard a fellow crew member telling a story about a breastless prostitute. Apparently, she'd had some sort of disease, and a doctor had removed her breasts in order to save her life. Now, however, she was only able to charge a small fraction of her former rate for her services in order to get by. That day, Night decided it was time for her and Ash to disappear for the last time.

The found a doctor who could do the procedure, and menaced him into complying. Ash stood by and watched over her during the entire procedure, making it clear that if the surgeon's knife accidentally slipped into Night's heart, Ash's fists would accidentally wrap around the man's throat. The man performed the surgery as instructed, but when he was done, Ash killed him anyway. Night needed her secret to be safe, and the man was a noble, so she didn't want him running to the obligators. The two decided it was time to make a break from the past entirely, and choose new names. Ash chose Lancaster, a nod to their mother's supposed noble bloodline, and Mist, having grown tired of constantly switching between fake male names, became Night, adopting an entirely new male persona, that was meant to be permanent.

After a brief period of rest, Night was back in action, only now flat chest with scars instead of nipples had replaced her formerly ample bosom. She made up a cover story that she had earned the scars when a jealous lover had tried to knife her in her sleep, just in case her scars were discovered. While not having to conceal her chest anymore helped, being a man was more than just a flat chest. Part of it was attitude and bearing. Night had been around the men of the underground all of her life, but as she began her new life as one of them, she took care to observe how they walked, talked, and interacted with one another and with women. The act she had utilized to hide became her entire way of life. She quickly became able to emulate the most obvious of traits to fool the casual observer, and slowly she began to refine her act, both physically and vocally, until her slightly higher voice and hairless chin were the only outward markers of her femininity.

As her disguise grew in thoroughness, Night quickly began to rise through the ranks of the underground. Before the operation, she had always worried that too much attention would lead to someone seeing through her disguise, forcing her to move on and find yet another crew to look for. Now, she finally found herself getting the attention she deserved for her skills, and for the first time in her life allowed herself to excel. The names Night and Lancaster soon began to spread about the underground, along with whispers of a deadly pair of brothers who knew how to make enemies disappear. As her identity solidified, Night no longer had to worry about staying in any particular section of the city to avoid running into someone who knew of her true… no, her former identity. She began to build up a network for herself of contacts from all aspects of underground life, including thieves, assassins, informants, and even the odd crew leader.

It was through one such string of contacts that Night first heard about Klyde. He was just one year older than Lancaster (four younger than Night), and he had already taken control of one of Luthadel's most lucrative thieving crews. As a teen, Night had occasionally worked on crews hired by Klyde's father to complete the more menial tasks required in the implementation of inspired plans. She remembered the feeling of longing within her as she left one hideout or another with the rest of the crew, leaving behind only a twixt who would have the privilege of sharing the company of the heroes of the underworld. Growing up in the underground, Night had always been aware of the pecking order. She and Lancaster had grown up as street rats. While it was possible for them to move up in the world, maybe one day heading up a small time forging operation, or moving street spice, Night had always known who her betters were, and had never dreamed of joining them. They were men (and even the occasional woman!) who took the greatest risks and received the greatest rewards. They dealt with allomancers, defied the ministry, and stole from the most powerful nobles in the empire. Until she heard about Klyde's ascension to the position of crew leader, the upper crust of the underground had been populated by gods in Night's eyes. While Klyde's promotion did not change this, it did help Night realized that it might be possible for her to one day join that charmed circle. Furthermore, she realized how desperately she wanted to.

As soon as an opportunity came up to join Klyde's crew, Night took it. She wanted to learn everything she could from the young charismatic leader. If someone barely older than Lancaster could run one of the most successful crews in Luthadel, then Night surely could as well. Night began to throw herself fully into every task she was assigned, pushing herself to reach her full potential, and quickly began rising through the ranks with Lancaster in tow. Every rung she climbed meant more time to observe the underground elite who had awed her as a child. Klyde himself she found unimpressive at first. He was handsome and extremely likable, but looks and charisma alone weren't good for much in the underground. Klyde did have a certain amount of talent. He was almost as skilled with knives as Lancaster, who was quickly approaching Night's level of competency and deadliness. His plans, though seemingly rough and unreliable at first, payed off with surprising consistency, and Night had to admit they were often quite brilliant.

Aside from her admiration of his skills, Night could not help but find Klyde disappointing. He was talented yes, but also young and untested. The way he was constantly joking around set Night on edge, and he never seemed to take anything seriously. She could not understand how a man who risked defying the Lord Ruler daily could laugh so freely. Did he not realize he and everyone he worked with was constantly on the verge of death? Furthermore, why did his crew members continue to put their lives in his hands when he treated his own life with such carelessness? While she could drink as much as any man, Night was always careful about her consumption of alcohol and other substances, still fearful that too much inebriation would lead to the exposure of her secret. She approached drink the same way she did everything in her life: with caution and precision. Night never took risks that were not minimized through careful calculation. Klyde, on the other hand, seemed to embark on a new and more dangerous mission with every breath. When plans were not going well, he would spend weeks in seclusion, pouting like a child or so drunk he could barely stand, and despite his success Night knew that many of his personal profits from jobs was quickly squandered at one gambling hall or another. It was like Klyde viewed his entire life as some sort of gamble, a fun game meant to give him a thrill. How could a god of the underground be so flawed?

With time, she began to realize why people were willing to follow Klyde, despite his many weaknesses. There were subtle things, his ability to disarm tense situations with a well-placed jibe, his skill at putting people at ease without asking them to trust him, and the strategic ways he applied his charm to garner both friends and lovers. He seemed to have a natural instinct for knowing when to bully, when to bribe, when to black-mail, and when to flatter. As she watched, Night slowly began to incorporate desirable leadership skills of Klyde's into her persona. However, the more she studied him, the more she realized that the crew's respect for Klyde went beyond the little things. In other crews, Night had always been entirely aware of her purpose and its role in defining her. She was the muscle, a knife, an adept pair of thieving fingers. Working with Klyde made her feel like she was something more than what she did, and ultimately, something more than what she was. He had vision, and the ability to share it with others, and with it, that indescribable quality that had led a younger Night to look on men like the ones she now worked with as heroes. Klyde had a way of bringing light and warmth into the darkest of hearts, while at the same time asking the owners of those hearts to venture deeper into the darkness and come out again bigger and brighter and richer than before.

It took almost losing him to realize that she was falling in love with him. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned sour when a previous mark decided he wanted to get even. There were four assassins, all allomancers: two thugs, a tineye, and a coinshot. The job was supposed to be a simple one, so Klyde had left all of his allomancers looking after more important tasks. Night had her bow out, ready to take out any look outs before they could scream, while Lancaster watched Klyde's back as he fiddled with a safe. Most crew-leaders didn't waste their time on small time break-ins, but Klyde seemed to find them therapeutic, and justified his participation as a way of keeping his skills sharp. Night spotted them and, mistaking the four for regular assassins or guards, managed to kill the tineye and one pewterarm, injuring the other, before the coinshot began deflecting her arrows. Even so, the fight was a tough one, the remaining pewterarm was difficult to handle even with an arrow sticking into his chest, especially when backed up by a coinshot. In the end, she, Lancaster, and Klyde managed to escape, but not before the coinshot was able to hit Klyde with two coins in his side.

Night set Lancaster to covering her back, and carried Klyde back to the safe house herself, and watched as a crew surgeon stitched him up. She stayed up, long after Lancaster had abandoned her to get some much needed rest, scared that Klyde would slip away from her in his medicated sleep, and never wake up. It was so strange to her, that he could just be gone like that. Gone, beyond in reach, impossible to bring back, no matter how powerful she might be. Night hated feeling powerless, she had ever since she was a girl watching her mother get beaten by one man after another. Klyde was supposed to be more than a man, he was a legend of the underground, a crew leader of one of Luthadel's most powerful crews before he was twenty! Other people died—many had been killed by Night herself—but Klyde had always seemed invincible. Up until this point, Night had never really thought about death as being something that could happen to the people she cared about, let alone to herself.

As Klyde recovered, Night kept her new found feelings for him well hidden. Not only were they problematic because of her need to remain disguised as a man, Night had always assumed romantic love and affection were just things people made up to justify their lusts. Up until this point, the only people she had ever cared for were Lancaster and Dacy, and she had never taken time before to really study her feelings for the two of them, or think about what those feelings meant. As Klyde healed and Night continued to aid him on missions, she began to see him in a different light, looking at him as the object of her affections, rather than a hero to be worshipped, or an imbecile crew leader to be ridiculed.

Throughout her time with Klyde's crew, Night continued to take odd jobs in her spare time from old underground acquaintances. As her feelings for Klyde grew stronger, Night began to work more and more, trying to be idle at the lair as a little as possible. Her actions in saving Klyde's life had earned her a constant place by his side, and while she enjoyed his company (a little too much from her perspective), the more time she spent with him, the more worried she became about accidentally exposing herself. Night began working with some men her mother had known as a child providing muscle and collecting debts for street spice dealers. While she recognized many of the men she was working with, no one connected the silent but deadly young man they were employing to the scared little girl who used to watch them sell drugs to her mother.

One day, Night was tailing a nobleman who was with-holding payment for his latest street spice purchase. Despite being something of a failure himself, Night's Lord Rafiel Patreson, a nobleman of middling influence within his house, had family connections to both the Elariels and to the wife of Lord Lekal, meaning that, if he were to be eliminated, it would have to be done delicately to avoid inqueries by his powerful relatives. While he normally made his payments without fuss, Lord Rafiel had, despite his middle age, recently taken to courting a beautiful young woman from a minor house, and extravagant gifts for her were eating away at the portion of his stipend normally reserved as spice money. Night's mission was simple. Eliminate the girl to send a message, and make sure the nobleman understood he was never to be late with his payments again.

The nobleman and his sweet heart were moving through the streets together huddled arm in arm. Every now and then, Night could see him leaning in behind the woman's parasol, presumably to plant a kiss on the woman's cheek after she whispered something into his ear. Poor fool. Night thought. She could recognize a con when she saw one. A background check on the girl had shown that there was no way the Patresons would ever look twice at her or her minor house. Unless, of course, an impetuous Patreson known to follow own his own rules were to insist on a bride of his choice. The girl must have been quite the charmer to have caught his eye, and to make him forget the kinds of people he owed money to. It was too bad the girls plans would never come to fruition, all because she'd chosen a spice man to give her a hand up the social ladder.

As the couple turned a corner, the woman's parasol swung around, revealing elegantly styled brown hair and a fair face. For some reason, as the woman's face came into focus, Night froze, and everything seemed to slow down. That face, though changed, seemed familiar, somehow. It was a peal of delighted laughter that broke the spell. The woman's voice was as fair as her face, and the mirth in it was as intoxicating as it was unmistakable. Night took a step back in disbelief. The woman was Dacy, her skaa friend from childhood!

Finding out Dacy was her mark shouldn't have changed anything. Night had killed skaa before when a job had required her too, and knew she would do it again. She had even known some of them from other jobs. Why then, did knowing she was going to have to kill Dacy feel so different? Sighing, Night shook her head, trying to clear it. The mission hadn't changed. Skaa or not, Dacy's death would still send a message, and Dacy knew as well as Night how the underground worked. If their positions were reversed, Night thought she would want Dacy to do it, or to try to at any rate. She would understand that a skaa alone had to look out for themselves above all others. And so, Night resolved to carry out the plan.

It was easy enough to drug the lord's wine to ensure even an Inquisitor would be unable to wake him up, and then wait until his pretty young sweet heart sent the servants needed to carry him to his rooms away and retired to bed. After that, all Night had to do was creep through the nobleman's window and finish the job. When she tried to do so, however, she found Dacy waiting for her with a knife in hand.

"Don't move!" she said, "I might not look like much, but unless you are willing to bet your manhood I throw worse than you sneak, you'd better do as I say. You might think you can silence me and get away before the guards come, but with a knife sticking into your sensitive bits, I'm certain I'll have plenty of time to call the guards and see you hauled off to the Inquisitors."

Night slowly raised both of her hands in the air, struggling not to argue that her sneaking skills were very highly regarded by professional sneaks, or to ask how Dacy had known she was coming. Lord Ruler, how did the woman do it? The clothes had changed, and the scrawny but pretty street rat had become a very beautiful woman, but that unbreakable spirit and indomitable attitude remained unchanged and plain as day. Barely holding her tongue in check. Night took a few steps back, to signal she had no intention of attacking.

Dacy snorted in derision, but her eyes never left Night, constantly changing focus, watching her feet and her hands for signs of attack. Her knife hand remained steady, ready to let loose. "I've seen Claude drunk before, you know, and on that spice you sell him too. You think I don't know a reaction to dosed wine when I see one? I assume you have a note of some sort, meant to be affixed to my corpse for my beloved to find in the morning?" The note was really more of a bill for the money Claude Patreson owed, but Night didn't get to clarify that before Dacy ploughed onward. "Whatever cruelty you have planned, you can forget about it. If anyone is going to be made a corpse tonight, it is going to be you. Now, if you want to leave with your life and your manhood intact, you are going to tell me who sent you, and where to find them. I can't have one of your associates coming for me once you are gone, after all. One of them might get lucky. Now, if you tell me what I want to know, you'll live to see another day, so go on, out with it. And remember, if you try anything..."

"I'll be dead," Night said finally, her whisper cutting Dacy off like a dagger sliding out of it's sheath.

Dacy's eyes widened slightly, and revealed signs of nervousness for the first time. "Yes," she said softly, eyes flicking up to Night's face for the first time. "Dead." The finality of the word seemed to settle into the room, deadening the air around them.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and then another, niether one speaking. Night found herself not knowing what to say. In front of her stood the best friend she had ever known, ready to kill to protect herself, not knowing that all Night wanted to do was spit into her palm and clasp hands like they used to do as children.
"What... what are you looking at?" Dacy's eyes ceased their constant supervision of Night's hands and feet for a moment to rest on her face. "Do I... do I know you?" Night watched as Dacy's eyes began to widen. "No... it can't be. Mist? Is that really you?"

"It's Night now."

""Night?" The delightful sound of Dacy's laughter echoed through the room. "It seems you've inherited your mother's poor imagination. I should have known. That clumsy attempt to get me alone by having Claude drugged has your name all over it!" As she spoke Dacy slowly began to lower the knife to her side. Still on edge, Night traced the weapon's path out of the corner of her eye, while watching Dacy for any sudden movements.

"Well say something, you silly thing. I have to admit, whatever you have done to conceal yourself is quite the clever piece of work. Had I not known you, it might have taken me hours to guess you aren't really a man." Night twitched slightly, bothered by the casual way Dacy dismissed the disguise that had defined her life. The movement, though slight, drew Dacy's attention, and she immediately moved her knife back into throwing position.

"You are here to kill me though, aren't you?"

Unable to speak, Night nodded.

"And you knew it was me before you came." This time it wasn't a question. It would seem time had quickened Dacy's already considerable wits as well as enhance her beauty.

"All right," Dacy said, her voice strong without a hint of fear or uncertainty. "Try me. I'm not the little girl you found crying in the alley way, Night, or Mist, or whoever you are. Give it your best shot, but if you fail, I'll leave you bleeding on the ground without a second thought. Don't think I'll let some silly partnership from our childhood get me killed."

Night continued to watch Dacy, taking in her form for the first time since entering the room. Before, she had been enthralled with the bravado and resourcefulness that she had always admired in Dacy. Now, she viewed her more objectively. Her form was perfect in shape, but too rigid. To Night's trained eye, Dacy looked more prepared to pose for an artist than to kill someone. It's an act, Night realized. She has no chance against me, and she knows it. The way Dacy gripped the hilt of the knife indicated a certain amount of familiarity, perhaps even comfort, but she wasn't feeling the weapon. Her observation skills had obviously served her well in the preparation of this act, but Dacy only looked like a woman about to kill to save herself. She had the guts, and perhaps some of the technical knowledge, but her body lacked the practice and skill needed to hit a moving target. Especially if that target was Night.

It all happened at once. Night rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the knife that left Dacy's hand as soon as she moved. She's better than I thought, Night realized, But not good enough. Night came out of her roll with a knife in hand. With her free hand, she overturned a small table, allowing it's polished surface to catch Dacy's second knife. As the table banged to the ground, Night switched directions, rising from her crouch and closing the distance before Dacy could turn to face her.

A third knife, only half raised when Night caught Dacy's wrist in her hand fell to the ground unthrown.

"Well," Dacy whispered, eyes fixated on the knife in Night's hand. "What are you waiting for? Do it. Kill me and save yourself. That's how it works isn't it? All of us rolling around in the muck, fighting for a few clips or a crusty burnt roll of bread. Send your little message, sell your drugs, and be on your way. If you were anyone else I'd be screaming right now, so kill me before I change my mind."

Keeping her knife at the ready, Night acted without thinking as she let go of Dacy's wrist in order to reach for the fourth knife which sat waiting at the bed side. Dacy fell silent but didn't move, seemingly transfixed by the knife in Night's hand. Her eyes followed the weapon as it, and the knife Night had taken from Dacy, fell from Night's fingers and clattered to the floor, and before she could run, Night wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"I never should have left you," Night heard herself whispering. What was she thinking? What would Lancaster say, if he saw her blubbering like a girl? "You were my best friend. I never said it but you were, so I'll say it now." Night sighed, breathing in Dacy's perfume before releasing her and taking a step back. "I can't do it," she said, admitting it to herself as much as to Dacy. "I'm too weak."

"You're a bloody fool," Dacy whispered back. "How a complete and utter idiot like you lasted this long in the underground is unfathomable." Slowly, Dacy bent down down and retrieved one of her knives. "I should kill you now. Claude's family will think I'm a hero, and I might even be able to use this as leverage to get him to sober up. He's asked me to marry him. Did you know that? The life I've always dreamed of could be mine at last. All I need to do is kill you right now."

Night shrugged. "You can try."

Dacy laughed bitterly. "You over-confident little speck! I don't even have to kill you. I could just call the guards. Even if you get away, I could ensure House Paterson's allomancers, or the Inquisitors, for that matter, track you down. I have the contacts to do it, especially now that I know your face."

Night shrugged.

Several moments passed while Dacy stared into Night's eyes without moving. It was like she was searching for something, or already saw something there, but did not understand exactly what it was.

"Lord Ruler take you," she swore finally, lowering her weapon. "It seems you aren't the only weak one. Look at us, just a pair of weak women after all, helpless in the face of our feelings."

"No." Night said with a smile. "Weak, maybe. But not helpless."

It didn't take much to cook up a scene. The table was already turned over with a knife gouge in it. Dacy was supposed to be helpless, so they didn't want to make it look like there had been too much of a fight. They tore her dress, and dirtied some of the pieces with Night's blood. Dacy had offered to use her own, but Night had refused. Then, once the scene was set, Night left behind a new note, different from the one she had brought with her.

"The girl is lucky she's pretty. If the next one isn't she might not be. Pay up soon. For now, your interest has been accepted."

Dacy got along well with the rest of Klyde's crew, acting as a spy within the noble social scene (taking care to avoid the Patresons at all costs), and serving as a dupe in some of their scams. She also helped Night and Lancaster with some of their other work, in the Spice trade and elsewhere. Together, the three became a force to be reckoned with in the underworld, and many, Klyde included, took note.

Dacy, of course, figured out Night had feelings for Klyde within the first few weeks of them working together. Night did not know why, but it seemed impossible for her to keep anything from Dacy. Of course, Dacy's refusal of Klyde advances out of respect for Night's feelings only made Klyde want her more, and so he tried even harder to win the lovely Dacy's favour. Dacy bore his attentions with grace, flirting back from time to time, while deflecting his more overt entreaties skillfully. Eventually, Klyde even started appealing to Night, as one of Dacy's closest friends, to help him in his suit. Night, tired of seeing the man she admired so miserable, acquiesced and ask Dacy if she would consider giving in.

Dacy only laughed and said she was handling it. And, it turned out, she was. For very soon after Klyde became involved in a scheme that required all of his charms, involving the wooing of a noble lady. Before Dacy, he had already moved on to chasing after noblewomen instead of other skaa, so the switch was hardly uncharacteristic, but Night could see the signs of Dacy's subtle manipulation. However, even Dacy could not have predicted what happened next.

Klyde eloped, taking his noble lady love and any chance the crew had at getting her sizable dowry with him. The crew was left in shambles, and quickly began to disperse, as the bigger players began gathering together as many men as possible to begin crews of their own.

With Dacy and Lancaster's help, Night was one of these. Initially, Night had argued that they should just join the crew of another, but Dacy had put that thought out of the question. She pointed out that Night was one of the most competent people in the crew, and that the other men respected and feared her for it. She also helped Night see how much she had accomplished in the way of earning the respect and high regard of her fellow criminals. And so, in the wake of Klyde' disappearance, Night started a crew of her own.

Having spent years observing Klyde, and having an unparalleled awareness of other people's perception of her due to her practice in pretending to be a man, Night took to leadership like a natural. She found herself missing the laughter and inspiration Klyde had brought into her life, but Dacy's continued presence at her side helped her to get over the loss. Using her connections to the many other crime sectors of Luthadel, Night quickly became a key player in Luthadel's spice trade, and her crew, while taking on other jobs, became one of the many crews subject to the Luthadel drug lords. Throughout the process, Night marvelled at Dacy's ability to remain untouched as a woman among so many unscrupulous men. Never before had she seen more potential assaults or even rapes avoided with a quick jest, laugh, or compliment. Dacy always seemed to know how to put men at ease, and used her femininity, which Night had always seen as a disadvantage, as a clear advantage. Where Night had denied all the feminine aspects of herself in order to survive in the underworld, Dacy survived by playing them up and emphasizing them, disarming men by making them desire her attention instead of her body.

It also probably helped that it quickly became apparent Dacy was under Night's protection. The rest of the crew began to whisper about the "boss's woman" basing their speculations on the amount of time Night and Dacy spent together, and keeping away out of respect (and fear) of Night.

Night, Lancaster, and Dacy continued to help their Crew rise through the ranks of the underworld. Lancaster also began to branch out on his own, using the powerful underground contacts he was gaining in the spice trade to get work with less than scrupulous nobles wanting skaa to do their dirty work for them. Night worried about her brother, and tried to caution him against getting too involved with that particular side of the underground, but Lancaster, so often left to himself, refused to give up his independence or be reigned in. Night saw an arrogance in her brother that her constant transformation had gotten rid of within herself. As time went on, Lancaster became more and more unpredictable, and difficult to control. While Night continued to rely on his talents, she ceased to rely on him personally, and shifted her reliance solely on to Dacy's capable shoulders. Things seemed to fall into a rhythm after that. Night, with Dacy at her side, began taking on more and more responsibilities, and kept on climbing higher and higher up the ladder of the Final Empire spice trade.

Then, all at once, everything changed. Night found herself working directly under the Drug Lord responsible for all the drug traffic in Luthadel, working directly under a noble from House Sureau. At first, he was just another boss, who gave Night orders, which she in turn relayed to her crew and carried out. He, it seemed, was working with representatives of House Sureau, who had had fingers in the trade for hundreds of years, and were a force to be reckoned with in the underground. However, in the year 917, things began to change, and a potential new collaborator began to be whispered about. As the Drug Lord's second in command at the time, Night knew more than most that this potential partner was a man who claimed to be working with the rebellion, but had the tattoos of an obligator. What she learned she, in compliance with her boss's wishes, kept silent, except, of course, for what she confided in Dacy. Dacy, however, was not so complacent about the changes that were happening. She saw the same dangers as Night in working with such a man, but she also saw an opportunity.

Ultimately, the Drug Lord defied this mysterious new party, and tried to break ties with the Surueas who, while still having a strangle hold on the market in Klessium, were losing power in Luthadel. He decided, instead, to strike out on his own, claiming all of the profits for himself. Night saw the wisdom in this, for there was no telling if this "Shade" individual could be trusted, and the Sureaus were deemed by all to be untrustworthy. In spite of this, she also saw reason in Dacy's argument that this was the time to strike, and thus secure a spot for themselves at the pinnacle of the Luthadel crime scene.

It was easy enough, the man, while terrifying in his own way, was growing old, and his followers proved easy enough for Night and Lancaster to bribe or kill (or bribe then kill). After the plans were finalized he was dead within a cycle, and after hurried meetings with Sureau representatives and the mysterious Shade, Night, in return for expressing her intention to continue working for them, used their support to secure her position as the skaa leader of the underworld. While she had been expected House Sureau's aid would be the more helpful in truth, for some reason it seemed that the Shade, who now revealed his name was Ignas, was the one who really came through for her. After the deal was struck, however, Night found herself trapped by her obligations, finding that no matter how much she learned of the mysterious rebel leader, he always knew more about her, and had the power to bring half her operation crashing down.

Still, it would seem that she, her brother, and Dacy, were safe at last (or as safe as they could be in the underworld), and free from the dictates of others. Night found herself up to the challenge of balancing her obligations to both the Sureaus and to Ignas, while at the same time ensuring their obligations to her were met as well. The transition in power from the old crime boss to her went fairly smoothly, as men, out of fear or respect of Night, fell into line one by one. There was, however, one notable exception.

One of the other men who had served the Crime Lord directly, who had also been one of Night's competitors at the time when she took power, refused to acknowledge her authority, and so, Night had him disciplined, harshly. She would have had him killed, however Dacy reasoned that, if he could be brought into line, others who might be keeping their objections to Night's authority silent, might be brought into line as well. For once, things did not turn out as Dacy had planned.

When Night heard about what he had done, she had him dragged before her. The man only laughed, and spit at her feet. "You think you can beat me into silence, do you? Tell that the little harlot who whispers sweet nothings in your ear. I had her, I did. I took her and you couldn't do nothing to stop me. And then I slit her pretty little throat. What do you think about that?"

Night motioned for the men holding him to let him stand. She strode up to him, staring into his unflinching eyes, hating him with every fibre of her being. He just stood there, with a smug smile in his face, confident that, given his influence in the gang, he had spit in Night's face and was going to get away with it.

Night raised her hand, as if to backhand the man, and indeed, to all those assembled, and the man himself, it seemed like that was what she intended to do. However, as her hand neared his face, it seemed to twist, and when it was replaced at her side, a knife glistened in her fingers, red with blood. The man collapsed to the ground. His smug smile slowly faded as he realized his throat had been slit and he was dying.

Night didn't say anything all, she just returned to the next order of business, and left the body there until someone else thought to have it disposed of. Her grief over Dacy's loss she kept within, not sharing it with even Lancaster. While this act solidified her rule, it also continues to haunt her. Though she hated herself for it, she began using street spice under strictly controlled circumstances in order to escape, at least temporarily, from the troubling emotions surrounding Dacy's death. The drugs, however, proved not to be enough. The man had killed and raped Dacy, and so Night had killed him, but that was not enough either. It would never be enough.


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Night spoke, and men listened. Dacy had always said Night's voice made men nervous because it was like death, soft and light like that of a spirit, and reminded them of their mortality. Men like to speak loud and boldly, as if their vitality could prove that they were full of life, and thus far from death, but the soft and dangerous delicacy of Night's tone reminded them that death could strike at any moment.

"Leave us." The other men in the room scattered, finding other things to do elsewhere in the lair. Night remained seated, while her brother, Lancaster, stood in the door way, his face smug and mocking.

"That's right fellows, 'leave us,' like the whipped men you are. Leave me to face our fearless leader alone, but wish me luck, I'd prefer to leave here with my manhood intact, after all."

Night waited until the last man had left and the door was shut before rising.

"What do you think you are doing?" she hissed. She paced over next to the door, and checked a peek hole to make certain no one was listening in. "Are you deliberately trying to jeopardize everything we have worked so hard for?"

Lancaster laughed, his bruised face breaking into a ghastly semblance of a smile. "You mean what you've worked for, sweet sister. I think it's time I did a little bit for myself."

Night rolled her eyes, and paced back across the room, agitated in a way only Lancaster could make her. Had he been anyone else, she would have made him regret mocking or threatening her, but he was her brother, and she could not. And Lancaster knew that.

"You are playing a dangerous game..."

"Not one I can't handle."

"Oh really?" Night retorted, still taking care to keep her voice soft. She had a reputation to protect and besides, a shout from her would likely end up being shrill, and it could make anyone who heard suspicious. "Your face tells another story."

"So he sent some thugs after me. Big deal. I handled them." Between the two siblings, 'handle' had only one meaning. "Besides, I already have a plan to get back at him."

Night stared at him, incredulous. "You can't be serious. You made a deal with his daughter, didn't you?" Night strode angrily up to her brother until she was just inches away. "If you hadn't noticed, brother, we are at the top of the most lucrative and dangerous underground trade in the Final bloody Empire, and I will not allow you to risk it all just because you feel like playing around in the affairs of the Great Houses. Do you realize what kinds of resources these people have at their disposal? What is going to stop them from using you to get to all of this?" Night gestured widely, indicating the room, the lair, and everyone in it.

"They won't. You might think you're some gift from the Lord Ruler to anyone who wants a job done, but I have news for you, and that is that I am just as good as you, if not better. And I don't need surgeries or theatrics to prove it."

Night stared at her brother, not believing he would dare to talk to her like this. At the same time, she realized she couldn't risk disciplining him too harshly, lest he reveal her secret, while at the same time she couldn't bring herself to kill the only person who had stood with her through everything. He was also the only person who knew her secret, which might make him dangerous, but it also made him the one person she could be herself around.

"Get out," she said quietly. "Go to the Old Wall Street safe house, and heal up. Conduct your business from there. I'll tell the others I sent you away for a while to punish, to save face." She saw no point in being dishonest with him, and hoped he still had enough loyalty to her to agree. "Then when you get back, we can go about things as if this little confrontation never happened. You let me attend to my business, and I'll let you attend to yours..."

Lancaster seemed about the interject, but Night cut him off. "You've got me, so save whatever victory comment you have for yourself in the hideout. But let me make one thing clear. If I so much as suspect that you are trying to ruin me, brother or not I'll give you to Andrew Elariel and let him deal with you for me."

Lancaster stared into Night's eyes for a moment, as if testing her resolve. Then, seeming to find it sufficient, he nodded politely and left.

Night followed him to the door and the found the outer room silent. It would seem Lancaster had made a good show of storming off. Perhaps she wasn't giving her brother enough credit, and it wasn't time to give up on him just yet.

"Let's go ladies," she said, her voice echoing into the silence despite its softness. "We have work to do."



#2 MozytheHealer

92
Posse Member

Posted 23 September 2013 - 04:40 PM

I must make one small Wars of the Roses reference, and then I will say stuff that actually makes sense.

So, did House Lancaster have an enemy called House York? 'Cause I hear they had a pretty thorny relationship.

If you got that, congratulations! You're a nerd!

Now to the actual character. This is, in fact, a direction I almost took Delve. I had two different ideas for her and I'm really glad I didn't use the one that was super similar to this. I don't have a lot of feedback, as Night has the look of a character who's been in the works for a while and I think she's a pretty cool character. I found it interesting that you used both the words 'unwind' and 'self-discipline' to describe her use of street spice.

I actually think there could be more indication to when the ending bit of her history is. I read it as being still quite a few years before MBI starts, but I think it could be more clear. On a related note, I feel like, if it isn't close to the start of MBI, you could have more history on what she's been doing in those years between the last few paragraphs of her history and the RP, but that's just my opinion.

There's also a super tiny typo right here:

Quote

She takes care as a leader to balance the respect, loyalty, and fear her followers have of her for maximum effect, and his quick to deal with any signs of subordination.

PCs:

Delve, Silvan Calomine, Zella Calomine, Liss

Renette Deveaux, Marceline Dumont

Isabelle Sureau, Gisela Sureau,

Adalaide Getrue, Oliver Martel,

Grandell Tekiel, Yvette Valcier,

Katryn Domaille

WIPs:

Ranee, Delacey,

Theodoric Getrue, Kyl,

Vanessa Venture, Cedric Hallieau

Cordelia Morel, Kennith Fathvell

NPCs:

Issa Calomine, Randall Scanlan


#3 Haradion Drogon

0
Skaa

Posted 23 September 2013 - 05:06 PM

Wow. Super long and super cool character! Nice!

Characters:


EruSaar - Kandra


#4 Comatose


  • Shard of Brain Inactivity

354
House Raisaal

Posted 23 September 2013 - 05:21 PM

You would be referring to their mutual use of the rose as a symbol, I assume? I guess I am a nerd haha. Yes, I pirated the name from history, but I think that's okay, haha. Suffice to say these Lancasters (if there ever was such a house), is very different from the historical ones.

Yeah, I also noticed the similarities when reading Delve. I thought I might have mentioned something about it, but perhaps I never got around to it (EDIT: Yes, it seems I did, haha, though I did not name her). It would be interesting, if they have had the opportunity to have a thread together, what kind of interaction they would have.

The end of her history goes pretty much right up to when the RP starts, as, you will notice, Ignas is involved near the end, and he hasn't been around THAT long (since Ignas arrived only a year ago in 917). I guess I could make that more clear though...

Thanks for your feedback! :)

Posted Image


#5 MozytheHealer

92
Posse Member

Posted 23 September 2013 - 06:50 PM

I was indeed referring to the roses. :{D

Your welcome!

PCs:

Delve, Silvan Calomine, Zella Calomine, Liss

Renette Deveaux, Marceline Dumont

Isabelle Sureau, Gisela Sureau,

Adalaide Getrue, Oliver Martel,

Grandell Tekiel, Yvette Valcier,

Katryn Domaille

WIPs:

Ranee, Delacey,

Theodoric Getrue, Kyl,

Vanessa Venture, Cedric Hallieau

Cordelia Morel, Kennith Fathvell

NPCs:

Issa Calomine, Randall Scanlan






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