Saxikath's page

My parents worked in the factories in Flint. My ma still does. My da might too, for all I know. Haven’t seen him since Ma threw him out for coming home one too many times with someone else’s perfume on him. That was when I was, what, eight? Thereabouts. Ma (her name’s Rina Ranald – she stopped using Da’s name after she kicked him out) raised me and my older brother Sallo by herself after that. Sallo went into the factories too. Sallo married up– he married the foreman’s daughter! Ma’s getting awful old for factory work, but she keeps saying she doesn’t know what she’d do with herself if she stopped working. Sallo keeps trying to get her to quit and move in with him.

Me? I wasn’t much good at factory work. Got bored too easily. Lucky for me, someone heard me singing around home one day and told me I should try my luck working the bars down at the docks. So I did. Found out I liked it, and I seem to have more than the usual knack for it. Music sometimes does stuff to folks, y’know? Makes ‘em feel good, or bad, or pay attention, or not pay attention, depending what you want. I ain’t getting rich, but I keep body and soul together singing and telling tales and stuff like that to keep folks entertained. I like working at the Bell and Frog best – they’re the best tippers in town and the bouncers are really good about keeping the troublemakers off you. The Ship’s Wheel is the worst. Don’t go there if you don’t have to. Beer’s weak and the clientele are mostly thugs and lowlifes.

But, that’s where I first saw ‘em – the women, girls, sometimes boys too, that get shoved in by someone lookin’ to sell their services. Awful. Got a chance to talk to one of them once for a few when no one was looking, and they’re slaves, all of ‘em, being sold off to whoever wants them – for whatever they want to use ‘em for. I may not know much, but Ma taught me right from wrong and that’s wrong. I started trying to slip ‘em a little cash or help when I could. And *that’s* how I met Pella.

See, one night when I was working at the Ship’s Wheel because I couldn’t get a better gig, there was this girl. Couldn’t have been more than 15. Couple of the thugs had hold of her and were keeping a real close eye. I heard them talking about how they were going to sell her that night. They had an appointment with one of the brothel keepers. Pretty high-class one too, as Flint goes, anyway. She looked so scared.

Now, one thing I’ve learned is that the right song can make people seem, well, invisible. I’ve never been sure if it’s just that everyone’s paying so much attention to the music, or if the person actually does turn invisible, but I know that if I get the song just right, I can choose which person that is. So that night, I decided I was going to give that girl a chance to get out of there. Everything started fine. I started my song, and sure enough, before long that girl had vanished. I gave what I hoped was a subtle but clear head wave to get her to leave. I couldn’t see her any more than anyone else could, but I guess she did get out, because when the song ended she still wasn’t there. The two thugs got furious and ran out the door, but as far as I know they didn’t find her.

When I took my next break, I stepped outside for some air. (Flint air is a mess, but it’s better than the stench of bad beer and its aftermath inside, and at least down by the docks you get a breeze.) A woman stepped out beside me. “Nice move,” she said. I stiffened. She’d noticed? What was she going to do? “I think some of my friends would like you.” She stuck out her hand. “Name’s Pella. If you want to do more than just get one girl out, come meet me in the back room of the Copper Barrel tomorrow night.”

And that was where I met the Whispers.

The Whispers? Haven’t heard of us? Good, that’s how we like it. We’re folks that don’t like slavers, and do what we can to drive ‘em off and help slaves get free. Sometimes that means getting into places and letting folks loose. Sometimes it means a well-timed bribe, or bonk on the head. Sometimes it means playing nice with someone while someone else unlocks a door. I’m usually on the distracting side more than the head-bonking side; the music and tale-telling helps with that. People also like to talk to you when they’ve had a bit to drink. Good way to learn what’s going on out of sight, y’know?

Pella’s the one in charge of the Whispers around here. We mostly work at night, for obvious reasons, but sometimes there’s stuff that needs doing in the daytime. People to bribe, locations to scout, that kind of thing. Mostly we try to get to people before they get sold, but we can’t keep up with all of them. So once in a while we do a rescue mission. That’s where I got in the most trouble.

We were trying to get into one of the really high-class brothels in the rich side of town. We’d heard that despite the elegant looks of the place, they treated people especially badly and we knew three new girls had been taken there. It turned out that our scouts didn’t get as many details on the security as they should have, and the back windows were a lot tighter than we expected them to be. And the guards were wide awake. I got caught and hauled off to jail. Figured that was the end of me.

But then while I was sitting there, one of the prison guards, a big man who his buddies called Puck, came to my cell late one night. It was pitch black and I couldn’t see him, but I heard him say, “Get over here, you.” I wasn’t interested in picking a fight with a pile of muscle, so I did. He leaned down and murmured, “What’s louder than a shout?”

I was shocked – that’s a Whispers passphrase! I pulled myself together and answered, “A whisper in the right ear.” I heard a clink in the lock. “Thought so. Jax is taking a piss. Go now while you can.”

Didn’t know we had folks on the inside like that, but boy was I glad to learn it. I expect Jax and Puck took a beating when I wasn’t there in the morning, but I never heard more about it. Pella must’ve known – she didn’t seem at all surprised when I showed back up singing the next night. Guess the officers didn’t think it was worth chasing me down, but I must technically be a wanted fugitive. Bit of a point of pride in the Whispers if you got free after getting caught, but not so much that you got caught in the first place!

I’ve been more careful since then, mostly sticking to the distraction work and less of the direct rescuing (though I do what I can). We’ve become enough of a thorn in the side of the slave dealers that a couple of smaller brothels have had to shut down. One of Pella’s friends, another woman called Ree, started up a school to help some of the kids who got rescued get some learning and eventually find jobs. The slavers can’t really go after her given that slavery is, after all, illegal – however much the officers of the law don’t care for our way of fighting against it – and they couldn’t publicly complain about someone trying to help people who escaped it! But we keep an eye on her all the same to make sure they don’t.

Hear tell there are other groups of Whispers in other parts of Flint, and other places too. Maybe even in Thane – don’t like those folks but I guess even some of them are willing to do what’s right. Don’t know about Breica. They may be too uptight to do the kinds of things we do, but maybe not. Never been there.

Ma keeps telling me I should come home and settle down. She says Sallo’s done so well she’s sure he could set me up with a proper life instead of “singing for my supper” all the time. I’m sure if she knew what I was doing with the Whispers she’d be even more upset. Sure, it can be dangerous, but – it means something, and I’m not quitting now.

My parents worked in the factories in Flint. My ma still does. My da might too, for all I know. Haven’t seen him since Ma threw him out for coming home one too many times with someone else’s perfume on him. That was when I was, what, eight? Thereabouts. Ma (her name’s Rina Ranald – she stopped using Da’s name after she kicked him out) raised me and my older brother Sallo by herself after that. Sallo went into the factories too. Sallo's going up in the world – he married the foreman’s daughter! Ma’s getting awful old for factory work, but she keeps saying she doesn’t know what she’d do with herself if she stopped working. Sallo keeps trying to get her to quit and move in with him.

Me? I wasn’t much good at factory work. Got bored too easily. Lucky for me, someone heard me singing around home one day and told me I should try my luck working the bars down at the docks. So I did. Found out I liked it, and I seem to have more than the usual knack for it. Music sometimes does stuff to folks, y’know? Makes ‘em feel good, or bad, or pay attention, or not pay attention, depending what you want. I ain’t getting rich, but I keep body and soul together singing and telling tales and stuff like that to keep folks entertained. I like working at the Bell and Frog best – they’re the best tippers in town and the bouncers are really good about keeping the troublemakers off you. The Ship’s Wheel is the worst. Don’t go there if you don’t have to. Beer’s weak and the clientele are mostly thugs and lowlifes.

But, that’s where I first saw ‘em – the women, girls, sometimes boys too, that get shoved in by someone lookin’ to sell their services. Awful. Got a chance to talk to one of them once for a few when no one was looking, and they’re slaves, all of ‘em, being sold off to whoever wants them – for whatever they want to use ‘em for. I may not know much, but Ma taught me right from wrong and that’s wrong. I started trying to slip ‘em a little cash or help when I could. And *that’s* how I met Pella and got in with the Whispers.

The Whispers? Haven’t heard of us? Good, that’s how we like it. We’re folks that don’t like slavers, and do what we can to drive ‘em off and help slaves get free. Sometimes that means getting into places and letting folks loose. Sometimes it means a well-timed bribe, or bonk on the head. Sometimes it means playing nice with someone while someone else unlocks a door. I’m usually on the distracting side more than the head-bonking side; the music and tale-telling helps with that. People also like to talk to you when they’ve had a bit to drink. Good way to learn what’s going on out of sight, y’know?

Pella’s the one in charge of the Whispers around here. Hear tell there are other groups of Whispers in other parts of Flint, and other places too. Maybe even in Thane – don’t like those folks but I guess even some of them are willing to do what’s right. Don’t know about Brieca. They may be too uptight to do the kinds of things we do, but maybe not. Never been there.

Ma keeps telling me I should come home and settle down. She says Sallo’s done so well she’s sure he could set me up with a proper life instead of “singing for my supper” all the time. I’m sure if she knew what I was doing with the Whispers she’d be even more upset. Sure, it can be dangerous, but – it means something, and I’m not quitting now.

How often do you tend to post?
I aim for once a day.

What kind of tone are you looking for in this game? (I'll be honest, this one's going to be on the dark side.)
I'd kind of figure it'd be dark, with the grisly murders. I'm hoping for dark-but-interesting, not just gruesome for gruesome's sake, and with lots of good roleplay to go with it.

What do you expect out of your fellow players?
Respect, good roleplay, and not getting so caught up in rules-lawyering or number-crunching that we lose the story. I will also admit to being a writing snob; I value good grammar and well-done style.

What do you expect out of me (the GM)?
Pretty much the same as for players. Also, being willing to move the story along when needed, without railroading players.

What is your comfort zone? Where's the line for you in RP terms?
I prefer to avoid overtly sexual content, and I'm not into gore for gore's sake.

How do you see your character progressing as a character?
Kress is a little naive (not entirely so, but somewhat that way) and wants to know what the Maiden of Night's purpose for him is.