I don't know this place at all. Listen -- whoever bought me here, there's nothing to gain from it. I and my family are of humble means; you'll get no ransom, and I am no one of great enough skill to be made useful.

...I have pressing business. You must return me to Oakvale.

I know that someone can hear me!

These miserable little beasts would be a good deal more enjoyable if I had something to shoot them with.

(ooc: Reaver has been decidedly quiet over the last week. Take of that what you wish, but you should probably just take comfort in it.)

I long for friendships, but I have long forgotten how to form them. I feel undeserving. I bring people to my bed, constantly, because I am afraid to be alone. I drank when I was able because I was unhappy. I still am. So...so very desperately unhappy. I often speak publicly, on behalf of the Admiral, or to say cruel or scandalous things, because I ( Read more... )

That's really the worst you people could do? It  took five of you.

(ooc: Reaver -- known as 'Stephen' to those he considers himself friends with -- is recovering from a Death Toll. No idea which Wardens killed him, but feel free to plot yourself in if you want)

[What appears onscreen here is a snow white mink, with a little tuft of black fur on the end of his tail. He settles on his haunches, sitting up his full, weasel-like height and straightens his fur with his forepaws like he's smoothing a fine suit. When he begins to speak, the expected squeaking does not occur, but rather everyone can perfectly ( Read more... )

[There is a breathiness in the voice, here, like he's trying his damndest to control his tone. There's a slightly tremulous edge to the words, though, a clear sign that someone has been quietly panicking for some time, at least.]

This is just a friendly notice that until this ridiculous flood has finished, I will be remaining in my cabin. I will be ( Read more... )

[The voice here is not in Reaver's usual un-affected accent but rather a gentle, cultured accent of a rich man from the deep south -- close to Georgia by the sound of it]

People of Bargewood! Byron Reaver, here, your most humble servant. It is my distinguished privilege to bring to you wonderful news! It is gentle, god-fearing, and hardworking ( Read more... )

[There is an audible clatter as the journal kicks on, the camera showing it is on its side, just as it seems that Reaver is toppling onto the floor next to a bed that is most definitely not his own. There is an angry dog barking in the background as he appears to be pulling his clothes on (the angle thankfully obscuring any particularly scandalous ( Read more... )

[guess who's chipper as ever this afternoon?]

Fellow denizens of the Barge, I know what you are thinking.

"Again, Admiral?"

"A little early in the month to be nipping into the sherry, aren't we?"

But what we experience (or have yet to experience, as it appears whatever this is, I feel perfectly fine. I hope more of you do too) is just the fringes ( Read more... )

What was that?