It started as a small murmur at the back of a growing, lingering crowd that pressed about trying to catch sight of anything that might be fodder for gossip. Gathered about a gaggle of disgusting little surface elves using unnatural magic that made her shoulders itch, Suliss'urn thrusting her way into the crowd caused a minimal of stirrings at first. Though who idly turned their heads, faces distorted in annoyance who might have uttered something to the short female who barged her way through either went snow-pale, eyes wide with fear and loathing--scattering out of her way instaneously, or they moved aside with intense curiosity, respect...and perhaps something more. Given the fact the female wore her usual wear-softened leather and tick-tock slunk as easy as a shark through minnow-strewn waters, helped. Several turned away from the speech ongoing from strange, magical means to wide-eye watch the drow until she could no longer be seen.
Eventually the crowd that had been clustered outside of one of the many Waterhouse accounting offices had originally been a round moon of babbling interest; now however, it had shifted, split right down clear the middle without a single soul as Suliss'urn ate up the cobble stone, commandeered the steps in bare feet and barged through the doors with little more than a golden-eyed flat look as she passed. A few short words were passed, mostly hissing from her and perhaps a little concerned and brusque by whomever guarded the interior. It didn't take long for one of the men to give a small sigh and a resigned look, letting the drow in further.
Any desk would due. Some hapless woman at the front now doubt had to stare down a set of wolf-sharp, tilted eyes across a desk she possibly felt had grown too short betwixt them.
In her hand, a piece of yellowed, rolled up parchment was slammed firmly onto the desk, rattling a few bits and baubles gathered therein.
"I am a candidate," rasped. There was no 'intention,' mentioned.
Within the rolled up piece of paper--soon to be found in the filthy hands of whores in whore houses, broken nailed grasp of sticky fingered orphans, fists bloodied and beaten in behind ale-stinking bars, along the salt-coated shady docks and behind alleyways coated in unmentionable subjects--this was written:
Chaos & Disorder
"Yes we can--but shouldn't."
"Hope? Change? Chaotic evil. That enough change for you?"
?Rhydin: We already have 50000 Kings and 10000 Princess. What do we need a Governor for??
?????????
Bannana. Truncheon. Rabbits. Blue.
As you can see, like the other candidates, I too can spew useless words that mean nothing to you--you who have been living in this realm, surviving and protecting what is yours without any help for as long as time can remember.
This government is a farce, this election a joke. Rhydin takes care of its own.
Vote for Suliss'urn. I will leave your sh*t alone.
Rhydin: We're doing just fine, thanks.
((Because I like to confuse people: Suliss'urn is just reaching the end of Your Inner Child and You SL currently. In a day or two she'll return to her normal messed up self and in that time, she'll run for Governor. Had to get this up and ready in time!
2011 Rhydin Gubernatorial Election))
Eventually the crowd that had been clustered outside of one of the many Waterhouse accounting offices had originally been a round moon of babbling interest; now however, it had shifted, split right down clear the middle without a single soul as Suliss'urn ate up the cobble stone, commandeered the steps in bare feet and barged through the doors with little more than a golden-eyed flat look as she passed. A few short words were passed, mostly hissing from her and perhaps a little concerned and brusque by whomever guarded the interior. It didn't take long for one of the men to give a small sigh and a resigned look, letting the drow in further.
Any desk would due. Some hapless woman at the front now doubt had to stare down a set of wolf-sharp, tilted eyes across a desk she possibly felt had grown too short betwixt them.
In her hand, a piece of yellowed, rolled up parchment was slammed firmly onto the desk, rattling a few bits and baubles gathered therein.
"I am a candidate," rasped. There was no 'intention,' mentioned.
Within the rolled up piece of paper--soon to be found in the filthy hands of whores in whore houses, broken nailed grasp of sticky fingered orphans, fists bloodied and beaten in behind ale-stinking bars, along the salt-coated shady docks and behind alleyways coated in unmentionable subjects--this was written:
Chaos & Disorder
"Yes we can--but shouldn't."
"Hope? Change? Chaotic evil. That enough change for you?"
?Rhydin: We already have 50000 Kings and 10000 Princess. What do we need a Governor for??
?????????
Bannana. Truncheon. Rabbits. Blue.
As you can see, like the other candidates, I too can spew useless words that mean nothing to you--you who have been living in this realm, surviving and protecting what is yours without any help for as long as time can remember.
This government is a farce, this election a joke. Rhydin takes care of its own.
Vote for Suliss'urn. I will leave your sh*t alone.
Rhydin: We're doing just fine, thanks.
((Because I like to confuse people: Suliss'urn is just reaching the end of Your Inner Child and You SL currently. In a day or two she'll return to her normal messed up self and in that time, she'll run for Governor. Had to get this up and ready in time!
2011 Rhydin Gubernatorial Election))