OOC Info The Emporium of Oddness (Suggestions Box for Alvadas)

[Cabochon]

Name: Thaddeus Moorwater Face Claim: Calle Strand Race: Human, Svefra DoB: 469 AV (49 years old) PoB: West Street, Zeltiva Title: n/a Skills: 20 XP - Sailing, 20 XP - Weapon: Cutlass, 10 XP - Cartography Gnosis: n/a Additional Info: Has a deep wound scar on the left side of his stomach and leg. Missing his left eye. Currently a Rez addict. Backstory: Thaddeus Sunswell was born in the bay city of Zeltiva, when the ship had docked to restock supplies. "Moorwater" came from the pod he had joined after separating from his parents at age 21. He became close friends with the first mate, which eventually led into a friendship with the Lia, Gretchen Moorwater. Her primary goal as a sailor was to ensure the proper conduct of trade. She and her crew took it upon themselves to weed out ships who oppressed merchant traders. On one event, an enemy sloop attacked Gretchen's mother's barge, looting it and almost sinking the ship. They learned that one of the hideouts the pirates occupied was in Alvadas, and Thaddeus took it upon himself to avenge the acts committed. Against her wishes, she allowed him to go, and when he found them, a fight broke out. Two of the men escaped, but not before suffering from cuts and bruises. Thaddeus himself had serious injuries, and a bystander took him in to heal his wounds. They utilized Rez to slow down his nerves and help him relax. This was what fueled his addiction, and after coming into contact with his old pod, what made them leave him behind in Alvadas.

[Madeira Dusk]

Name: Yaxley Snowsong
Race: Vantha, Ghost
DoB: Spring 45th, 290AV
PoB: Avanthal
Title: N/A
Skills:
Storytelling: 70
History: 64
Materialization: 56
Anthropology: 48
Soulmist projection: 30
Possession: 10
Gnosis: N/A
Additional Info:

Yaxley is on a mission to find The Greatest Story Ever Told. He was born centuries ago in the snowy wastes of Avanthal, brought up on stories of great heroes and their adventures. And once he heard all the stories, copied all the legends, and wrote a few of his own, he left Avanthal in search of more. However, a lifetime of stories was not
enough. Upon his death (drowned while interviewing a pack of roughly playful Otani at the ripe age of eighty nine) he continued as a ghost.

Quite harmless and gentle, Yaxley never the less has earned himself a reputation of being a most doofy and annoying old man. Calling himself the Haunt of Heroes, he has been known to attach himself to interesting looking people in hopes of finding a good story in their adventures. Though his bad habits of narrating their lives aloud and giving bad advice in the name of a good conflict tends to wear his welcome out quickly. He is always happy to talk to adventuring types, to hear stories of their travels and trade them for his own. He is a wealth of knowledge about history, legends and legendary people and is eager to share for those willing to listen.

He hopes to one day find his Greatest Story so that he can die in peace, content in the knowledge that he will meet Lhex with a tale of the greatest adventure of all time.

Name: Hollai Maury

Race: Human, Mixed (Human x Dhani)
Gender: Female
Age/DoB: 20, 70th Summer 497 AV
Skills:
Crossbow: 45
Stealth: 65
Larceny: 30

Hollai was born and bred in the Gibbets. Her mother was an unhappy, cynical drug addict who deeply revered Ionu, even to her unfortunate death. Her father was a Dhani, distinctly cold and untrustworthy. Hollai was a mistake her mother never wanted to make. In infancy, she even considered killing the infant girl, but the madness couldn’t push her that far. Despite this, the girl was barely brought up at all, and made her own way in the world. She stole a crossbow when she was ten, and threatened the other children until they listened to her. She hated her mother with a passion, and venerated her Dhani father, despite having never known him. As time passed, her mother’s mental problems grew and grew. Hollai spoke with a soft hiss inherited from her absentee father, and each time the young girl spoke her mother grew to detest her own child. One day she asked her friends to hold her own daughter down… and she cut out her tongue. Hollai was silenced, but next season, Hollai’s mother was dead, a crossbow bolt through her stomach. The first human casualty of her rage still terrifies and entrances the young woman. For the most part, she scrapes through life stealing where she can to pay her way. But she has an itchy trigger finger, and the desire to kill finally got the better of her. A short confrontation in a dark alleyway between letch and girl left a dead man in her wake.

Now she’s haunted by the spectre of her second victim, a man just as full of vile thoughts as Hollai is full of hatred. She can’t escape him, can’t evade him. He claws at her soul and she fears she will grow mad. Without being able to speak, and without an ability to write, she patrols the streets of Alvadas. Now close to death herself, Hollai is emancipated and weak, and like the rest of the denizens of Alvadas fell prey to the disease that has left her with a slight limp.

Credit to Allassanachassanya!

[Penny Noor]

Name: Aija Dayglade
Race: Human
DoB: Spring 13th, 492AV
PoB: Alvadas
Title: N/A
Skills:
Drawing: 26
Painting: 70
Persuasion: 66
Rhethoric: 52
Socialisation: 30
Gnosis: N/A

Additional Info: Aija has two states. She either looks pristine, beautiful and put together or an absolute mess who had not slept, eaten or washed in days. Although the latter is rarely spotted outside of her home studio. She’s a tall, slim woman with incredibly pale skin and dark, curly hair that’s somewhere between brown and auburn. She comes from a long bloodline of painters and much like her mother and father she shares in the talent and enthusiasm for artistic endeavours. She truly knows no other world than that of fine arts, having devoted herself to it so completely that sometimes she forgets to eat when she’s painting.

Ajia is the socialite of artists. Charming, charismatic and outspoken she commands a certain kind of intuitive respect from anyone she converses with without she even tries. She seems to know everyone in Alvadas and everyone seems to like her. Although accolades of her marvelous paintings echo in the gossips of the city’s patreons, she is cruelly hard on herself in her work and never takes a complement. Her exciting, social exterior is merely a facade behind which she hides depression and a complete lack of self esteem as her very sense of self importance is tied so closely to her paintings and she never believes they’re any good.



Name: Emirin Hilliard
Race: Human
DoB: Fall 82nd, 487AV
PoB: Zeltiva
Title: N/A
Skills:
Drawing:15
Etching:20
History:47
Observation: 30
Sculpting:68
Gnosis: N/A

Additional Info: Emirin is something of a free spirit one could say the least. Most find her a little mad in fact. She’s the kind of girl to never walk under a ladder for fear of bad luck or take her shoes off when walking on wet grass. She often speaks her thoughts out loud without concern for anyone overhearing. Some think her mad, Emirin thinks she’s just unique.

She moved to Alvadas after finishing her formal education at the University of Zeltiva in decorative arts with emphasis on sculpture. She thinks the city to somewhat reflect her unpredictable and odd personality. She’s a sweet girl at the crux of it all, with olive skin and dark freckles all over her nose and jubilant blue eyes and a big big smile.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Hello! I tried to copy the style in the Craven's location, I hope that that's helpful! This is the write up for the business I'd like to have for Gomer's courier job! (And hopefully for any other future couriers!) Please let me know if I can change anything to make it more acceptable! :)

From Here to There

And Everywhere in Between

A courier service catering primarily to the smaller, privately owned businesses of Alvadas, From Here to There (more commonly known as the "FHT") is a recipient payer based company that prides itself on its perseverance over punctuality. Though originally created to aid those businesses who wished to deliver their goods but did not have the funds to hire a personal courier, the FHT has since grown into a bustling epicenter of letters, packages big and small, and the occasional animal or two. Much easier to find with a parcel in need of being delivered, the FHT tends to move quite often, seemingly picking up those who have business with it and avoiding those who do not.

As trying to navigate through the city’s streets can be a trial at best and utterly impossible at worst, the FHT has a tried and true slogan with which it advertises itself: “Your parcel will get there. Eventually.” Many more packages delivered than lost, the FHT has a reputation of being very reliable, though this is only when it comes to packages. Letters are a different story, and if one is sending a letter though the FHT, it is best to send it in triplicate. Or more.

When it comes to the couriers, the FHT can almost always be found through three generally themed paths (though it is possible to arrive unscathed on occasion): the mudtrails, the slime pit, and the rickety bridge. They are very much as they sound, and though the specific details of the illusions are rarely the same day to day, the sorry state of bedraggled employees arriving at work is an ever present constant. The general sentiment is that the FHT wants only those willing to brave the many pitfalls of the city’s streets to be entrusted with the packages it holds. Whether this is true or not, the owners of the FHT conveniently provide a small bathhouse where their employees can get cleaned up, going so far as to provide soaps, towels, and loan out uniforms, so long as they are returned washed and cleaned.

The FHT consists of a main building that stands about a story and a half high of sturdy, multicolored brick and mortar, a second, smaller add-on of respectable wood snuggly situated next to the main building’s eastern side, and a little hutch at the front. Two large, cloudy windows sit on either side of a sturdy wooden door, above which hangs the FHT’s logo off of an intricately sculpted metal bird’s leg. It is an inviting, busy looking place, where more often than not the door is propped open to easily allow the various couriers and customers darting in and out like a stream of ants a clear path of entry and exit.

The main building is divided into three rooms: the front office, the temporary storage room, and the back offices. While the front office consists of about half the building’s space, a thin hallway runs straight back, allowing for a single door on the left and two on the right, leading to the temporary story room and the owners’ back offices respectively.

The front office is split neatly into a quarter and three by a long, wooden counter, not unlike what one might find in a tavern. Where the hall intersects with the counter, the wood stops, allowing passage into the back room by way of lifting a section of the table up and over. Usually, that part of the counter is down, but when someone needs to make their way to the back offices or temporary storage room, papers and boxes are quickly shuffled around to make enough room to operate the simple hinge.

While the counter itself is always filled with a mess of papers, pamphlets, and packages of all shapes and sizes, the space seems even more cramped than it really is due to the myriad of crates, boxes, and other parcel types that line the walls in uneven, sometimes precarious stacks. They are the collection of packages for which no payment was received and subsequently brought back. Their contents are a plethora of curiosities, though they are mostly unperishable – those packages that are edible are usually consumed shortly after they are placed among the chaotic clutter. The most favored of these relics is porcelain figurine of a crying baby, which – whether through the facility of the FHT’s employees or by more mysterious devices – tends to end up in different places day to day; occasionally the little thing is found inside a package and is always promptly brought back, those who return it ranging from tickled to disgruntled.

The front office’s counter is usually manned by one or two people, depending on who feels like doing what, and they are responsible for peering through the wide, glassless window into the temporary storage room and passing along the parcels deemed most important to deliver to the couriers. They are also in charge of logging all incoming packages and are the faces one primarily deals with when depositing a package or letter to be delivered.

The temporary storage room, down the hall and to the left, is the second largest room in the building. It is stacked high with metal shelves that are stuck close enough together that the whole thing is only really navigable by one person a time, lest a second trap the first. Used to store those parcels that have yet to be delivered – and to separate them from those which have been returned – the room’s contents vary season to season, sometimes bursting and other times not even half full. There are several narrow windows along the top of the walls to allow light to filter in, though it is never much brighter than dim. Fire is absolutely prohibited within the room, and so those who man it are typically accustomed to squinting in the murk, often popping their heads out of the service window or into the hall to double check a label or address.

The letters' cabinet sits at the very end of the hall, stuffed with letters in some sort of organizational chaos that no one really understands. Every courier is requested to take at least five of the ever-present things with them where ever they go in hopes that it might arrive, but some think them cursed, as the FHT was never originally intended to send out letters. The success rate of locating a recipient for a letter that does not also have a package is about forty percent, and of that about thirty-five percent of the time it is delivered in tact without any tears, burns, blotches, or eradications.

The back offices are around the same size and are where Sydney and Sibyl can usually be found during regular business hours. Sydney’s office is the farthest back, on the right of the hall, and is decorated with a collection of eclectic paintings, rich velvet drapery, and an expensive looking mahogany desk with a complementing, velvet upholstered chair. There are two less exquisite options where those who visit her might sit, and the whole room smells vaguely of tulips and orange rinds. Sibyl’s office is a stark, minimalistic space. She has a simple, wooden desk, three simple wooden chairs, and plain white drapes to cover her window. The walls, however, are always changing at the whim of her paintbrush: sometimes stripes of blue and pink, other times a splattering of every color imaginable. She takes great care to never get paint on any of her furniture.

Higher profile clientele, potential hires, and the occasional “old friend” are the only people who have any business in the back offices, aside from those who own them. It was not rare to for one or both of the owners to be entertaining a Speaker or a member of one of the Old Families, but it is uncommon enough that those couriers who happen to be around and notice are prone to friendly, quiet speculation as to what the nature of the visit might be. Most of the prevailing theories are fairly risqué, though some of the couriers insist they’ve been asked personally by the owners to deliver certain packages to places they didn’t even know existed within the city, but can no longer find – they are generally met with polite nods and dismissive laughter, after all, most of them spend more time trying to navigate the city than anyone else, how could there possibly be anywhere they hadn’t been before?

The bathhouse isn’t quite as grand as its moniker. Around the size of respectable parlor, the bathhouse is a single room, broken up by five and a half foot high wooden dividers to provide a small modicum of privacy. It houses three tubs, a wooden dresser wherein the uniforms are stored, a medium sized mirror that has a small spider web of cracks in its lower left corner, and a stove against the back wall for heating water. The dividers are placed on three sides of each tub – the wall consisting of the fourth – and are easily moved to allow one to pass through. Outside is a water pump and a small hutch which stores firewood for the stove.

It is not uncommon a sight to see half-dressed men and women traipsing about the FHT, some wearing vengeful glares as they search for their pilfered small clothes while others decide to simply go without and get their assignments before the others. On very rare occasions, the bathhouse wanders away from the FHT proper with couriers still in it, causing chaos for a good day or two before it returns.

Player’s Note:
The uniform provided by the FHT consists of a neat, white linen collared shirt, a thin purple neck tie (to be tied into a stringy bow under the collar), a three quarter length, thick linen pair of trousers (ranging in color from a natural beige to a dark black), and a pair of cotton socks. Shoes are not provided. The expectation is that all borrowed clothing should be returned, clean, by the end of the season, or half of the employee’s wages will be docked. If the clothes are destroyed while on the job, the FHT employs an honor system and simply requests that the destruction be documented with the front office when possible before the end of the season.

Regarding the trinkets and relics of the returned packages: all items are property of the FHT. Any items found may be bought if Sibyl or Sydney can be convinced, however it should be noted that an expression in interest in any object will cause Sydney to want to keep it – whether out of spite, greed, or something else, is anyone’s guess.

Prices

Payment is expected and required upon delivery of the package. It is free to drop them off and send them away, but a person who does not pay cannot receive their package. Prices range depending upon weight, size, and overall ungainliness for packages, and a fixed rate for letters (it is suggested to send letters in triplicate or more, there is no increased price for multiples of the same letter). Packages marked with the red "urgent" stamp are twice the cost.

(I'm not sure about prices, so if you feel they should be changed, that's perfect!)

Letters (any size) - 5 CM

Small Package - 1 SM
(under five pounds and easily able to fit into a bag)

Medium Package - 5 SM - 1 GM
(over five pounds, under fifteen pounds, able to fit into a bag)

Large Packages - 1 GM+
(over fifteen pounds and unable to fit into a bag)

Awkward Packages 1.5x modifier to weight price
(cannot fit into a bag/must be carried by hand)

Fragile Packages 3x modifier to weight price
(must be handled with care/contains breakables)

Perishables 1.5x modifier to weight price
(not advised)

Animals 1.5x - 5x modifier to large, awkward price
(modifier ranges based on size, upkeep, and threat level of the animal)

NPCs :

Sydney Yorn

Persuasion 60
Politics 55
Intelligence 45

The younger of the co-owners of the FHT, Sydney is a silver tongued, wily woman. Once she decides she wants something, she sets out to get it, making sure to locate and contract the most lucrative deal she can. Her talent for finding clients is only eclipsed by her talent for keeping them. While the FHT provides persevering performance, as advertised, even those jobs that are botched rarely result in a loss of clientele – rumor has it Sydney makes it her business to know about everyone else’s business and use that to keep them coming back to her. In person, she is passingly pleasant but has a habit of only listening when she feels it's relevant – which if she’s not speaking and no one is offering her anything, most everything else falls under the “irrelevant” category. She is usually in charge of hiring and firing, when it comes to the FHT’s employees, and she remains on good terms with those who do their jobs well and often personally congratulates those who are able to successfully deliver letters undestroyed. She is regarded with some caution, but unless one crosses her, she is usually polite enough – most don’t take any issue with her.

Sibyl Carus

Negotiation 60
Mathematics 54
Organization 50
Painting 39

The elder of the co-owners of the FHT, Sibyl is a level-headed, logical being grounded in her own, specialized form of order. It is thanks to Sibyl’s meticulous aesthetic that the letters are arranged so uniquely in their cabinet, that the boxes and trinkets in the front office are neatly thrown into their seemingly chaotic state, and the filing system that – to anyone else seems just utter nonsense – is so exactly organized. She is in charge of managing the business as a whole, determining who gets what pay, what needs to be fixed, who needs to be paid to fix it, supplies, uniforms, and just about anything to do with money and negotiating prices into the range she finds acceptable and reasonable. It is uncommon for Sibyl to speak much with her employees, but she is generally well liked, as she is the reason they get their pay at the end of the day.

Rafferty Ilam

Leadership 58
Organization 45
Socialization 5

Rafferty is the closest thing the FHT has to a general manager. Though just a courier in title, even Sibyl recognizes his place as their leader, and pays him accordingly – though this is between the two of them and not common knowledge. Well-meaning but often shoving his foot into his mouth no matter the subject, Rafferty is at his best in the temporary storage room, determining which couriers are best suited for which addresses and passing them out the service window with a bustling efficiency. When things are slower, Rafferty does his best to build relationships with his fellow cohort, and most are patient with his blunders, as he has a way of making clear his honest intentions in spite of unintended entendre or offensive implication. Easily flustered, he does tend to get a bit defensive if he's picked on too much, but he is still well liked among the couriers, when they don’t have to speak with him for an extended period of him. Sydney finds him to be a bit of an idiot, though only when her patience wears thin does she tend to snap at him.

Gremorri

Calligraphy 43
Drawing 41
Singing 5

A parrot kelvic with a voice like shattering pottery, Germorri is a light hearted, bright eyed individual with a perfectionist streak when it comes to her art. Usually found behind the counter of the front office, hunched over packages and forms, carefully notating whatever information she’s been asked to write down, she often sings to herself. Good natured as she is, she takes no offense at being asked – or told – to stop, but rarely does she ever do anything she doesn’t want to (with the exception of Sydney’s foreboding glares when she catches the kelvic warbling in her off-tune alto). When she does do deliveries, it is only as a parrot and most often letters. She holds the record for the highest number of successfully delivered letters, though no one is really quite sure how, as she is not the only courier with wings. She is popular among the younger couriers, but those who have been there long enough for her singing to grate on them find her only pleasant when she isn’t trying to main their ears, which is less often than one might first expect.

Persus Wylirea

Climbing 47
Acrobatics 35
Endurance 34

Persus holds the records for both the highest number of successfully delivered packages and of destroyed, lost, or otherwise decimated of letters. The other couriers often joke that Persus made a deal with Ionu, that the city would let him pass with his packages, but the price would be his letters. While most laugh, Persus always have a mischievous twinkle in eyes and sealed lips when such subjects arise, causing some to seriously wonder if such an arrangement is not the case. Only ever taking letters that have duplicates, he is a kind but driven man who is fully committed to his job, treating it more as a lifestyle than a profession. Rarely ever in one place, he is never without his trusty rucksack and at least one or two packages to be delivered, even when he isn’t technically supposed to be working. He gets along relatively well with people, but as he is more focused on his deliveries, he has a reputation for being a bit standoffish and is not prone to idle chatter.

"The Baby" - the unnamed mascot of the couriers, The Baby manages to travel around the FHT several times throughout the course of a season, sometimes poking its sobbing head out of crates, other times cleverly concealed in parcels in the temporary storage room. No one is quite sure when it was returned, nor to whom it was mean to be delivered, but most, if not all, of couriers tend to find their first words being some fashion of "Hello." to The Baby and "Goodbye." at the end of the day.
Note: The Baby is not a pycon.

Code: Select all

[style=margin:auto;width:680px;background-color:black;padding:20px;border:1px white solid;color:#dddddd;text-align:justify][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/t1t4RH7.png[/img]


[style2=font-size:300%]From Here to There[/style2]
[style2=font-size:120%]And Everywhere in Between[/style2][/center]

A courier service catering primarily to the smaller, privately owned businesses of Alvadas, From Here to There (more commonly known as the "FHT") is a recipient payer based company that prides itself on its perseverance over punctuality. Though originally created to aid those businesses who wished to deliver their goods but did not have the funds to hire a personal courier, the FHT has since grown into a bustling epicenter of letters, packages big and small, and the occasional animal or two. Much easier to find with a parcel in need of being delivered, the FHT tends to move quite often, seemingly picking up those who have business with it and avoiding those who do not.

As trying to navigate through the city’s streets can be a trial at best and utterly impossible at worst, the FHT has a tried and true slogan with which it advertises itself: “Your parcel [i]will[/i] get there. Eventually.” Many more packages delivered than lost, the FHT has a reputation of being very reliable, though this is only when it comes to packages. Letters are a different story, and if one is sending a letter though the FHT, it is best to send it in triplicate. Or more.

When it comes to the couriers, the FHT can almost always be found through three generally themed paths (though it is possible to arrive unscathed on occasion): the mudtrails, the slime pit, and the rickety bridge. They are very much as they sound, and though the specific details of the illusions are rarely the same day to day, the sorry state of bedraggled employees arriving at work is an ever present constant. The general sentiment is that the FHT wants only those willing to brave the many pitfalls of the city’s streets to be entrusted with the packages it holds. Whether this is true or not, the owners of the FHT conveniently provide a small bathhouse where their employees can get cleaned up, going so far as to provide soaps, towels, and  loan out uniforms, so long as they are returned washed and cleaned.

The FHT consists of a main building that stands about a story and a half high of sturdy, multicolored brick and mortar, a second, smaller add-on of respectable wood snuggly situated next to the main building’s eastern side, and a little hutch at the front. Two large, cloudy windows sit on either side of a sturdy wooden door, above which hangs the FHT’s logo off of an intricately sculpted metal bird’s leg. It is an inviting, busy looking place, where more often than not the door is propped open to easily allow the various couriers and customers darting in and out like a stream of ants a clear path of entry and exit.

The [b]main building[/b] is divided into three rooms: the front office, the temporary storage room, and the back offices. While the front office consists of about half the building’s space, a thin hallway runs straight back, allowing for a single door on the left and two on the right, leading to the temporary story room and the owners’ back offices respectively.

The [b]front office[/b] is split neatly into a quarter and three by a long, wooden counter, not unlike what one might find in a tavern. Where the hall intersects with the counter, the wood stops, allowing passage into the back room by way of lifting a section of the table up and over. Usually, that part of the counter is down, but when someone needs to make their way to the back offices or temporary storage room, papers and boxes are quickly shuffled around to make enough room to operate the simple hinge.

While the counter itself is always filled with a mess of papers, pamphlets, and packages of all shapes and sizes, the space seems even more cramped than it really is due to the myriad of crates, boxes, and other parcel types that line the walls in uneven, sometimes precarious stacks. They are the collection of packages for which no payment was received and subsequently brought back. Their contents are a plethora of curiosities, though they are mostly unperishable – those packages that are edible are usually consumed shortly after they are placed among the chaotic clutter. The most favored of these relics is porcelain figurine of a crying baby, which – whether through the facility of the FHT’s employees or by more mysterious devices – tends to end up in different places day to day; occasionally the little thing is found inside a package and is always promptly brought back, those who return it ranging from tickled to disgruntled.

The front office’s counter is usually manned by one or two people, depending on who feels like doing what, and they are responsible for peering through the wide, glassless window into the temporary storage room and passing along the parcels deemed most important to deliver to the couriers. They are also in charge of logging all incoming packages and are the faces one primarily deals with when depositing a package or letter to be delivered.

The [b]temporary storage room[/b], down the hall and to the left, is the second largest room in the building. It is stacked high with metal shelves that are stuck close enough together that the whole thing is only really navigable by one person a time, lest a second trap the first. Used to store those parcels that have yet to be delivered – and to separate them from those which have been returned – the room’s contents vary season to season, sometimes bursting and other times not even half full. There are several narrow windows along the top of the walls to allow light to filter in, though it is never much brighter than dim. Fire is absolutely prohibited within the room, and so those who man it are typically accustomed to squinting in the murk, often popping their heads out of the service window or into the hall to double check a label or address.

The [b]letters' cabinet[/b] sits at the very end of the hall, stuffed with letters in some sort of organizational chaos that no one really understands. Every courier is requested to take at least five of the ever-present things with them where ever they go in hopes that it might arrive, but some think them cursed, as the FHT was never originally intended to send out letters. The success rate of locating a recipient for a letter that does not also have a package is about forty percent, and of that about thirty-five percent of the time it is delivered in tact without any tears, burns, blotches, or eradications.

The [b]back offices[/b] are around the same size and are where Sydney and Sibyl can usually be found during regular business hours. Sydney’s office is the farthest back, on the right of the hall, and is decorated with a collection of eclectic paintings, rich velvet drapery, and an expensive looking mahogany desk with a complementing, velvet upholstered chair. There are two less exquisite options where those who visit her might sit, and the whole room smells vaguely of tulips and orange rinds.  Sibyl’s office is a stark, minimalistic space. She has a simple, wooden desk, three simple wooden chairs, and plain white drapes to cover her window. The walls, however, are always changing at the whim of her paintbrush: sometimes stripes of blue and pink, other times a splattering of every color imaginable. She takes great care to never get paint on any of her furniture.

Higher profile clientele, potential hires, and the occasional “old friend” are the only people who have any business in the back offices, aside from those who own them. It was not rare to for one or both of the owners to be entertaining a Speaker or a member of one of the Old Families, but it is uncommon enough that those couriers who happen to be around and notice are prone to friendly, quiet speculation as to what the nature of the visit might be. Most of the prevailing theories are fairly risqué, though some of the couriers insist they’ve been asked personally by the owners to deliver certain packages to places they didn’t even know existed within the city, but can no longer find – they are generally met with polite nods and dismissive laughter, after all, most of them spend more time trying to navigate the city than anyone else, how could there possibly be anywhere they hadn’t been before?

The [b]bathhouse[/b] isn’t quite as grand as its moniker. Around the size of respectable parlor, the bathhouse is a single room, broken up by five and a half foot high wooden dividers to provide a small modicum of privacy. It houses three tubs, a wooden dresser wherein the uniforms are stored, a medium sized mirror that has a small spider web of cracks in its lower left corner, and a stove against the back wall for heating water. The dividers are placed on three sides of each tub – the wall consisting of the fourth – and are easily moved to allow one to pass through. Outside is a water pump and a small hutch which stores firewood for the stove.

It is not uncommon a sight to see half-dressed men and women traipsing about the FHT, some wearing vengeful glares as they search for their pilfered small clothes while others decide to simply go without and get their assignments before the others. On very rare occasions, the bathhouse wanders away from the FHT proper with couriers still in it, causing chaos for a good day or two before it returns.

[style2=margin:auto;width:610px;padding:10px;border:1px white solid]Player’s Note:
The uniform provided by the FHT consists of a neat, white linen collared shirt, a thin purple neck tie (to be tied into a stringy bow under the collar), a three quarter length, thick linen pair of trousers (ranging in color from a natural beige to a dark black), and a pair of cotton socks. Shoes are not provided. The expectation is that all borrowed clothing should be returned, clean, by the end of the season, or half of the employee’s wages will be docked. If the clothes are destroyed while on the job, the FHT employs an honor system and simply requests that the destruction be documented with the front office when possible before the end of the season.

Regarding the trinkets and relics of the returned packages: all items are property of the FHT. Any items found may be bought if Sibyl or Sydney can be convinced, however it should be noted that an expression in interest in any object will cause Sydney to want to keep it – whether out of spite, greed, or something else, is anyone’s guess.

[center]Prices[/center]
Payment is expected and required [i]upon delivery[/i] of the package. It is free to drop them off and send them away, but a person who does not pay cannot receive their package. Prices range depending upon weight, size, and overall ungainliness for packages, and a fixed rate for letters (it is suggested to send letters in triplicate or more, there is no increased price for multiples of the same letter). Packages marked with the red "urgent" stamp are twice the cost.

(I'm not sure about prices, so if you feel they should be changed, that's perfect!)

Letters (any size) - 5 CM

Small Package - 1 SM
(under five pounds and easily able to fit into a bag)

Medium Package - 5 SM  - 1 GM
(over five pounds, under fifteen pounds, able to fit into a bag)

Large Packages - 1 GM+
(over fifteen pounds and unable to fit into a bag)

Awkward Packages 1.5x modifier to weight price
(cannot fit into a bag/must be carried by hand)

Fragile Packages 3x modifier to weight price
(must be handled with care/contains breakables)

Perishables 1.5x modifier to weight price
(not advised)

Animals 1.5x - 5x modifier to large, awkward price
(modifier ranges based on size, upkeep, and threat level of the animal)[/style2]

[spoiler=NPCs][img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/GchB7eP.png[/img2] [u]Sydney Yorn[/u]

Persuasion 60
Politics 55
Intelligence 45

The younger of the co-owners of the FHT, Sydney is a silver tongued, wily woman. Once she decides she wants something, she sets out to get it, making sure to locate and contract the most lucrative deal she can. Her talent for finding clients is only eclipsed by her talent for keeping them. While the FHT provides persevering performance, as advertised, even those jobs that are botched rarely result in a loss of clientele – rumor has it Sydney makes it her business to know about everyone else’s business and use that to keep them coming back to her. In person, she is passingly pleasant but has a habit of only listening when she feels it's relevant – which if she’s not speaking and no one is offering her anything, most everything else falls under the “irrelevant” category. She is usually in charge of hiring and firing, when it comes to the FHT’s employees, and she remains on good terms with those who do their jobs well and often personally congratulates those who are able to successfully deliver letters undestroyed. She is regarded with some caution, but unless one crosses her, she is usually polite enough – most don’t take any issue with her.

[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/Y8inpG7.png[/img2] [u]Sibyl Carus[/u]

Negotiation 60
Mathematics 54
Organization 50
Painting 39

The elder of the co-owners of the FHT, Sibyl is a level-headed, logical being grounded in her own, specialized form of order. It is thanks to Sibyl’s meticulous aesthetic that the letters are arranged so uniquely in their cabinet, that the boxes and trinkets in the front office are neatly thrown into their seemingly chaotic state, and the filing system that – to anyone else seems just utter nonsense – is so exactly organized. She is in charge of managing the business as a whole, determining who gets what pay, what needs to be fixed, who needs to be paid to fix it, supplies, uniforms, and just about anything to do with money and negotiating prices into the range she finds acceptable and reasonable. It is uncommon for Sibyl to speak much with her employees, but she is generally well liked, as she is the reason they get their pay at the end of the day.

[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/9l6pZGi.png[/img2] [u]Rafferty Ilam[/u]

Leadership 58
Organization 45
Socialization 5

Rafferty is the closest thing the FHT has to a general manager. Though just a courier in title, even Sibyl recognizes his place as their leader, and pays him accordingly – though this is between the two of them and not common knowledge. Well-meaning but often shoving his foot into his mouth no matter the subject, Rafferty is at his best in the temporary storage room, determining which couriers are best suited for which addresses and passing them out the service window with a bustling efficiency. When things are slower, Rafferty does his best to build relationships with his fellow cohort, and most are patient with his blunders, as he has a way of making clear his honest intentions in spite of unintended entendre or offensive implication. Easily flustered, he does tend to get a bit defensive if he's picked on too much, but he is still well liked among the couriers, when they don’t have to speak with him for an extended period of him. Sydney finds him to be a bit of an idiot, though only when her patience wears thin does she tend to snap at him.

[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/bOiZQPB.png[/img2] [u]Gremorri[/u]

Calligraphy 43
Drawing 41
Singing 5

A parrot kelvic with a voice like shattering pottery, Germorri is a light hearted, bright eyed individual with a perfectionist streak when it comes to her art. Usually found behind the counter of the front office, hunched over packages and forms, carefully notating whatever information she’s been asked to write down, she often sings to herself. Good natured as she is, she takes no offense at being asked – or told – to stop, but rarely does she ever do anything she doesn’t want to (with the exception of Sydney’s foreboding glares when she catches the kelvic warbling in her off-tune alto). When she does do deliveries, it is only as a parrot and most often letters. She holds the record for the highest number of successfully delivered letters, though no one is really quite sure how, as she is not the only courier with wings. She is popular among the younger couriers, but those who have been there long enough for her singing to grate on them find her only pleasant when she isn’t trying to main their ears, which is less often than one might first expect.

[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/OkGZrmK.png[/img2] [u]Persus Wylirea[/u]

Climbing 47
Acrobatics 35
Endurance 34

Persus holds the records for both the highest number of successfully delivered packages and of destroyed, lost, or otherwise decimated of letters. The other couriers often joke that Persus made a deal with Ionu, that the city would let him pass with his packages, but the price would be his letters. While most laugh, Persus always have a mischievous twinkle in eyes and sealed lips when such subjects arise, causing some to seriously wonder if such an arrangement is not the case. Only ever taking letters that have duplicates, he is a kind but driven man who is fully committed to his job, treating it more as a lifestyle than a profession. Rarely ever in one place, he is never without his trusty rucksack and at least one or two packages to be delivered, even when he isn’t technically supposed to be working. He gets along relatively well with people, but as he is more focused on his deliveries, he has a reputation for being a bit standoffish and is not prone to idle chatter.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/LIiAaNJ.png[/img][/center]
"The Baby" - the unnamed mascot of the couriers, The Baby manages to travel around the FHT several times throughout the course of a season, sometimes poking its sobbing head out of crates, other times cleverly concealed in parcels in the temporary storage room. No one is quite sure when it was returned, nor to whom it was mean to be delivered, but most, if not all, of couriers tend to find their first words being some fashion of "Hello." to The Baby and "Goodbye." at the end of the day.
Note: The Baby is not a pycon.[/spoiler][/style]

[Gomer Caitiff]

Hello! I have a couple NPCs I'd like to submit for the city! :)


Silke Silskind

Acting 52
Sewing 41
Spiritism 35
Subterfuge 30

The daughter of a wealthy tailor's legacy married into an established family of well respected thespians, Silke is expected not only to look perfect but to act so as well. Her family's name better known than her own, she does not aspire to be the successor to her mother's side of the family's history nor her father's but does enjoy the money that both of her parents' professions have made available to her. Far more interested in the occult, she is intoxicated by the power of spiritism, exerting her will over the sprits of the restless dead allows her a freedom she never thought she'd find. She keeps this a secret, appearing for all the world a sweet, bubbly young heiress with a streak of whimsy. In actuality, she harbors a dark jealousy of the Cravens, wanting the power that they have over the undead but finding their dedication to family to be distasteful. She is often seem coming and going from the Craven Manor, particularly by Paris - who never seems very excited about her visits.

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[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/dPAbWd3.png[/img2][u]Silke Silskind[/u]

Acting 52
Sewing 41
Spiritism 35
Subterfuge 30

The daughter of a wealthy tailor's legacy married into an established family of well respected thespians, Silke is expected not only to look perfect but to act so as well. Her family's name better known than her own, she does not aspire to be the successor to her mother's side of the family's history nor her father's but does enjoy the money that both of her parents' professions have made available to her. Far more interested in the occult, she is intoxicated by the power of spiritism, exerting her will over the sprits of the restless dead allows her a freedom she never thought she'd find. She keeps this a secret, appearing for all the world a sweet, bubbly young heiress with a streak of whimsy. In actuality, she harbors a dark jealousy of the Cravens, wanting the power that they have over the undead but finding their dedication to family to be distasteful. She is often seem coming and going from the Craven Manor, particularly by Paris - who never seems very excited about her visits.

Bishop Langley

Investigation 45
History 40
Bookbinding 37
Cryptography 35

A town gossip on the surface and an avid hunter of hidden enigmas beneath, Bishop is the third son of a bookbinder and a dancer turned instructor. He works with his father, helping mostly to mend bindings and can often be found at the Sunken Conundrum. In his free time, he roams the streets of the city, searching for interesting rumors and bits of information. Not one to balk in the face of mystery, he jumps at the chance to learn just a little bit more about his city and the deity that watches over it. Friendly and open, little bothers him, though he doesn't take kindly to the mistreatment of women and will step in regardless of the odds to aid them should he feel they require assistance in any way. He doesn't mind talking about himself and loves to share the rumors and gossip he's come across with anyone who has the time to listen, though he tends not to reveal his fascination with hidden messages and conspiracy theories right off the bat.

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[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/Qgwa0FL.png[/img2][u]Bishop Langley[/u]

Investigation 45
History 40
Bookbinding 37
Cryptography 35

A town gossip on the surface and an avid hunter of hidden enigmas beneath, Bishop is the third son of a bookbinder and a dancer turned instructor. He works with his father, helping mostly to mend bindings and can often be found at the Sunken Conundrum. In his free time, he roams the streets of the city, searching for interesting rumors and bits of information. Not one to balk in the face of mystery, he jumps at the chance to learn just a little bit more about his city and the deity that watches over it. Friendly and open, little bothers him, though he doesn't take kindly to the mistreatment of women and will step in regardless of the odds to aid them should he feel they require assistance in any way. He doesn't mind talking about himself and loves to share the rumors and gossip he's come across with anyone who has the time to listen, though he tends not to reveal his fascination with hidden messages and conspiracy theories right off the bat.

Piers

Possession 48
Seduction 45
Materialisation 30
Projection 15

An erotically inclined spirit, Piers spent some time in ghostly servitude to Everard. No longer called upon by the volatile Craven for reasons known only to him and the twins, he spends much of his time around brothels, occasionally creeping into bedrooms where he might slip into the skin of distracted lovers. Known primarily as a nuisance to those whom he has haunted, he remains tethered to world in search of an answer from the lips of man long since passed. Lewd and sexually frustrated by his lack of ability to experience sensation, Piers has a loud, exhibitionist sort of personality. While he has forgotten much about his past, he clearly remembers the circumstances of his death and due to that, becomes furious when he feels he is being coerced into something against his will or observes it in others. To the mistresses and gentleman escorts of the night, he is somewhat of a good luck charm, as he has stepped in - quite literally in most cases - several times when patrons have chosen to take unsolicited liberties. Distrustful of the Craven name, he still seeks out unaffiliated spiritists in the hope they might discover what happened to his ex-lover, though he has somewhat accepted the fact that he may not pass on for some time yet.

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[img2=left]https://i.imgur.com/iNSLVY5.png[/img2][u]Piers[/u]

Possession 48
Seduction 45
Materialisation 30
Projection 15

An erotically inclined spirit, Piers spent some time in ghostly servitude to Everard. No longer called upon by the volatile Craven for reasons known only to him and the twins, he spends much of his time around brothels, occasionally creeping into bedrooms where he might slip into the skin of distracted lovers. Known primarily as a nuisance to those whom he has haunted, he remains tethered to world in search of an answer from the lips of man long since passed. Lewd and sexually frustrated by his lack of ability to experience sensation, Piers has a loud, exhibitionist sort of personality. While he has forgotten much about his past, he clearly remembers the circumstances of his death and due to that, becomes furious when he feels he is being coerced into something against his will or observes it in others. To the mistresses and gentlemen escorts of the night, he is somewhat of a good luck charm, as he has stepped in - quite literally in most cases - several times when patrons have chosen to take unsolicited liberties. Distrustful of the Craven name, he still seeks out unaffiliated spiritists in the hope they might discover what happened to his ex-lover, though he has somewhat accepted the fact that he may not pass on for some time yet.