<span style="font-size: 12px"><div style="text-align: center"><b>THE BLACK BARON PRESENTS</b>: <br/>
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<i>“Tamaska and the Court of Deceptions”</i>​</div></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i>"A closed ERP"<br/>
Any thoughts or constructive criticism on writing? Please don't hesitate to PM me with your impressions.</i>​</div><br/><br/><i><div style="text-align: center">A joint preface leading up to this RP can be found at the link here:<br/>
<a class="internalLink" href="http://forums.darknestfantasy.com/showthread.php?560-The-Underbelly-%28Open-ERP-WoW-setting%29"><br/>
The Underbelly (Open ERP, WoW setting)</a> - Page 20 - 28​</div></i><br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">---​</div><br/><span style="color: Sienna"><i><div style="text-align: center">“Following the dramatic – and deliciously lewd – capture of innocent troll Priestess Tamaska in the pits of Dalarans’ “Underbelly”, Baron Carl Diethelm Van Schwartzhand the Second leaves the wizard city onboard his impossibly luxurious airship “The Catharsis”.<br/>
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Her two jailors responsible for fishing her in, the illusive demoness of deception Bahiyya and the iron-fisted brutish imp Emberspike, have promised her quite a colorful life in the barely optional employ of this dark man. So far, Tamaska has pleased the two perverted underlings – but what devious plans does the Baron have in store for her?<br/>
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Our trollish victim finds herself slowly awakening in strange surroundings, forced into a strange role, with a strange future…<br/>
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..but a very familiar, hungry stomach.”​</div></i></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">____​</div><br/>Initially, it looked as if she was looking through a fish bowl. The deep velvet red colour was muddier than velvet red as a first impression.<br/><br/>Then she learned that she at least still owned a pair of ears as a deep, barely noticeable “thump-thump-thump” sound bounced around in her skull. For a moment, a stray thought suggested she had a headache, but pain receptors chastised the thought saying it came from the –stomach-, not the head.<br/><br/>The pain receptors summarily called the stray thought dim-witted.<br/><br/>Light pierced through the muddy velvet-red-that-felt-more-muddy-red when she moved her head. A warm, welcoming glow, really: Like candlelight lit a warm summer evening back in her parents’ troll-hut.<br/><br/>The velvet-red-that-wasn’t-really-red-but-muddy-brown decided that it in fact should become red as her eyes slowly regained sharpness.<br/><br/>She was looking at a painted deep red loft. Immaculately painted – it looked more expensive than the lit lamp hanging from the far mahogany wall, and that lamp looked more expensive than most jewellery she’d ever seen.<br/><br/>When the pain receptors had to share sensational input with her skin (unwillingly, of course), she began noticing just how soft whatever she was lying on felt. If you could sleep on clouds then… well, obviously, you couldn’t since if you could, someone would have thought about making cloud beds by now. I mean, the only deterrent is the whole “made-of-moist-falling-to-your-death” deal; but if you could, this must have been what it felt like. Feathery light, pillowy, oozingly comfortable. It was as if the sheets and pillow tried to gently swallow her and never let her be awake again. And the bed was warm. Delicate.<br/><br/>Then pain decided enough was enough and spoiled the good vibrations with a gnawing hunger returning in full force.<br/><br/>This, coupled with that droning “Thump-thump-thump” sound mulling about as a bass, forced her brain to start up: She felt energy return to her limbs and her brain slowly beginning its own conscious processing.<br/><br/>Tamaska was awake.<br/><br/>Thankfully, because nobody could survive on all sleep and no food. Sure, some tried and some still try occasionally, but in the end it always turns out bad for them.<br/><br/>The trolless was the sole inhabitant in a room that ran quite consistent with the suggested theme of lavish, stupendously overdone luxury. The bed alone seemed fit for dukes and countesses – four of her could easily snuggle without getting too intimate.<br/><br/>Along the wall to her right, ornamental furniture like drawers and cupboards were lined, crowned with fresh flowers and lit candles. The far back wall was dominated by one large, equally excessively decorated, gold framed mirror. Besides the mirror stood a sturdy black stove providing a comfortable heat.<br/><br/>Along all walls, those typical, badly proportioned but typically over-done paintings of respectable nudes in different obscure poses hung from a time long gone by. Every single painting featured a woman or a man holding a piece of fruit. None of the models look at all pleased with their time-frozen predicament. In themselves tasteless, but in the context, fitting.<br/><br/>Now, if ignoring the left wall, everything would feel enticingly familiar to a human: We had the mahogany walls, deep red ceiling, island-wide bed and enough ornamentation to put the entire Stormwind Keep to shame.<br/>But the left wall – that just jarred the whole picture. Who in their right minds – and with proper monetary income not to mention common sanity – would construct solid metal bars in space of a perfectly usable wall or door for that matter?<br/><br/>Yes, Tamaska was imprisoned – imprisoned in a fashion that would cause uproar between “proper cell mates”: no dusty skeletons in the corners, no spider web obscuring the few sunbeams traversing through a sole, barred window, no damp, dripping, wet cobblestone screaming death and decay at you! What sort of “prison” was this?<br/><br/>Well, to the room’s defence, it did have a window that followed the Kings Decree on Respectable Dimensions for a Standard Prison Window.<br/><br/>But despite proper dimensions, that window fell short of expectations: It was a small colourful Rosetta-styled window with three colours dominating: Orange, red and yellow. Very dainty and not at all prison-like.<br/><br/>Had the warden of the Stormwind Stockades known that such a prison cell existed, his sadistic nature would cause him to weep in distress.<br/><br/>The left “wall” of metal bars gave a clear view of the wooden corridor running alongside her room – the design was definitely inspired to showcase the occupant, a not entirely promising prospect now that her brain was force-feeding her with the memory of how exactly she got here and not back home in the first place.<br/><br/>Right around mid ways along the bars, a small round collapsible table had been erected on her side: A plate with food crowned the table – “OH by the spirits, FOOD!” her stomach cried out – compromised of delicious fruit, wholesome bread, a bowl of nuts, a litre of weak honey-mead and two strips of delicious deer meat. An almost mockingly pink folded letter was slid in between plate and table.<br/><br/>When she eventually got up, Tamaska could see in the mirror that she was clad in very skimpy tanned leather shorts of a burnt orange colour, their edges white and fluffy. Her ample bosom was hugged by a single-buttoned tanned leather-vest with the same fluffy character at its hems – it was short enough to leave her stomach exposed and skimpy enough to display a deep cleavage; the button holding the vest seemed under a massive strain to keep things together. Also, large parts of the vests back had been cut away, displaying her back to any potential – and lucky – onlooker.<br/><br/>Her previous teal dreadlocks were undone, her hair perfectly smoothed and cut into a bob cut, reaching down to where the neck joined the chest. The right side of her hair was arranged so it fell further towards her eyes than the left.<br/><br/>A deep, onyx black metal hair brooch embedded with small, glittering rubies had home on her left side, catching a lot of attention when contrasting against her lighter hair colour.<br/><br/>Then, there was that leather collar around her neck:  Same colour as the brooch, same style of rubies but in leather: the golden hoop embedded into its form glinted maliciously at her, reminding of its purpose.<br/><br/>However, all things compared, one could certainly wake up under worse circumstances even without being imprisoned.<br/><div style="text-align: center"><br/>
The dull, distant “Thump-thump-thump” sound droned mercilessly onwards…. ​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>