Goon

can’t believe I lost..

1 hour ago, _Sug said:

↬ Discord: Sug#4795

↬ Skin Name(s): Green Aristocrat

↬ Bid(s): 16

Discord: motherchild

Skin Name: Green Aristocrat

Bid: $17 (+ pixels if i win)

8 minutes ago, megavolter said:

Naked in the Heartlands, returning paper in hand from the corpse of Vienne, they took a pinch.

 

However, something was unfamiliar in the wording...

 

'Falcone'-  Dante Falcone, the first employement and the jumpstart to this hungery state of mind and being.

 

"They're alive...."

 

Rattle....rattle...rattle...

 

 

[!] While this document and its exact contents should not be public knowledge, the implication of its contents could be surmised by the general public. Those mentioned can know of its existence, though are encouraged dearly to learn more through roleplay.

 

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF COSIMO ANTONY FALCONE

 

DECLARATION

 

I,   COSIMO A. FALCONE  , Minister and Proprietor of the Commonality of Florenza, being of right mind, and uninfluenced by coercive or solicitous party, do hereby set in solidity the inheritance of all my assets and estates for the next-of-kin, as well as the proceedings of my last wills. I hereby appoint and entrust    SILVESTRO DE NICOLA, ESQ.  , to serve as the official executor that shall oversee the distribution of all my stated properties and the requested proceedings.

 

FUNERARY PREPARATIONS

 

Following my inevitable death, assuming the corpse is available and is not maimed horrifically, I request that my body be dressed by the Prioress KHIENA of UNDERTAKING & FUNERARY SERVICES in the Commonality of Florenza. 

 

I request that the preparer of my corpse preserve it in the state it is found, naturally and untampered, immured as is, so that my corpse be granted the opportunity to decay of its own course. Once dressed, I request to be immured in the Halls of Resting beneath the Cemetery of Remembrance in the Commonality of Florenza, within the coffin of my primary beneficiary’s choice. 

 

Any funerary service proceedings that should occur are requested to be held in the Abbey of St. Goffredo within the Commonality of Florenza, with accommodations made for an open-casket viewing, assuming the corpse is in appropriate condition.

 

PARTING ACCORDANCE

 

THE UNCLAIM OF KIN

To my eldest three sons, VITTORIO CARMINE FALCONE, DANTE ALDO FALCONE, and DIMA AMADEO LESANOV, formerly known as DIMA AMADEO OSTROVICH, I hereby denounce you as members of FALCONE, and as recipient of any claim that may entail. Though your blood may prove lineage, you are not recognized as such.

 

Each of you has disappointed yourselves and my family individually and immeasurably, and therefore have no right, by law, to ever claim such again. Should you remain without a family name, you are at least bestowed the obligatory courtesy of taking the estranged familial name of L'UCCISO.

 

THE CLAIM OF OTHERS

To the recipients of the Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon, such a gift shall recognize you as kin to the bloodborne FALCONE, and will go as far to enlist you into the line of succession, should all other bloodborne and recognized FALCONES falter their claims.

 

Each of you has provided for and protected my family individually and immeasurably, and therefore hold a weaker, yet true, claim, by law, to the assets of my estate. Should you be without a family name, you are at least bestowed the familial cadet name of IL BRANCO.” 

 

ASSET DISTRIBUTION

 

After the payment of all my just debts and funeral expenses, I give, devise and bequeath my Estate as follows:

 

To the first of my beneficiaries, CARLO “CHARLES” LEONE, family-friend and co-owner of our manufacturing company, I leave to you all of my owned shares and claims to the jointly owned establishment, C&C CONSTRUCTION CO. I, also, leave to you a Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon. As well, I leave to you a final letter in parting.

 

To the second of my beneficiaries, LEOPOLD RENAULT ROCHEFORT, family-friend and understudy, I leave to you all of my alchemical study notes, contingent upon you seeking and maintaining employment at my former manufacturing company, C&C CONSTRUCTION CO., to work alongside CARLO “CHARLES” LEONE within a Saint’s Month of my passing. I, also, leave a Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon. As well, I leave you a final letter in parting.

 

To the third of my beneficiaries, D’ARTAGNAN D’AMATO-PALMER, closely related by cousinship, I leave to you ownership of all the tobacco establishments belonging to VINO E SIGARI DI FALCONE, granting you co-ownership alongside my eldest grandson, GIULIANO VITELLI FALCONE. Should you fail to oversee these duties reasonably, they shall default to GIULIANO VITELLI FALCONE as to preserve the business I have built. I leave to you Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon, as well, I leave to you a final letter in parting.

 

To the fourth of my beneficiaries, GIULIANO VITELLI FALCONE, my eldest grandson, I leave to you ownership of all the winery establishments belonging to VINO E SIGARI DI FALCONE, granting you co-ownership alongside my eldest cousin, D’ARTAGNAN D’AMATO-PALMER. Should you fail to oversee these duties reasonably, they shall default to D’ARTAGNAN D’AMATO-PALMER as to preserve the business I have built. As well, I leave to you an inheritance in the amount of two-hundred fifty minaes.

 

To the fifth of my beneficiaries, ISA GIOVANNI FALCONE, I leave to you ownership of all the establishments, equestrians, and land grants of RANCHE FALCONE. As well, I leave to you an inheritance in the amount of two-hundred fifty minaes.

 

To the sixth of my beneficiaries, DRUDO PASQUINA FALCONE, my eldest nephew by VITTORIO I’s lineage, I leave to you ownership of the seaworthiest vessel in my possession, Materno Reale. As well, I leave to you an inheritance in the amount of a hundred minaes.

 

To the seventh of my beneficiaries, ISABEL AMARANTA FALCONE-WICK, my eldest niece by LUDOVICA’s lineage, I leave to you my sharpest blade from my arsenal, Artigilo. As well, I leave you an inheritance in the amount of a hundred minaes.

 

To the eighth of my beneficiaries, MISCHA FLORENTINA LESANOV-FALCONE, my youngest daughter, I leave to you ownership of my manor and the land it inhabits, contingent that you will never deny your mother, MARGOSHA INESSA LESANOV-FALCONE, residence in the homestead, if she chose. I leave to you my collection of tomes and books. I leave to you an inheritance in the amount of two-hundred fifty minaes. As well, I leave to you a final letter in parting.

 

To the ninth of my beneficiaries, GRACIA VALENTINA MEADOW FALCONE, my firstborn daughter and primary next-of-kin, I leave to you the entirety of Florenza and her surrounding areas, declaring you officially the inheritor of the title Proprietor, as well as bestowing unto you the duties of the Ministries of Coin. I leave to you ownership of the family collection of artworks, portraits, paintings and busts.  I leave to you an inheritance in the amount of one thousand minaes. I, also, leave a letter which is devised for your eyes only, and those eyes you choose to parte.

 

To the tenth of my beneficiaries, MARGOSHA INESSA LESANOV-FALCONE, my lawfully wedded wife, I leave to you the remainder of all my unaccounted belongings and minaes. I grant to you chief and executive ownership of FALCONE LIMITED COMPANY and all its subsidiaries, as result, entitling you to all residual earnings for the remainder of your days. Should any of the subsidiaries show unreasonable or lacking authority over their bestowed responsibility, you reserve the right to commandeer the companies in order to maintain best interests. I leave to you a Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon, as well, a letter which is devised for your eyes only, and those eyes you choose to parte.

 

To the eleventh of my beneficiaries, SANTIAGO HORATIO VALDEZ, family-friend and protectorate of Falcone, I leave to you the responsibility of Florenza’s continued prosperity. I hereby bestow you the titular acknowledgement, Protector of Florenza, meaning that you are entrusted with the Commonality’s best interests. At all costs, Florenza must see the end of days. I leave to you a Broach of the Two-Headed Falcon. As well, I leave to you a letter which is devised for your eyes only, and those eyes you choose to parte.

 

DICTATED AND SIGNED BY,

 

COSIMO ANTONY FALCONE

FORMER LORD OF HOUSE FALCONE 

FORMER MINISTER AND PROPRIETOR OF THE COMMONALITY OF FLORENZA 

 

NOTARIZED BY,

 

SILVESTRO DE NICOLA, ESQ.

EXECUTOR AND OVERSEER OF ESTATE’S DISTRIBUTION

 

WITNESSED BY,

 

SANTIAGO HORACIO VALDEZ

PROTECTOR OF FLORENZA

 

 

 

 

The chirp of doves sung out through the plains of the west. The southern sun beat just so to offer its comforting warmth, shining bright to loom the shade of the swaying oak leaves over the large fields of grape and tobacco. The scent from the crops complimented the scent of a crisp morning's air.

 

Within that field, a humble farmer, stood from his tilling to stretch his back, adjusting at the strap of his overalls. Letting out a convalescent groan as his spine cracked into realignment, the farmer spoke aloud to the open air, "Good morning, Florentine."

I was planning to do something like this without approved lore so when I do, don't think I'm copying you

 

 

IGN: Maidenful

Discord: goon#8136

Skin/Art:

 

14. Inferi Demons

 

Alicjo Verrana

"And just where does Dante stand on all of this?"

A question asked more frequently these days, but it was not as if there was any surprise.

A disappointment that guised any worry.

 

"He will return."

It did not matter how often the bickering came, he always returned.

What had changed?

 

Or perhaps he won't. 

He has been all but pushed. Straight into the arms of temptation.

Straight into the burning hand of ill-company. That woman's.

"Perhaps he won't.."

 

The thought simmered like sauce in a pan, seasoned in disbelief and denial.

But you know what the boy involved himself in.

It was only a matter of who and when, there does not need a why with them.

 

So, he is likely dead.

No, surely.

He was ill-fitted. 

"And it is not as if I did not warn him."

T H E   F A L C O N E   O P E N   R E G I S T R A T I O N S

 

---

 

 

THE FIRST RACE IN THE FORUMS

 

The First Official Race in Florenza will be OPEN REGISTRATION, meaning any participant of drinking age is eligible to compete, granted they have signed up in advance.

 

Registration begins this HOREN’S CALLING, and lasts until Race Day. 

 

Registration for racers can be done in person or by mail, and costs 20 MINA standardly, or 30 MINA for same-day registrations. If registering by mail, include your name, the name of your stead, and the company you represent. Payment must be made in full before the race begins.

 

Winner shall take more than glory and the Champion’s title; a 300 MINA reward, as well as their detailed portrait hung in the Forum Halls.

 

Spectators may expect to pay 5 MINA for entry, special accommodations available upon early request. 

 

4TH OF SUN’S SMILE, 1888

REGISTRATION ENDS AN HOUR BEFORE THE RACE

RACE BEGINS AT HIGH NOON

 

[ | | | ]

 

V I T A   F L O R E N Z A,  E S T.   1 8 8 0

 

 

---

 

alicjo is definitely the type of old man to keep ice cream sandwiches in the freezer 

 

cosimo would probably like something gay like cherry gelato

 

 

[!] Scattered about Florentine and the surrounding lands, a flier was posted and mailed around.

 

A MESSAGE FROM THE MINISTRY OF COIN

VITA FLORENZA, EST. 1880

 

The first Taxation Day approaches, have you got the mina to pay for your property?

 

Reminder that the First Period’s taxes begin due this 12th of HOREN'S CALLING.

 

All denizens should make an appearance, if possible, even if they have paid amounts in advance. 

To serve as an official declaration to the present ledgerkeepers, lest you are marked late on paid amounts.

 

If you cannot make it on this Saint’s Day, plan to visit the FIORELLA ASSEMBLY HALL at your earliest convenience within the Saint’s Week.

 

Better safe than short, it is a fineable offense to have unpaid debts.

 

Happy Taxation Day!

 

MINISTRY OF COIN

 

Serving Minister of Coin in Florenza, 

Cosimo Antony Falcone

 

 

yeah @oren if you sell the tile we live on without rp, i'm reporting you as it directly affects me and i want you not to do that

 

 

[The events described in this post are not meant to be metagamed nor are they public knowledge in any way; only to be discovered through proper roleplay.

 

SINS OF THE SON

“... same as his father, and his before that.” - ANASTASIA O’ROURKE, 1805

 

---

 

A RECOUNT OF HIS EARLY LIFE, COSIMO ANTONY FALCONE

 

7th  of  Snow  Maiden,  1805 THE IMPERIAL PROVIDENCE

 

An unsettling, unfitting silence filled the FALCONE household, that which drove a young man to a worried boredom. Sprawled lackly against a sofa with a forearm stuck against his forehead, he plan to lay watching until the flame of a hearth smoldered out to ash. And the longer he sat to stew in the silence, and the further the fire was weakened, the less he had to distract his trotting mind- leg beginning to bounce anxiously. 

 

Indiscernible from hours or minutes, they all felt the same. 

 

CLICK! The mechanisms of the door’s locks began to twist, prompting the lad to soar up from his thought-induced stupor, looking toward the source. The crack of the door allowed in these dim rays of light from the lanterns of the PROVIDENCE streets– silhouetting whomever was entering. The creak of hinges were long drawn out, only heightening the tension of expectancy. 

 

Even to an unknowing onlooker, it was glaringly apparent that he was awaiting someone.

 

But the figure only revealed to be his sister, prompting the young man to suck defeatedly against his teeth as he returned his hues unto the dwindling flames. A hand flung itself in exasperation, uttering an almost inaudible and begrudging, “Salve, Lauretta.”

“Ciao, Cosimo..” The young woman echoed in a rather solemn tone of her own, turning to secure the door behind her. Against the sounds of the mechanisms locking once more, seemingly unprompted, his sister continued her utterance, “I haven’ seen him.” 

 

“I didn’ ask.” He chided in retort, as if he wanted to sound uninterested. His swatting hand laid atop the other, resting both against his chest as feet continued to jitter. 

 

“Si. An’ you weren’t going to. I know, Cosimo, I know..” The girl dropped her keys to a clatter against the credenza, loud steps then clapping as she moved about the foyer. 

“An’ we probably won’t. You know how he is.”

 

The boy maintained his facade of uninterest, fiddling with the front tails of his shirt, offering nothing in response. 

 

Lauretta brought herself closer, leaning down to wrap her arms around him from above and behind. “Rest, Cosi. Maybe tomorrow.” A gentler utterance, offering a careful set of slaps against his olive cheek before retreating up the stairs- leaving the boy to sulk in the once-more quiet of their still home.

 

---

 

8th  of  Sun’s  Smile,  1795 THE IMPERIAL HELENA

 

SLAM– announced the entrance of two young children into a humble homestead. A young boy and his sister, no older than seven years, the both of them. What awaited them atop the island of the kitchenette was a plate of cheeses and salted crackers, lighting a true joy from the younglings.

 

“Cosimo? Lauretta?” A woman’s voice called down to the rambunctious duo.

 

“Si!” They called in tandem, scrambling to crowd around the charcuterie. 

The boy piped up further, “Uh, mama?”

 

“A second, Cosimo.” Their mother returned from afar.

 

Though he did not grant her that second, following up, “Can we have’a this cheese?”

 

But there was no response. His mother would have her second. 

A child’s impatience wheedled a frown. He would have to wait.

 

Indiscernible from minutes or seconds, they all felt the same.

 

And sounds of descending steps stiffened the now-pouty child in anticipation.

Down came his mother, gaudy colors of loose fabrics that were visible from a distance.

 

“What were you doing up there, mama?” The boy asked scrutinously, as if a soldier interrogating a thief.

 

“I was busy.” She returned in avoidance of his question, puttering about the kitchenette to prepare slices of meat for the board of finger foods.

 

“Y’always busy..” He muttered in defiance, a pout to accompany.

 

“Si, I am–” Chided the mother, finger jutting firm in his direction to quiet him with just a gesture. And once her fire had dwindled, she cooed in conclusion, “and one day, you will be, too. Too busy to call for your mother.”

 

This excited the young boy, his features churning to reflect. 

He was ambitious, much like her. Much like his father. 

He did not know what he would become, nor did he really care. 

To be “busy, too”. That was all he sought.

 

His mother knifed away at the cold cut, tossing each slice to a wet slap atop of one another– this preparation to fill the silence that fell among the pondering.

 

“Do I have to be a doctor like you?” He asked, innocence still intact. “Do I have to work with papa?”

 

“As long as you’re happy, mi amore.” Carefree, his mother seemed, cutting perfect portions of the meats that the boy had already begun to dig into. She had her worries, but seldom did they show. 

“As long as you do something.”

 

---

 

19th  of  The  First  Seed,  1805 THE IMPERIAL PROVIDENCE

 

The walls in which the boy had now found himself were made of stone and steel, colored in a fitting shade of gray. A putrid stench of the stagnated waste stifled the already-stuffy airs of those underground chambers, coming from an overfilled bowl– a clear disregard shown for those who inhabited the cage. 

 

Leg propped up on a hard wooden bench that was meant to be his bed, the other hung loosely from the side, and the boy restlessly moved his appendages– his only means of entertainment. 

It was that, or to count the bricks, and he never much cared for mathematics.

 

For warmth, he curled himself  beneath his burned tailcoat, the gaping hole letting through an irritating draft, coaxing him to shift restlessly to maintain his body’s heat. His arm was wrapped in stained gauss, fresh marks of leaking blood; eyes hung low, shown that he had not slept proper for an innumerable amount of time. 

 

The silence of his newfound quarters would have quickly driven him to insanity had he not so much to occupy his mind– endlessly recounting what had landed him beneath the Bastille, a wounded dog.

 

Indiscernible from hours or minutes, they all felt the same. 

 

CLICK, broke the silence. The sound of a heavy iron door was brought open and slammed shut, but the young man did not spring up to see who had come for him. He did not care, least, his facade would say that.

 

Unhurried steps echoed toward the boy inside of the cage, before a woman’s voice hummed, 

“I thought Gino would have raised his children better.” 

 

“Eh?” The utterance of that name; a spark of a fleeting hope, sprung from his sprawl to look for the woman who spoke. Though he hadn’t recognized her, at least not in her uniform. 

“Oh... Probable. But 'es gone now.” 

 

“Gino’s gone?” She reticently called back, an unbelieving scowl turning over her features. She folded her clothed arms against her lightly-plated chest, idle steps closer toward the boy in his cell. By then, he had already averted his gaze toward his scuffed leather shoes that swayed akin to a hastened pendulum. “Si. I haven' seen 'em in months. Iss not like him.”

 

“Maybe he's only gone off somewhere, you know. Never could stay in one place.” Her idle steps brought her within reach of the cage, though she’d not dare to place a hand, lest the caged creature were to aggress in yet another hasty decision. 

 

The youth shrugged, lazily, but he did, retorting a defeated response– desperately attempting to maintain his indifference, “Maybe.” 

 

And once more, the heavy doors from outside of the cage swung to open, bringing forth two more uniformed soldiers, both of whom took glance toward the lad– the lad meeting theirs with ashamed eyes, guised in displeasure. 

 

One of them, an aged, overweight man. 

 

The other, a very familiar face to the caged boy. A raven-haired lad of the same middleadolescence. These two met eyes for a long moment, just before the round man spoke to the woman, 

“Sergeant, all is well here?” 

 

“For now, Sergeant.” A simple retort from the watchful woman. 

 

Despite her assurances, the aged soldier kept a scrutinous gaze toward the boy in the cage, lingering for a moment too long before remarking, “Let me know if you need anything.” 

 

The woman made a nod, dismissing the men and awaiting their departure before turning back to the youth behind bars. “So what are you in here for, kid?” She asked, resting herself against the rails of his cage. 

 

“I thought you’d already know, by now.” 

 

The woman managed a smirk upon his response– or lack of. An idle nod and an amused snort as she pried herself from the bars, opting for the desk that was at the other end of the vault. It wasn’t until she took her seat, reclining back, that she began to speak, “Well, if you can believe it, talk of prisoners is not always our first priority as soldiers.”

 

He didn’t believe it– at first, anyways. Perhaps it was his hubris that made it so difficult to believe.  

 

Nibbling against the innards of his bottom lip, the youth allowed them to fall into a momentary silence, seeking not to answer the woman’s queries, but instead to push his own, 

“My pa. Was he a good man?” 

 

She hesitated, clear the answer he sought was much more complex than a simple affirmative. As if she were debating which portion of the truth to tell the boy. 

“He did what he had to... Same as his father, and his before that.” 

 

Another silence befell the two, offering the boy time to idly nod over what he’d been told– making what he could from it. It was of no surprise, though. A truth he did not want to accept, all but confirmed. The silence didn’t last long, as he found some solace in his short conversation with the woman– the first comfort in a long while. 

 

The two carried on cordially, eventually prompting the youth to ask the woman for her honesty in something, a grave sounding nature to his request. His eyes turned to the shut iron doors before a beckoning hand summoned her closer.

 

And obliged to his request, she brought herself from her desk and into his cell, folded arms and watchful eyes as she called, “What is it, kid?”

 

 For this one, the youth sat himself up proper, reaching his arms to grab against his leg, as if to tuck it closer to himself for subconscious comfort, 

“You think Ophelia was tellin' the truth about him?”

 

---

 

12th  Grand Harvest,  1805 THE IMPERIAL PROVIDENCE

 

Indiscernible from months or days, they all felt the same. 

 

Guards to make their wellness checks, though never enthusiastically. They brought food to the youth, but only what little nourishments one would need to stay alive. Seldom did they change the buckets for waste. 

 

Parched lips cracked and a roiling stomach pled, but no longer could he smell the stench of captivity. 

 

The boy had finally begun to accept the fate he chose for himself- and not an utterance to the GOD he so claimed to love. There was nothing GOD could have done, if it were not to free him from the cage he made home. No justified anger could be given to the deity, only a chilling acceptance for the way of men. For who he was did not resemble who he saw in a glass reflection. 

 

“Iss the way things are.” He recalled, his father’s voice telling him. 

 

“Iss the way things are.” He echoed quietly to himself. His voice was hoarse, as if to clear his throat of mucus that simply was not there. A tongue sought to wet his chapped lips, as effectively as bailing a ship with pronged silverware.

 

He counted now. His breaths, the bricks, the soldiers, the cellmates– how many times he could ask for water before he was scolded, though never for the sake of keeping track. 

Only to pass the time.

 

He couldn’t have expected this to be the last night he spent in that cell.

 

He had become accustomed to the amount of times the heavy doors would swing open and shut, the amount of men he heard sentenced to ‘The Hole.’

But never him.

 

He did not always look. 

He liked to guess, as if the next guard to come would be his executioner. 

As if the next cellmate was to be his combatant in ‘The Hole.’ 

As if this time the door had opened, it was the lawmen who would have him tried; 

to remain hostage in that stone prison.

 

“What is it you’ve done, Cosimo? Speak directly.” A young voice asked, cutting through the quiet contemplation the caged boy had made for himself.  

 

This voice called for him by name– of course he was eager to see. Pried up from exhaustion, he was now eye-to-eye with the raven-haired boy in uniform from a month’s passing. 

An old friend from the outside.

 

The second comfort in a long while.

 

“Viktor…” 

 

---

 

 

 

6 minutes ago, Summerisdumb said:

(r u guys olog friendly?)

 

An olog pondered the thought of exploring the place but hesitated due to the slander she has experienced from elves and humans 

 

COSIMO FALCONE contemplates the need for laborers and for bodyguards as the town of FLORENTINE begins to trickle in with it first few visitors. "If only there was an olog-size creation or creature to watch over our peoples, no one would dare act disorderly for long.."  

Though this declaration of war appeared as document that COSIMO FALCONE would typically overlook, the first of the signators caught his attentions..

 

“Margo…!” He shouted out to whomever may have been in the house with him. “Your daughter is preparing herself for a war?  Have you heard anything about this?”

"I do pray this missive attracts their attentions, Professor Archibald.." A young and eager conservationist pled, pacing himself frantically around the aging professor. "Your father's father, and his and his and his and his and his and his and his and his- their legacy! It cannot all be for naught, can it?" 

we the reason arcas blew up 

2 hours ago, Caelria said:

While the shitter's clogged,                                          

the city becomes the shitter.                               

God, save your city.                              

 

 

[ ! ] Posted upon the lecterns of a few churches, a short missive was penned- unsigned. 

 

 

while the shepherds laze,                                          
the goat shepherds the cattle.                               

God, save your cattle.                               

 

 

 

the final piece to the puzzle

why wouldn't it work with paladinism? alchemy isn't dark and paladins hate the void too

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

God, save your cattle.