The Engineers And Smiths At Clockworks & Mechanicals Unlimited Have Been Hard At Work Creating The Most

The engineers and smiths at Clockworks & Mechanicals Unlimited have been hard at work creating the most spectacular and inventive devices you'll find anywhere! Looking for a custom gun? Look no further. Need security for your valuables, home, or place of business? This is the place. In need of tools and machines from the simple to the radically complex? Come on down! While the shop is open daily, special evening hours are planned for this coming Tuesday, December 3 from 7-9pm server. Appointments are also available. Bulk shipments and nautical mountings are available, please inquire!

OOC: This is an opportunity for mercantile RP, customers and potential trade allies alike are invited to come look around, browse the merchandise, and speak to the shop owner, Millicent Bowyen. The shop is located in the Priory office just north of the Priory Digsite Waypoint in Lion's Arch.

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me in game on Raevyn.9102!

He pulled her closer, pressed a kiss to her lips. "Then do it," he urged her. "Marry me, Livinia." He had no ring, no gold band with which to make a promise, but he drew forth a necklace from within his shirt. At the end of the silver chain hung a silver charm shaped like a dog whistle. Carefully, reverently, he unclasped the chain and placed it around her neck. Then he kissed her. "This will have to do until I can get you a proper ring." He looked into her eyes, deadly serious now. "Do you wish to do this now? We can find a priest, make it official. And then all Voros has is a piece of paper. He will not have you."

Whistle Necklace with Love Charm

Christopher Conte

In a swirl of dark green silks and white lace, Countess Claire Norrington swept into her home, handing off her muff and mittens to one servant as another took her cloak, barely slowing down as she headed for her parlor. But there was a note on the silver serving tray underneath the large mirror. With a sigh, the widow went to see what her butler had thought demanded her attention instead of settling in for a hot cup of tea and a book.

‘Your brother to see you. With guests.’

Well, that was likely sufficiently pressing, she supposed. Taking a moment, the countess smoothed her hair back into its braided bun, its distinctive shining black catching blue highlights from the high windows letting in the autumn sunlight.

Satisfied that she looked dignified enough to talk her brother out of whatever odd or outlandish scheme he was set to put the family funds toward, Claire turned and opened the door to the small green parlor where guests were received. She smiled brightly at her brother, extending her arms toward him. “Dear Thierry, how are you, my sweet?” she asked.

Even as she did so and her brother rose to embrace her, Claire was looking at the other guest. A woman of sun-bleached hair and crisp blue eyes who, despite the high quality of her gown, had the look of a commoner, wind burned face and scarred fingers, sat rigidly straight upon the couch beside Theirry, who replied warmly, “Better than ever, Claire, better than ever.” He gestured for the woman to stand. “This is Prentice Degan and we have pleasant news to announce?”

“Oh?” Claire asked, brow raised. She could see the tumblers of bad decisions turning in the recent past and had absolutely no doubt who this woman was or what her brother was about to tell her. Despite a profitable and lovely match with a woman of noble rank and good standing, Thierry was about to throw it all away for a love match with this common whore who, now that Claire was closer, smelled distinctly of animals.

Thierry did not disappoint. “Prentice and I,” he paused for dramatic effect that was neither dramatic nor effective, “married!” He clasped the woman to him and though she smiled brightly, Claire could tell the poor girl was already lost in the sea of noble politics. Why did he do this to the woman instead of just making her his mistress?

But Claire didn’t ask the obvious questions, just smiled pleasantly. “That is wonderful, Thierry, Prentice.” She reached out to embrace the other woman, much more muscular than most noblewomen. A stable hand, perhaps? Claire wasn’t sure and really, did it matter? Thierry was marrying into the help. She needed to get him alone, to talk him out of this business before Lady Arient, his current wife, got wind of all this and all hell broke loose.

That’s when she heard the cry. It was the high-pitched squeals of a child and both her brother and his new conquest cringed at the sound. That seemed to be coming from behind the couch.

Claire made it around the couch first and was treated to the sight of a small bassinet, kept out of sight, holding a squalling black-haired baby. Prentice picked him up and hushed the baby gently, rocking it until it quieted.

Waiting for silence, Claire turned an arched brow at her brother. “Explain,” she said simply, ice in her voice.

Thierry led her to the window and spoke softly, whether to keep the child quiet or to spare Prentice’s feelings, Claire didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t much care at that point. “I had to make certain she could provide me with an heir,” he said quietly, as though that explained all of this. “Once the boy was born, I knew Prentice and I could marry without a problem. But there were...complications with Arient.”

Claire pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. She looked up at her brother, the head of her family’s holdings by virtue of what dangled between his legs. And he’d run it into the ground at this rate. “Of course there were complications with Arient,” Claire hissed, leaving off, ‘you idiot’ for the sake of the woman in the room. Thierry could get downright petulant when embarrassed. “It was a marriage of political gains! If you break the marriage, you must give back what you’ve gained! And as much of what we gained was either ephemeral or already spent, they will require some sort of restitution.” Shaking her head, Claire asked, “Can Prentice be sent away with the child? Perhaps this can be salvaged.”

But Thierry was already shaking his head. “The marriage with Arient has been annulled--”

“Annulled?” Claire gasped, appalled. The specter of divorce was bad enough, but to expunge the marriage completely, say it had never happened...the level of disrespect implied was atrocious.

“Yes, Claire,” Thierry said, clearly becoming agitated at her continued disbelief of his stupidity. “But it’s done. We had to make a great deal of sacrifices, as you said, and one of them...was Havelock.”

Frowning, Claire asked, “Havelock? Our great-grandfather? He’s long dead.”

Prentice stepped closer with the sleeping baby, “This is Havelock,” she said, showing off the child like any proud mother.

“Havelock Thierry Greenbriar,” Thierry finished, equally proud.

“What do you mean by sacrifice?” Claire asked, looking down at the child. Dark locks capped his tiny head and as she watched, bright blue eyes, like his mother’s, opened to look at the world around him. He seemed to look at Claire when he grinned and began to gurgle. She remembered how her own children, both full grown, had looked at this age. How dear and darling they were to her.

“Would you like to hold him, sister?” Thierry asked, practically shoving his soon-to-be wife toward her with the baby.

“I suppose,” Claire murmured, reaching for the child.

She should have known better. But Thierry had enough of their father’s blood to understand how to manipulate her on occasion. Havelock settled into her arms and Claire immediately began the gentle swaying that had soothed her own two turtledoves. She smiled down at the pink-cheeked little boy. She had missed so much of their childhood, too busy running her dead husband’s businesses and consolidating the estate. She had missed this.

“Arient is insisting he be disowned,” Theirry said quietly, almost slipping in below the sound of the baby’s breathing. “We’ll have another, but Havelock needs to be raised right.”

The baby’s hand reached out and Claire placed her finger near for him to grab. When he did, she smiled.

Thierry nudged Prentice. “He ought to be raised with family,” she said, like a classically trained parrot, delivering its lines on cue, Claire thought.

She could see where this was going. And frankly, she wasn’t that displeased. “Fine,” Claire said quietly, tracing the tiny cheek as bright blue eyes slipped shut once again. “I’ll take care of him. You get your house in order, though, Thierry. Or this one will be coming after you with all the fire I can muster within him.”

Haha :P. I was a journalist for a number of years, so I spell numbers under ten and write the numerals for more than that. It's all about perception, I suppose.

If somebody uses a number in roleplay, please write it out if it's less than a hundred. Nothing like seeing "I'm 2 years old" to make me want to forcefully propel my head through my monitor.