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Post by Sioladuil on Jan 17, 2020 8:43:43 GMT -5
The writing on the posters is written in a beautiful, slanted text and they are penned in a silver ink. JOB: Security Operative (Goon)
JOB DESCRIPTION: Working alongside the academics of Alizarin and carrying out general security (Goon) activity.
APPOINTMENT: Casual, as and when needed.
PAY: Experience, difficulty of job and general pleasantness dependant.
Alizarin is currently looking for what I am told I have to refer to as Security Operatives (Goons) to assist us on a variety of potential outings and research expeditions we have coming up. If you are able to wield a sword and get beaten then feel free to apply.
To apply contact Sage Elvewyn Cenocelin, Alizarin Master of Wizardry or Sylus, Head of Security (GoonLeader)*Signed*
Elvewyn Cenocelin, Sage and Alizarin Master of Wizardry.
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perspicacity
Proven Member
Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing. -Dali
Posts: 196
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Post by perspicacity on Jan 18, 2020 8:22:25 GMT -5
A tall Chessentan barges into the Alizarin Academy, looking about a moment. He pushes a hand through his overlong bangs, then plucks a wineskin from his hip. He takes a long pull from the skin, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, then turns, locating Shoeman within his alcove.
"Hey, you there! Ah'm here about tha goonin'. Does tha job come with paperwork? Or marchin' about in dumb uniforms? 'Cause ah don't do paperwork, or tha silly marchin'."
The merchant stutters a bit, sizing up the man. "Well, I think those things would be best to ask of Sage Elvewyn." He replies, after a moment. "I'm not sure he's in at the moment, but I can take your name if you like." The merchant pulls a parchment from beneath the counter, laying it atop the counter and pushing a quill and inkwell close. "Just write your name here and perhaps where best to contact you, hm?"
The tall Chessentan eyes the parchment, the inkwell, the merchant. After a long moment's worth of staring, he finally replies. "No paperwork. Tha name's Nicos, Nicos Aporos. Y' can scibble that yerself or tell this sage fella, right?" Gives his head a rueful shake. "As t' where t' find me, well, reckon you can find me most often in tha Laughin' Lass, or billetin' in tha Red Fellowship, sleepin' it off. Scribble that too, if ya want."
With that, the big man takes another pull at his wineskin, gives the parchment one more baleful glance, then turns on heel, exitting the Academy.
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