Chief Regulator Secily Iopara
@flutteringEpaulette
She/Her. 1.e4 Chief Regulator for the Repiton Corporation. This is a personal account, and not reflective of Corporate views. ...e5
Gorgegle what is yuri
1.e4 This was an accidental post. Please do not interact with it any more while I figure out how to delete it. ...e5
1.e4 I am often asked how I conquer my fear when it comes to hunting down criminals. The targets of the cases I work these nights are almost always armed and dangerous, after all, and I do not operate out of the shadows. My face is known, my place of work is known, my record is known. ...e5 2.Bc4 The answer is simple: I don't. It's a fool's errand to try and claim complete victory over fear. Fear is a natural response, an instinct that keeps a troll's pusher pumping when danger arises. Fear is not an enemy, it's a tool. ...Nc6 3.Qf3 I walk in step with fear. I dictate the pace, the direction, the goal. I do not become overwhelmed by fear in a vain attempt to beat it, and so it provides me clarity. ...Qh4 4.Bxf7+ The criminals I hunt are the ones who should take fear's advice and run. ...½–½
1.e4 The memory of that night rises to the surface easily, like ice to the top of a tumbler of whiskey. The cold rain pounded the street, battering me as I walked, as if the world itself was trying to warn me to stay away from my target. But no amount of threat displays would shake me from my prey, not when I'd been on their trail for a wice of sleepless days. ...e5 2.Bc4 The sign outside the bar was half-busted, its neon lettering reading "He Ben Ow", which I imagine was meant to read "The Bent Elbow". Or maybe it was just some kind of modern art statement; I've never taken to that kind of thing. The half-alive state of the flickering lights was, in truth, a carefully crafted deception. No self-respecting troll would choose this spot, not when there were a thousand other glittering lights to be found back on Main Street. ...Nc6 3.Qh5 I pushed open the door and stepped in. A thick cloud of saccharine smoke hung at head height, like an inverted puddle of grime and foul intent. The floorboards creaked beneath my boot, signaling my arrival to the ne'er-do-wells in the room. Every head in the place turned to stare, dismissing the possibility of a stealthy approach. ...Qf6 4.Nf3 That was fine. I wanted them to know I was there. ...Nh6 5.d4 Filthy tables and a poorly stocked bar defined the small room. Stains littered the floorboards and the paint on the walls was chipping. It was as if the room was slumped, unbothered, unwilling to put in even the barest effort to hide its filth. But just like the sign outside, that was a clever lie. There was a diamond hiding in this rough, and it was ill-gotten gains. ...Bd6 6.Bg5 I counted six trolls in the room, including the one behind the bar. All of them had fallen silent, cigarettes shifting between their lips, glasses of cheap Dew swirled around in their hands. They were sizing me up, weighing their chances against me. I paid them no mind; They had no such chance, after all. ...Be7 7.Nxe5 I asked the bartender to pour me honey whiskey, neat. As expected, he told me they didn't stock it, and asked what else I might like. I slid a small photo across the counter to him, and I admit, I had to suppress a chuckle when he froze up at the sight. It was an incriminating snapshot, featuring a hooded figure meeting with someone just out of sight, the two caught at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. A package bundled in newspaper and tied with twine linked them as it was handed off. ...Kd8 8.Nxf7+ It was an innocuous thing at first glance, but I knew better. And judging by the bead of sweat trailing down the bartender's face, so did he. Because there in the photo, poorly concealed by the thin fabric draped over his head, was the distinct outline of a pair of lopsided horns. One going up, one sloping down. The very same shape I could now see atop the bartender's head, like a crown of thorns marking him out as guilty. ...Nxf7 9.Bxf6 The bartender stood there, chewing his lip, clearly rolling through a thousand excuses. But I had already heard them all, long before he even opened his mouth. I cut him off, tapping the picture for emphasis. "The package, Zurela. Hand it over, and this can all be over." I was almost disappointed when he jolted, making clear his surprise that I knew his name. I was expecting a more discerning catch at the end of my line, but all I found was an opportunistic pest, skittish and cornered. ...Bxf6 10.Qxf7 Zurela swallowed thickly. I didn't need to catch the flick of his eyes to know that the other patrons were already on their feet. I remained relaxed, leaning against the bar and adjusting my coat so that the dim lights of this rodent's den bounced off the hilt of my sword. If they wanted to test me, they’d come up short. That was just as much a certainty as the twin moons rising each night, as the value of gold remaining rock bottom, as Corporate taxes. …b6 11.Kd1 Just as certain as the fact that I was dragging Zurela out of here in handcuffs or a bodybag. …d6 12.Re1 I locked eyes with him. He wanted to look away, to escape, but no such option existed for him. He was trapped by my gaze, and further by his own actions which led him here. I again asked for the package. I didn’t need to shout for my voice to fill the room; Every troll there was listening, frozen by the selfsame chill that earlier tried to warn me to stay away. Now, I was the one who’d brought the cold rain into their hideaway, promising thunder and worse if they didn’t seek shelter. …Bd7 13.e5 He reached beneath the counter. I rested my hand on my sword. The trolls at my back shifted, the tired old floorboards groaning beneath their feet in anticipation for a coming fight. Even the flies buzzing around the ceiling lamp seemed to go still, holding their tiny breaths. …Nb4 14.exf6 His hand stilled. He stared at me, a bead of sweat trying to escape the situation by way of a fast retreat down the side of his face. I dragged my thumb along Proserpina’s guard and gave him a smile as thin as the blade’s edge. …Bg4+ 15.Kd2 If a confrontation were to break out, it would be one against six. Cramped quarters, the haze of smoke clouding the air, and no backup. It would not be a fair fight, and it would end with six dead trolls and a thorough cleaning of my sword. …a5 16.Qe7+ “Go ahead, Zurela,” I told him. “Make my night.” …Kc8 17.Be6+ His hand shifted, and he withdrew the package. Still tied— I suppose he had not yet found a buyer. All that work, and in the end, the only thing he had to show for it was a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. …Kb8 18.Qxg7 Just another Repitonian night. …½–½