01. Imriel is an alt; I don't log in all the time. please respect my time and how I use the character.
02. my time zone is CST; check with me about availability, as my schedule is erratic.
03. I'm comfortable with any type of roleplay, and do not require trigger warnings ahead of sensitive material. however, I will provide check-ins as a courtesy to you.
04. I don't roleplay with minors, and would prefer writing partners 21 or older.
05. IC =/= OOC. keep your bleed in check and don't metagame to get a certain result.
06. ask before taking gposes or using Imriel's data for such.
07. allow me time to get to know you better before asking for private contact details or extensive plot involvements.

 TESTIMONIALS. 

"..." — TBA

Whispers of a minor house's bastard grown to seedy ambitions under the shadow of his mother's skirts oft lead the inquiring nose to the door of this unctuous, honey-tongued hostelier. It is said he learned to count coin stacking it on the bare skin of his moneyed patrons, and that the abacus is his sole true confidant. If true, so talented is his pen that he has yet to taste consequence.

Certainly, money cannot buy everything, but it speaks a language anyone will recognise. In the written tongue of a ledger and the exchange of coin for a little discretion, Imriel is especially fluent. Coin may turn a sharp eye blind and an honest tongue perfidious. It may even open doors to service of a more personal sort — for those men who hold appeal for him.

 THE PLEASURES OF COIN. 
For all that he finds his pleasure in the beds of men of the Pillars and those below, few have ever kept more than an evening's hold on this slippery coinkeeper. To all appearances, whatever his fleshy desires, his truest love lies in the ledger and the abacus.

 HOSPITALITY IN DISCRETION. 
It is quite well known that the guardianship and apportioning of a lord's coin is not M. Vintesoir's only occupation. Late are those evenings he keeps in the hushed inns and pleasure-houses that fall under his ownership. One in need of a discreet place for their private affairs — or their secret pleasures — need only oil his ear with the promise of his due.

 UNDER THE TABLE. 
If it is to be believed, there is more to this humble coinmaster's affairs than honest business. Lips loosened by coin or drink oft spill rumour of curtains drawn shut in evening hours, with the lamps left burning well past the close of his appointed hours.

 SON OF DISGRACE. 
The vices of the highborn are far from secret. As the whispers of his origins would have it, the scandal for this man lies not in his birth, but his upbringing at his mother's knee as if trueborn — until he was cast from his lord father's eye as a living testament to his humiliation. If true, it answers for the manners and secrets he possesses unusual for a man of his station.