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  1. #11
    Junior Member

    EXP: 175, Level: 1
    Level completed: 9%, EXP required for next Level: 1,825
    Level completed: 9%,
    EXP required for next Level: 1,825


    Culaco's Avatar

    GP
    230

    Name
    Keeara
    Age
    27
    Race
    Dragonite
    Gender
    Female
    Location
    Dheathain

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    Right, okay. The situation was going south. How did a tipsy adventurer deal with a mage bullying somebody who clearly wasn't magic's biggest fan in the whole, expansive world?

    Okay, now what was the RIGHT thing to do?

    "Son of a whore..." It dawned on Keeara exactly what was going to happen if she didn't step in. Or maybe it didn't? That would be up for sober Keeara to decide in a few hours, whenever things were settled, in the hour or two she spent sober before she set upon the brilliant and dangerous quest of intoxicating herself for the rest of the day. And of course, if it were sober Keeara dealing with this, the problem might've been over with by now. Sadly, it wasn't the case here. Instead, they were stuck with the most washed up woman on the planet, potentially.

    Still, that fire fae person was being awfully villainous to the cute silver eyed woman. It was kind of hot to watch, maybe it'd devolve into a catfight or something? Nah, probably not. It was pretty stupid though. A little fire was making the silver eyed woman shiver and back down, just like that? Where was that spunky, fiery nature that had been peeking through just a few seconds ago? People were actually this much against magic?

    "So, you threaten every girl like this, or just the cute ones?" She might've slurred slightly in her drunken state, or maybe heavily. She wasn't exactly minding her words too much, not like she was threatened much by a bit of lousy fire. "Because I mean, if you wanna burn her clothes off I won't stop you, but you look like you wanna hurt her." And that wasn't something she could sit back and watch, was it? Ex-bandit or not, she wasn't the type to just let somebody be panicked and bullied.

    And well, now she had to do something. She sighed, faking a yawn, only for a jet of water to emerge from the back of her throat, just enough to soak the fire fae from head to toe. Every inch of her, her hair, her hands, all of her clothes, were dripping wet and soaked.

    "Ooops, I'm so sorry! Sometimes the glands just have to be discharged, you know what I mean?" And yes, it was supposed to sound kind of suggestive, as she stepped forwards, in front of the scared silver eyes that belonged to Yvonne, a smirk plastered across her face. "Gosh, how clumsy! I should've aimed the other way, now look at you!" She placed her hands on the woman's shoulders, but then the plates on her tail started to glow bright blue as her hands began to heat up. 60 Celsius. 70 Celsius. All the way to 100.

    "You're alright though, right?" She smiled sweetly, as if she wasn't pressing palms that were hot enough to boil water into the woman's shoulders. "You'll live, right? Because you're a strong adventurer type, right?"

  2. #12
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

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    Orange took to the roughhandling about as well as one would expect.

    Her lacy wings, veins aglow and radiating heat, steamed off dripping water with a thrummmnnnas the drunky lady gripped her shoulders — and quickly enough, panic. The spitfire of a fae may have been resistant to her own flames, but the foreign heat was something more uncomfortable to her. It made her clench her jaw. Or was that the fear that generally came with competing against someone that muscular?

    “As strong as you, I bet,” she growled, though perhaps she spoke with a tremor.

    In turn, she turned up her own dancing flames, daring the finned lady to keep her hands right where they were. The lady gave back the sort of lax smile one would expect from a drunk.

    It was a game of flaming chicken.

    A sigh of relief left Fenn as the confrontation drew their attention away from the trembling Yvonne. He was pretty sure that if she’d gotten close enough to Yvvie to actually start hurting her, his locked knees would have swiftly been picklocked by his outrage, and a storm of ice might have ensued (or so he hoped; it was hard to tell where his cowardice ended and impulsivity began). Which was just what he needed, right? An animalistic outburst of wild magics to prove them right? Within him still burned a certain resentment…

    And his fingers absolutely itched for something new and shiny…

    Throwing Yvvie a wicked wink and an apologetic pat, Fenn nicked up to the distracted duo. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of them. Definitely, one could see it in the distortion of the air. Fenn’s cold was easily smothered by its presence. Practiced hands closed around the pouch tied to Orange’s side; the buckles keeping it in place were unlatched seconds after he brushed up against them. Just as the pouch was smothered by the ice-froze folds of his cloak, the flushered fire fae suddenly tore away from Drunky, twisting and ducking out out of her grip in a flash of cinder and smoke. Fenn squeaked and pedaled back.

    “You are insane! The three of you, insane!” the fae barked, resentfully staring at her singed vest. She glanced back at her comrades and uttered something sharp and snappy in their own language. With snarled looks and prickly turns of their wings, they winked out of the tree’s branches and retreated to their half of the tree’s shade — on the other side of the trunk.

    As they vanished, Fenn draped himself over a blocky root in relief, letting his antennae sag in relief. Finally! The pouch was pulled more than gleefully out from under the shade of his cloak. What shiny thing could possibly be inside?

    He stopped just short of opening it though, glancing up at Yvonne and Drunky. Ahh. Where were his (relatively vague) manners?

    “Thanks,” Fenn signed toward the not-drakari, tapping his chin and sweeping his hand outward. Though he doubted the woman would understand Gesture — she hadn’t shown any signs of understanding him before — he figured his gratefulness would come through anyway. Possibly, Yvvie could interpret a bit of it. “Name? Borrow drink?”
    Last edited by FennWenn; 07-18-2018 at 01:48 PM.

  3. #13
    Senior Member

    EXP: 8,121, Level: 3
    Level completed: 79%, EXP required for next Level: 879
    Level completed: 79%,
    EXP required for next Level: 879


    Yvonne's Avatar

    GP
    2,109

    Name
    Yvonne Mythrilmantle
    Age
    21
    Race
    Grey Dwarf
    Gender
    Female
    Location
    Alerar

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    Yvonne burst into a fit of hysterical giggles, tones of rising amusement and dwindling panic uncontrollably escaping her. Her worrying laughter took her over and she flopped herself back into the grass, throwing her arms out either side of herself. Her giggles were almost too much and she could barely breathe. The half-and-halfling tried to speak, truly.

    "Ye two-- hehe! Did ye-- HAHAhahaaa!" she began, devolving into another bout of laughter. She required another moment to catch her composure - breathing in, breathing out. She sat upright, all grins.

    "Wow ye two turned that around! Haha, did ye see tha look on her face!? Where did that water spray come from, back of yer throat? Ye didn't even huck-tooey but by tha crikeys she felt tha wallop of that golly! What ye supposed ta be then eh, a killer whale?" Yvonne asked, perhaps teasing a little but she felt genuinely impressed. "Keep ye about, we will, and neck deep in booze if that be yer fancy!" The drow-dwarf's attention turned to Fenn and she lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by any fae stragglers, on the other side of the great tree.

    "Bloody impulsive flamethrowers - and what did ye swipe from her dear? Got her lunch money I bet. Tha irony of it all," she whispered, giggling again, the hysteria all but vanished. It seemed a simple enough pouch. What it was made from, who knew? Mayhap a crocodile stomach or wild boar bladder. No telling how these jungle dwellers improvised their everyday belongings. What remained hidden inside - that was the question!

    As Fenn conveyed his words through his hand gestures Yvonne looked to the heroine of the day, to see if she understood him. Most likely not, her guess. Even she was still learning his nifty finger-speak. She made an effort to interpret for them, but she could only understand so much and what she didn't know was fair game for playfully twisting as she saw fit.

    "Fenn thanks ye," she explained for the not-so-drakari. That sign she'd seen before - thanks. "What be... yer name? What does that third one mean Mister Glenwey? Thirsty? We could go stand at rain's edge with our tongues out ta catch some, though we'd look a silly sight doing it, teehee. Fair warning, if yer sauce bottles go missing me friend here be sticky-fingered and throat-parched. After that wee incident tha only one not in need of a drink be Orange," the half-dwarf said smugly.

    She tried to imitate the water projectile action, yawning her head back and preparing her imaginary throat glands for discharging, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't replicate it but it sure was funny to try.
    Last edited by Yvonne; 07-17-2018 at 08:05 PM.
    So I’m cutting that branch off the cherry tree.
    Singing this will be my victory.
    Then I, I see them coming after me.
    And they’re following me across the sea.
    And now they’re stinging my friends and my family.
    And I, I don’t know why this is happening.
    ~ Thrice, Black Honey.

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