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  1. #21
    Nuclear Rage

    EXP: 64,948, Level: 10
    Level completed: 99%, EXP required for next Level: 52
    Level completed: 99%,
    EXP required for next Level: 52


    Flamebird's Avatar

    GP
    1,898

    Name
    Felicity Rhyolite
    Age
    19
    Race
    Neanderthal/ Human Hybrid
    Gender
    Female
    Location
    Corone

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    With nobody attacking her, despite being smack in the middle of the room, Felicity stalked back to the counter. She caught a plum flying midair, scowling as she ate that and the food set out for her. Grumpy, she devoured her snackages with wrath. Her food was her opponent now. She caught another flying fruit, an apricot this time, and took a bite as she pushed her empty plate back. She made swift, aggressive work of the fruit as she stalked towards the center of the room again, Let’s try this again, shall we? Maybe I should stand on a table this ti-

    *WHAM!*

    Felicity was barreled over. All her senses, including her magic sense, absolutely creamed.

    Dazed, she looked up from the floor. She saw where the sense of explosive, tremendous magical power came from… he was a man, crying about a lyre or something, completely demolishing a group of dwarves.

    Nope. She was not going to mess with him.

    Then – Ice! The floor was ice! Not lava! Ice!

    Her mind was spinning, her magic sense still tingling.

    She held her head as chaos swarmed around her. Making it on her feet, she – hey – that lady looked familiar!

    “HEY, YVONNE! IS THAT-“

    She slipped on the icy floor. “Oof!”
    "I can't be proud of anything. I am ashamed of everything."

    "I gave my heart, my allegiance, all my energy for this and got nothing but ashes in return. What on earth did I do to deserve being chewed and spit out like this? Time and time again, it's all the same."


    Felicity Playlist.

  2. #22
    Member

    EXP: 6,102, Level: 3
    Level completed: 28%, EXP required for next Level: 2,898
    Level completed: 28%,
    EXP required for next Level: 2,898


    Morus's Avatar

    GP
    999

    Name
    Morus
    Age
    15
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone

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    There are moments in life when one small turn can cause a cascade of unforeseeable effects, like the smallest of drizzlers finally bringing a dam to its breaking point. Then, of course, there are moments where things go about how you would expect. The bar was a bubble set to burst before Morus ever summoned up that strange energy from his body. There were countless creatures and strangers all drinking away their sorrows and aggressions. He should have known the second he struck the orc down something like this would occur. He’d been in a few bar scrapes in the past, several of which he caused when he snuck an unsuspecting coin purse into his pocket. But nothing had ever prepared him for the battle royale that was now taking place.

    The orc who wanted his blood had gone down to the floor from some unseen trip, though it soon became apparent it was the foot of none other than Fennik, a fae the waif had become all too familiar with in the dreamscape. When the windows started getting smashed in by strange faun creatures, and plates of food were sent flying through the air, the orc had gone off to join the melee at a more interesting point. A strange artifice golem had snuck in to battle the orc’s ilk, while an odd man crying out with a voice like thunder rushed to the faun’s aid against a masked assassin. Fennik froze the floor with a flourish of magic, while a brawler engaged two others in a fight of sickening machismo that made the sensible boy roll his eyes.

    In fact, despite one tomato smacking into the side of his head, Morus had pretty much been left alone, sitting soaked in his seat with wide eyes watching the brutality unfold all around him. A bottle of ale came soaring over his head, and he managed to snatch it up with a clumsy catch, sipping it slowly as the chaos kept getting crazier around him. But his bemusement of the show around soon ended when a second bottle came shattering on his table. The time to flee the scene was fast approaching, but all around him the scuffle only intensified. Flames were erupting from the apparent criminal who matched blow for blow against the demon Nosdyn, whom Morus had faced in The Citadel not too long ago. A girl who, only moments earlier, punched her hands in eagerness to join the fray slid across the floor on her back. The boy needed to clear a path.

    First to the bar to, in some sense, gather a few unattended supplies.

    Though right after that, he would be out of there.

    The floor was a danger to the barefoot urchin, covered in shards of broken glass, frozen in ice and, slick with blood. Instead, he hoped from table to table, doing the dangerous dance of avoiding the food fight and thrown daggers as they hurtled through the air. A charging minotaur knocked the tables in front of him out of the way, just feet before he reached the treasure trove of libations that almost seemed to call out to him. With a sigh, he slipped his form into the dreaming, to phase jump the last ten feet to just behind the bar. There were knives stuck into the wood, shimmering next to pools of blood and dislodged teeth that meant more than a few faces had bounced off of it.

    As he stuck a few bottles beneath his dirtied clothes and into his belt, a man jumped upon the bar with a sudden leap. He wore colorful clothes in peacock style and brandished a rapier in his hand that shone with every swipe of the blade, as he flourished it in the air behind Morus. The boy only sighed again, summoned the power in his right hand, and sent the man flying back along with a few stools that sat next to the bar. He didn’t see where he landed, but his trajectory seemed to place him near the brawlers engaged in a fight.

    And just for fun, Morus hucked a few bottles of the cheaper stuff into the crowd, hoping to knock against a few heads, or at least get some people liquored up before his escape.

  3. #23
    Legend

    EXP: 127,650, Level: 15
    Level completed: 55%, EXP required for next Level: 7,350
    Level completed: 55%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,350


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    14,025

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

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    Philomel saw the boot come in at a nervously acute angle. She ducked back, calling out Veridian'a name loud and clear, shoving herself with a mighty push from the black-haired being. As she did a fresh tomato landed on her shoulder and she found her lip curling with disgust. But it was not the fight to concentrate on. No, rather there was this man here, right in front of them, prepared to end their life.

    Veridian was flung off the face as the boot connected with flesh ans fabric. The small beast let out a yelp as he flew into the air, letting himself be released. With a sudden burst of speed Philomel darted, catching him with one arm as now the assailant began to topple forwards. It seemed she had been the only one to properly notice the boot.

    Careering forwards the masked man smashed head first into the table littered with splintered glass, palms flat out in an attempt to soften his landing. The faun, though, was the faun. Pulling back her head only slightly she dragged in a breath before throwing her head down. Her horns met his skull with a sickening sound like a crunch and a splat.

    Her horns smashed him into unconciousness. Whether he was dead or not Philomel did not care to look. She gave a vague glance up and down the black-and-grey-clad body before twisting around to glance at their rescuer.

    Just as bread splattered against the wall.

    Of course it was Breaker. Nobody else called her Lyre-bearer. She doused the flame on her dagger, let a struggling Veridian down from under her arm as she vaguely was aware of a fist fight between that wretch Zack Blaze, who had bloody once framed her for his own murder.

    She'd deal with him later. That had been a long time ago, after all, before the Gilded Lily.

    "Breaker," she huffed, partly collapsing against the table. "Fancy seeing you here."

    Veridian meanwhile began to crawl away, realsing they were not going to leave this pub that had become a hell hole. He figured the safest place to be away from the food would be behind the bar, where it had begun and where a large object of wood would protect him. Quietly he slunk around the people, seeing a short drow, a funny young human, a ... Metal thing with a box for a head and that small Fae child Fenn. He liked that kid. He would say hello later.

    Meanwhile there was a minotaur to dodge.

    Now he would get away from the food and the punches, and hide in the shadows.

    Where hopefully none would find him.
    Last edited by Philomel; 07-13-2018 at 12:59 AM.
    *admin at your service*

    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

    Characters:
    The family triplet: Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine.
    The god and kenku triplet: Stare, Avin and Vixen.
    The Primordials: Professor Charles and Moros.

  4. #24
    Member

    EXP: 34,842, Level: 7
    Level completed: 99%, EXP required for next Level: 158
    Level completed: 99%,
    EXP required for next Level: 158


    Zack Blaze's Avatar

    GP
    16,135

    Name
    Zack Blaze
    Location
    Corone
    The young man looked up just in time to see the bar stool coming down towards his face. The smile on his face grew wider as he tucked his face under his right arm in an attempt to shield his fine features from the blow while his left fist slammed into the chest of Nosdyn's demonic visage. The wood of the stool shattered and splintered into the arm of the street fighter, small ravines of crimson pooled over his flesh and dripped into his hair. He would make sure to shampoo the blood out later.

    Nosdyn, meanwhile, was sent careened through the air until he finally slammed into what was left of the bar. The attack from Blaze had rendered the demon completely unconscious and prone to anyone easily taking advantage of the now weakened specimen. Zack walked over to his knocked out opponent, swinging his right arm back and forth to not only try to shake out the splinters, but to bring some feeling back into the numbed sensation his entire forearm surged with. "It's been a while since I really count to cut loose. Hope you liked that attack, I call it 'No, you'. Seems whenever I punch with my left hand, so long as someone's in the middle of attacking me, I can deal out some incredible damage. Not that any of this is registering in that thick head of yours..."

    The street fighter kneeled down to mull over his latest conquest, and in doing so managed to evade a bottle of whiskey that was aimed straight for his blood drenched hair. The blue eyes of the warrior stopped upon the coin pouch of Nosdyn, a small satchel at the hip of the knight-like being tied with a single string. with an audible 'Yoink' sound from the brawler, the satchel quickly found a new home in the pocket of Zack Blaze. The amount did not feel significant, at least compared to Zack's own wealth, but it was a little more coin so the tussler did not have to waste his own.

    "Fancy seeing you here," the words brought back a familiarity to the warrior as he stood and turned to the owner of the voice. Philomel van der Aart was a criminal not unlike Blaze, though the former was moreso wrongly accused of the murder of the latter during a tussle with a dragon. It seemed that like Zack himself, the faun he so detested managed to break out of whatever hell hole she found herself in. The boy did not know why he hated her kind so much, maybe it was the fact her people saw themselves as 'sexy' rather than 'animals', and that relations with them were 'sex' and not 'bestiality'. The boy punched his fist into his hand as he quickly kneeled down again and picked up some sawdust on the ground, a result of Nosdyn's breaking-and-entering- the bar area, and quickly disappeared once more.

    His visage reappeared for a fraction of a second only to throw the sawdust at the faces of Philomel and the person she was chatting up, only to disappear once more before he materialized beside Leoric again.

    "So, this can go down two ways, buddy," Zack said, his flimsy loyalty shining like a diamond in a coal mine, "we can either team up, and then handle one another when all is said or done, or kill each other now and let ourselves be free to the pickpockets and con men in this place. Whattaya say? For old times sake...."


    ((Permission to bunny Nosdyn given by Pavel. Pavel also agreed to allow me to have whatever money Nosdyn had until he returns, which I will then pay back))

  5. #25
    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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    Fenn watched in bubbly drunken glee as a red-haired girl slid past him on the thin sheen of ice he’d created, and some part of him was very pleased to be at the center of such calamity — to have contributed to it. What chaos this was! Delightful! More! Headed the opposite direction of redhead, streaking over the mess of tables (some rather battered) was a slight figure who Fenn recognized through the fuzzy haze of drink sloshing around his brain.

    AH-HA! He thought he’d known those little urchin feet. Morus! And headed for- ahhh! Wait! What was this that he witnessed? He too wished to pillage the bar of all its goods!

    On wobbly feet, the fae stood up and began to flit his way to the main of the bar, unbothered by the ice underfoot. Each step he took was stabilized by a coarse effusion of frost. A hefty bottle of something or other — cheap, from the way it shattered — sailed his way and smacked him upside the head. Ow? Droplets of brownish booze frost to his hair, skin, and cloak. Oh well, no loss; it was in need of a wash anyway. Belatedly, the fae looked up to see Morus already hippity-hopping across the tables towards the door. A dizzy wave was given. Darn. Bye friend.

    About three feet from the tarnished and tempting counter of the bar — after skirting about some ludicrous fights and one terrifying instance of a blue demon being smashed into half the bar — Fenn was jerked to a halt, coughing as the collar of his cloak dug into his neck.

    There was a meaty hand attached to his cloak. For a moment, the boy panickedly, assuming it a bartender seeking revenge for all the drinks that had gone (and likely would keep going) missing in his presence… then realized that it couldn’t be the bartender. The bartender hadn’t been green. The fae rubbed his smarting throat and glanced over his shoulder at the burly, orcish owner of the hand, eyes narrowed in cool annoyance. He was met with something similar in the orc’s gaze. “Krunck recognize wily elf boy,” the orc announced through a tusky lisp, “even if now boy is like moth. First, cheat in glorious wrestle of arms? Today, trip smart-friend Kuglor. Thinks bug boy wants to be squishy.”

    Fenn took the threat with a bleary grimace and bared teeth. This was an invitation of… violence? Yes? Should he respond to it, with it? It wasn’t something he normally thought about, but being as riled-up and booze-saturated as he was did away with what little sense of inhibition he possessed. Something more wicked than he’d like to think he typically was took hold.

    Puffing out his cheeks in annoyance, Fenn grabbed the unfamiliar orc’s hand and let out an effusion of wintry magics.

    “This no tickle!” the orc exclaimed with a bellow of a yelp, yanking his frostbitten hand away from the fae. As he was released, Fenn reached for the bar, leapt the counter and stumbled onto the floor on the other si— oh boy, there sure was a lot of glass and spilled booze here. Seemed as if neither raiders nor brawlers had been very kind to the bar. Tipsily tip-toeing around the hazards (failing to not start freezing the spills in the wake of his stirred magics), Fenn grabbed what few drinks were left on the lower shelves and shoved them into his bag. He was — hic — maybe not feeling like climbing? Right now? Swaying of his feet, he backpedaled into the counter of the bar. Another hiccup jolted him as he half-lucidly tucked himself underneath the counter.

    There was a bottle of something-or-other in his hand. He pressed his mouth to the lip of the bottle, before realizing that its contents were frozen. Oh. Whoops. That was fineee.

    Yep. He was- he was just going to sleep heeeere for now, yes?

    Giggling madly to himself — a sound that was comparable to the faint wheeze of a hiccoughing mouse — the boy threw the frozen bottle out into the crowd as hard as his weak arms could handle before finally passing out of his intoxication.

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