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  1. #21
    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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    And the noise came the faun was immediately on edge. She twisted away from the handsome Storm, though her hands remained within reaching distance of him. Her tapered ears pricked up like those of a startled deer caught in lantern light and her face swivelled towards the door. Quickly, one hand went to the hilt of her sword at her back, seizing it with such ferocity it seemed she was already prepared to run into battle. But then, was not she always?

    "That does not sound pleasant," she said as she pulled away from Storm, the sound – that was a mixture between shouting, jeering and crying – became louder.

    Her eyes glanced around until they latched onto the window that made up one of the sides of the Officers' Mess. Clomping over to it with her huge hooves making a din comparable to the yelling outside, Philomel leant to peer and see what she could from this. It was not the most appropriate; the butt of the ship looked out upon the sea and she had to crane around to be up to even catch the barest glimpse of the jetty. Her horn clanged lightly on the glass as she strained to see where she was sure the din was coming from. When she could no longer get any further, she backed away fast, then came across the room and grabbed her recent lover's hand.

    "We will need to go up," she declared, pushing the door aside that had been slightly ajar and separated them from the small fairy boy. She saw the eyes of her beloved fox, peering as golden glow is from the darkness of the shadow, then looked back to Fenn. "Stay here," she advised the child who is not a child.

    They started walking. Further along the corridor they met the mighty warrior Maverik once more who had remained further behind when it became clear what Storm's intentions were. Privacy, naturally, would always be a possibility for the Matriarch. Yet now they had a disturbance, and it needed to be sorted. Thus, the three warriors began the climb to the deck again where the chorus of chaos began to become more defined. There was the thumping feet on the ground, the roar of an angry mob. And it was headed straight towards them, towards her precious ship. As they gained into the brilliance of sunlight Philomel drew her sword, letting the ring of the metal be as loud as possible and her eyes became pits furious darkness.

    Before them was a small, but malevolent crowd, almost at the ship – and at the front was the furious bartender of the tavern where they had spent the night before.
    *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.

  2. #22
    Ride The Lightning

    EXP: 166,794, Level: 17
    Level completed: 83%, EXP required for next Level: 3,206
    Level completed: 83%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,206


    Storm Veritas's Avatar

    GP
    25,550

    Name
    Storm Veritas
    Age
    39
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Violence was not entirely uncommon upon Althanas, but that made it no less pleasant or unsettling. Storm was filled with a host of instincts as he walked by the side of the faun. Her appearance was both incredibly sexy to some and off-putting to those that would seek to cleanse other races from the earth, so he would want to protect her from human-borne malevolence. She could also more than handle herself; she was possibly more powerful than he was, and certainly topped him in raw physical power.

    Stay calm. How hard are we going, here?

    The rabble that had reached the docks was a throng, perhaps a dozen deep, and they had grabbed one of the ship's hands, a lovely thirty-something woman that one was joking about and another held, pinning her arms behind her back and leaving her wriggling for freedom. The taunting was vile and lowbrow, something Storm may have joked about a few decades ago but he found entirely despicable today.

    "Are we full bore against these assholes? Or do we hold back, hide the powers, and get out of here?" This walking question to Philomel came as they both marched headlong into the wild.

    There was a logic to it. If they showcased their supernatural abilities to the crowd, they would turn their boat into a bullseye for any of the crowd that got away. For the ungifted, taking down a boat full of magic users was a pathway to local heroism. The entirety of the uprising of slovenly monsters would henceforth need to die if Storm lifted one man from a belt buckle or fired a single electric blast. Sneering, he noticed that most of the men on the dock were out of shape, armed with clubs or swords rather than guns, and were mostly at least a little drunk. He hadn't heard a response from his wise, wandering lady, but made the executive decision; for now, at least.

    Don't need to bring the thunder for this band of dickholes.

    Storm pulled a dagger into each hand; he had grabbed them so smoothly that he didn't break stride. His eyes locked with the frontmost hostage taker; the one holding the girl. These men were cowards, the wizard decided, and he would offer them no negotiation. Spinning off his right foot, he executed a simple hop and turn behind the girl, driving his daggers into the man's shoulders and through the meat of his biceps, and the man's eyes flung wide with fear and anguish. The young girl was released and moved toward the boat; Storm stepped back, withdrawing the blades and driving his left heel squarely through the jaw of the hostage taker, knocking him entirely unconscious, bleeding significantly from his arms.

    Two full steps from the now confused crowd, Storm hoped that the identity of the dapper traveler and the buxom faun hadn't been tipped yet. He spoke with a severity that he almost never offered.

    "Take your man and bring him home... Or keep coming for the ladies and I promise you each and every one of you sons of bitches will beg for his fate."
    Last edited by Storm Veritas; 07-06-2018 at 08:03 AM. Reason: Reducing some unappetizing overtones.

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