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Thread: What You Asked For (M, Closed)

  1. #1
    Senior Member

    EXP: 7,010, Level: 3
    Level completed: 51%, EXP required for next Level: 1,990
    Level completed: 51%,
    EXP required for next Level: 1,990


    The Huntsman's Avatar

    GP
    1,029
    AP
    1
    Name
    Fil'ayn Kiljarden
    Age
    87
    Race
    Drow
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Alerar

    What You Asked For (M, Closed)

    strong mature content.
    I was sitting in an inn, in Radasanth. For once, I wasn't being a brooding bastard, hiding in a corner and eavesdropping on the people around me - no, I was actually there to eat.

    It had been a few days since I was ‘hired’ by Scarlet, and I had so far heard nothing from the redhead woman. So I resumed my wanderings, drifting across the countries, listening out for rumors of dangerous creatures that were plaguing the land. I had returned to Corone to hunt down a bear that had been attacking outlying farms, and had just ended up returning to Radasanth after ending the Beast that was running rampant. I hadn't figured out just why the bear had begun attacking - there was no reason for it to have gone mad like it did. I was intending on exploring further, but my body demanded food that wasn't bear meat. And I was close enough to the city to tolerate the trek in.

    Which led to now. I had been sitting, quietly eating, when a tall, leggy black-haired woman pushed in. She was wearing brigandine armor and had a short, curved blade hanging from one hip. A scar ran down the right side of her face, looking like it had been patched up in a hurry. Sharp green eyes scanned the crowd and it looked like she was about to turn around and leave - when she did a double take, her gaze fastening onto me. Well. Hell. I pushed my plate aside as the woman hurried over to me, pushing people aside.

    “You're… You’re him, right? The Huntsman that - that saved the little princess.” For such an imposing woman, her voice was surprisingly soft, almost hesitant. I tilted my head. There was only one person I had heard referred to as ‘Princess’ any time recently. Philomel. Then, was the little princess Celandine? I gave a slow nod.

    “If you mean the girl who went wandering when she should not have, yes.” An oblique reference, in case I was wrong. Her eyes widened, and hope filled them.

    “Oh thank Drys. I've been looking for you for a week.” She fumbled in a bag at her hip - then pulled out an envelope sealed it a waxy sigil of a lily over a goat’s head. I took it, carefully opening the seal and flipping out the letter. My eyes scanned down, rapidly reading to make sure this wasn't a case of mistaken identity.

    “The Huntsman,” it read. “My life is a complicated one. I have lived and seen death many times in my life. I have fought wars and have led too many funerals. My daughter's near death was too close though this time.
    Our association began ill, and I wish to make amends. If you would come back with the person who delivered this letter to you, I would be grateful. If you do not wish to come, that is entirely up to you. I do not hold any power over you anymore.
    Philomel van der Aart.”.

    Well. It certainly was meant for me. I blinked, slowly. “Please, sit.” The raven-haired woman gave a blink, and moved into the chair across from me as I looked down.

    I stared at the letter for a long, long few moments. My left arm throbbed a bit as I reread the letter for the fourth time. She wished to make amends? That was - that was unnecessary. In fact, it was entirely unnecessary. She had hunted me, and had won. There was no need to make amends for that. My life had been hers to do with as she pleased. Yes, I had been upset about being taken away from my homeland, from my family - but now…

    Now I knew more. Now I knew that my memories of a happy family raising me to be what I was were false. I crumpled the letter in my hands up. Truthfully, I should probably go to Philomel so I could thank her. If she hadn't taken me away from Alerar, I would never have even known the truth. I… I let out a slow, steady sigh.

    “Let me finish my meal, and we can depart immediately. I have no hunts at the moment.” The woman sagged in relief. She said she'd been looking for me for a week - I wondered just how long ago she'd actually been sent to look for me. No matter, she'd found me now.

    The woman ordered a drink and quietly sipped at it while I finished my meal. Despite her appearance she seemed rather reticent and shy. Until that is, a passing man let his hand drift across her shoulders and the back of her neck. Then her blade was out, the tip dangerously close to his crotch. “Do not touch me.” The man pulled back, looking rather like he'd grabbed an angry snake, and hurried away. She returned her sword to its sheath. “I'm sorry you had to see that. So many of them want to look with their hands.” I waved off her apology, much like I intended to do with the Faun’s.

    “It is a failing of many of both genders. So. I've finished - shall we depart?” she looked rather relieved as she stood up and moved over to pay for her drink, then met me at the door. She was only a bit shorter than I was a few inches at most, and she was slim and trim. A fighter, honed. “Lead the way.” She nodded, and wet set off.
    Cruel and brutal are the blades for the Beast
    It's time to Carve and Clatter and Cleave.

    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.

  2. #2
    Super Moderator

    EXP: 96,345, Level: 13
    Level completed: 46%, EXP required for next Level: 7,655
    Level completed: 46%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,655


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    20,253
    AP
    0
    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Like two dancers the fighters dove and wove around each other, silent except for the clanging of their blades. Their hooves made only whispers, twisting and cutting into the earth as they spun faster and faster around one another. Long, only slightly tapered white blade met a curled grey scimitar as the two pairs of steely eyes locked and stared. The dust in the courtyard was whipped into a frenzy as the two fauns dodged, parried and feinted.

    It was clear though that they were very differently formed. For a start, one was small and dainty, hefting her scimitar like it was a holy weapon. The other faun was over six foot, and it was clear she was holding back, smiling and deliberately going slowly. The small faun did what she could, skipping to and fro but with excellent skill for someone of her size and clear young age. As they spun and fought a quiet laugh rose from the girls’ lips and she copied a movement almost exact from the elder one, before ducking underneath a thrust of a white blade - and held hers to the older faun’s abdomen.

    “I win this time, mother.”

    “Of course you do,” Philomel replied, though not breathless in the slightest. “You were very good.”

    She gave a bow to the younger faun as she stepped back, holding up her weapon in mock surrender. Her daughter, Celandine with a glorious bounty of chocolate-coloured hair puffed out her chest proudly and nodded imperiously.

    “Thank you,” she said in a fancy voice before giggling. Then she gasped and a light came to her face. “I will go tell Gosling now!” she shrieked before turning on her heel.
    Then she paused to point at the courtyard gate.

    “Huntsman comes to the mountain!”

    With grace she nodded again before twirling on the spot and rushing away. Leaving Philomel to roll her eyes but be left there smiling. The many eyes that had been watching them let out a polite applause as they paused in their work - guard duty, training or other. The older faun bowed to them as she twisted to the closest watcher to her. A man leaning on the wall, his arms folded and his face cast in shadow by his messy, greying hair.

    “You shouldn't let her win like that,” Vaeron, the girl's biological father, said. “Don't encourage her.”

    Philomel frowned as she stepped out of her ready stance and slid her sword away. “She needs encouragement, Vaeron. Not loss every time because I am around six times faster than her - or anyone.”

    The human grunted, tipping his head back to rest it on the stonework. “When I was that young, I was never treated with dishonesty like that.”

    “And I was,” Philomel answered quickly, waving him away and looking over to the gatehouse, where the sharply winding path began, the only access to the fortress up the sheer cliff it was built on. “So I will do as I fit when training her.”

    “Just watch it does not make her lazy,” Vaeron sighed. But Philomel was already walking away, walking towards the gate where Celandine said her guest would soon be arriving.

    Invited because she had one thing to say to the drow who had saved her daughter's life. A man she had taken prisoner, mistreated, stolen from his country and still not paid. She had still not as yet told him she was sorry.
    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.

  3. #3
    Senior Member

    EXP: 7,010, Level: 3
    Level completed: 51%, EXP required for next Level: 1,990
    Level completed: 51%,
    EXP required for next Level: 1,990


    The Huntsman's Avatar

    GP
    1,029
    AP
    1
    Name
    Fil'ayn Kiljarden
    Age
    87
    Race
    Drow
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Alerar
    It was - unusual. I was the foreigner, the outsider. The Drow, Moon-touched. I'd stopped hiding my silver eyes - but the people here, didn't notice, didn't care. In fact, they didn't seem to care at all in a negative way - I saw a lot of happy expressions on people when they saw me. It was different, it was weird. I'd had a few times when people had been happy to see me, but usually only immediately after I had finished a hunt. To be greeted with so many people happy to see me, it was somewhat disorienting.

    My guide led me into the main courtyard of the fort, past the women who had gathered in small groups to watch as I came in. How on earth did they know I was arriving? I hadn't seen any runners moving ahead to alert people. Yet they seemed unsurprised to see my face, like they had known exactly when I would be coming in. I was thrown off, rattled. The black-haired woman suddenly paused, and I nearly walked into her back before I realized what was happening.

    “Lady Matriarch!” She bowed low - ah. In front of her was Philomel. The faun waved my guide off, her eyes were locked on mine. I gave a simple, short nod to her as the black-haired fighter scurried out of the way.

    “Philomel. Your daughter has recovered with no signs of injury?” I wasn't sure what to make of Philomel greeting me out here. And from the looks on the faces of people around, neither were they.

    “You just missed her,” Philomel said formally, giving me a polite incline of her head. “She has recovered well, thank you. We just sparred.” I felt a light load leave my shoulders. She was - she was OK. That was excellent news. The mixture had worked for her, had freed her from the stone prison her flesh had become.

    I - hadn't been sure. Not because I doubted the serum - I'd seen it used in the past, to cure this exact same venom. No, what I had doubted was my own skill on making it. I had used the same serum on the bite on my arm, to get rid of the petrification that had set in on part of my forearm.

    And it had failed, as the ache in my left arm, and the stone flesh that ground against the regular skin attested. So I had thought that I had messed up the mixture, had failed. Or there had been some kind of relapse. But - but the child was alright. I closed my eyes for a moment, and breathed out slowly. Then I opened them again. I peered intently at Philomel, who shifted as my silver gaze bored into her.

    “Shall we go inside?” She suggested, a hand gesturing to a large stone keep in the back of the grounds. I nodded and followed as her hooves clipped on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

    “There have been no more problems with Gorgon or Medusae nearby?” Had another of the beasts been seen?

    “No. Thankfully.” She shook her head, as she moved and held open the keep’s font door for me. I nodded and fell into silence as she led the way through the stone corridors - and for once I didn't have to think about whether or not I needed to duck, as most of this place had been built for the faun who was nearly my size. I wondered where we were headed - we seemed to be working our way further and further inwards.

    She came to a door, paused, and looked from it, to me, then back to the door. She squared her shoulders and pushed it open. The room was richly furnished - against one wall, tucked into a corner, was a large writing desk, with drawers and papers in plentiful evidence. The other corner held a large bed, easily enough for several people, with a set of vivid red covers on top of it. There was a fire burning steadily in a fireplace near a rug - and on the rug was a lounge chair, with several pillows. Over by the bed was an armchair, currently angled to face the bed.

    Philomel gestured for me to enter the room, and closed it behind us. I heard her take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I turned to face her, and she paused, looking at me. “You don't wear your sunglasses anymore?” I shook my head.

    “No, not unless I need to. These lands do not have the stigma against silver eyes that Alerar does.” She studied me for a moment then nodded slowly.

    “I see. I do not know what negatives silver eyes would bear but …” she frowned as she walked slowly over to a cabinet where a tray bearing several decanters and two tankards stood. “What stigma?”

    “In Alerar, silver eyes are seen as a sign of being Moon-touched. They are - drow who in some way possess magical abilities. As you might surmise, such a trait is not held in high regards.” I chuckled and shook my head. “Part if why I was rather aggravated at you thinking me a monster for something I willingly chose - for many, many years I have had a very similar opinion thrown at me by those who saw my eyes - something I was born with.” As she listened, she was sorting out the drinks, filling the tankards with the beer from the decanters.
    Cruel and brutal are the blades for the Beast
    It's time to Carve and Clatter and Cleave.

    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.

  4. #4
    Super Moderator

    EXP: 96,345, Level: 13
    Level completed: 46%, EXP required for next Level: 7,655
    Level completed: 46%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,655


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    20,253
    AP
    0
    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Her back to him, Philomel kept breathing slowly, trying to remember of what she planned to say. Her hands folded around the two tankards, and they held the handles for longer than was necessary as she hid that she had a twisted look of many emotions on her face. So many that she had tried to forge control over through these past days.

    “From what you have told me of your culture I would understand why that would be a stigma,” she said quietly, gazing down at the bronze liquids before her. “It makes sense.”

    She sucked in a breath and twisted around, the two beers with her. For a moment she was lost in his eyes and then she faced him properly, memories of his prowess in fighting, his bravery and ability to taste the savour of violence on one's lips.

    “I asked you to come here,” she looked at his masked face, his jacketed body and his sturdy boots. Beneath all of that lay a man who was a fighter at heart. “For me to apologise.” Her eyes cast down as she spoke.

    Silver eyes studied her for a moment, then he shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for, Philomel. You hunted quite wonderfully, and it was masterfully done.” He shrugged.

    “I put my daughter and you at risk,” she stressed, finally lifting her hooves to move towards him. As she did come closer she held out one of the tankards. “You opened my eyes rather to something … well.” She struggled to admit her pride had been injured. She paused a moment as he took the beer and then looked curiously at him.

    “May I ask what might seem a rude question - but has your serum affected you physically?” The drow slowly pulled down his mask and took a slow drink of the beer before responding.

    “I would say it has affected me almost exclusively physically.” He set the tankard down on the edge of the table, then shrugged his coat off, setting it across the back of the lounge chair. He paused, and looked over his shoulder at her. “I take it you wish to examine me over it?” As he spoke, his fingers were working at the buttons of his vest. He opened it, then unhooked the Saw-Spear from the back and set it down, then pulled off the waistcoat and put it on top. The he turned around, opening up the shirt and baring his chest and stomach. On his right shoulder, stretching down towards his stomach at a slight diagonal angle, were three, thick rope scars, an even darker black than his normal skin tone. He stood there, shirt hanging from his shoulders, and he tilted his head.

    The thought struck Philomel then, without warning and pure honest, that if he were ever to want a change in profession, she would be more than eager to set him up. She knew she was willing to train him personally, also. Then she gasped a little as she figured she was staring at the savage scars and thinking these things at the same time. Heart thumping she remembered the way she had watched him bear the weapon and the next question dropped out without any thought.

    “In what ways has it done so?” She asked, eyes running down the length of a superbly long one that angled to his navel. Lengthy and seemingly unending it was. “Has it …?”

    She stumbled for words as she found herself moving eyesight from the firm flesh at his abdomen to … well. Slightly below it. Between his legs.

    “Hmm? Oh, there? While I have had an increase in stamina when I am interested - everything is natural, what I was born with. I am no monstrous being, Philomel. It densened the fibers of my muscles, increasing my reflexes and my strength - no physical deformations or the like.” His voice was steady and calm - though there was an odd lilt to his voice as he folded his arms over his chest, partially closing his shirt again as his arms pinned it shut a bit.

    Philomel flickered her eyes back up to meet his eyes. Her lips moved for a moment but no sound came out, before she shoved the tankard away from her. “Monstrous or not …” she lifted the side of her mouth in a smile. “May I … have more of a look?” She gestured to his chest. “Scars tell a lot about a person, I have a few myself.”

    He paused, staring at her for a few moments. Just when she thought he might refuse, he shrugged off his shirt, letting the dark red material fall away from his shoulders. He slung it off his right arm - then stopped before pulling it off completely from his left arm. Then he took a deep breath, and flicked it off. The reason for his hesitation became apparent - his left forearm was still a stone-grey hue, the venom still affecting him.

    Philomel's intake of breath was fast but she did not make eye contact directly. Instead she focused on what marvels lay before her, especially the stone-ailed arm.

    Gnarled in places and a wicked slate, the envenomed arm was very much a massive scar in its own right. She gazed with wonder in her eyes, not disgust or fear but rather genuine appreciation of what lay before her. Fingers rose and traced the air just above where his scars began and ran, following the lines and curves. Truly her heart now was racing.

    “If you wish to touch, you may.” His voice was calm and steady, a contrast to the pounding in her veins.

    “I hardly think I deserve to do such a thing,” she murmured without thought. He shook his head, though she did not see it with her gaze focused downwards.

    “Aren’t I the one who decides that? Touch, if you so desire.” A gentle admonishment, and his body remained still just beneath her touch.

    “They're far too beautiful. I feel I would need to earn the right to touch such a body-” she cut herself off, realising just what she was saying. A small gasp came from her lips before she looked back up into his eyes. They flashed, silver eyes glinting in the firelight.

    “Philomel. You hunted me down. You literally had my life in your hands. You have long since earned that right.”

    “That was a wrong,” she said in a hushed voice beneath his gaze. “The fact I captured you does not quantify a right because I was lost in prejudice. Yes a part of me still thinks of you as a form of monster, but I have lost all that right. In fact I-”

    She stopped herself, then stared right into his eyes. “You know. All of it to hell,” she murmured, but with confidence. “I want you to punish me.”
    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.

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