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  1. #11
    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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    Why was a teenage girl entering a bar?

    She despised the act of drinking with a burning passion, so that was a no.

    In fact, she loathed drunk loving too. Absolutely not.

    It was fights.

    Fights were what she was here for.

    She heard the commotion all the way from downtown. She was sucked towards the chaos like a magnet. Indeed, once she entered… it was a “I wish I could not hear my own thoughts” paradise. Fighting. A lot of fighting. It was all a blur; dwarves throwing tomatoes, a bunch of people absolutely demolishing each other. The stench of beer, sweat, urine, even blood all meshed together, cancelling out the pleasurable scents of food.

    First, eat. Then, fight.

    The fiery redhead made a b-line towards the counter, “Get me food. Lot’s of meat and fruit.” She placed the coin on the wooden counter before twirling around. A snarky smirk crossed her face as she surveyed all the unfamiliar faces in the crowd. A blond street fighter, some kids younger than her, was that a faun totting a halfling around like a tiny dog in a hand bag?

    Amongst all the flying food and undecyferable shouts, she slammed a fist into her palm.

    “I’m bored! Fight me!”

    She took her number and slipped the paper into a pocket. She then stepped forth, fists already up in a skilled boxing stance, into the fray.
    "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. #12
    Junior Member

    EXP: 785, Level: 1
    Level completed: 40%, EXP required for next Level: 1,215
    Level completed: 40%,
    EXP required for next Level: 1,215


    Spacemanspark's Avatar

    GP
    315

    Name
    Spark 5.5
    Age
    N/A (perhaps 14?)
    Race
    Synthetic
    Gender
    N/A
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Intriguing.
    Spark monitored the tavern from a distance, watching as various objects and even the occasional creature flew out various doors and windows, screaming.

    A tiny black feline head pokes its way out from the synthetic's bag, and watches, its green eyes defying the darkness of the night. "Even in an alternate realm, the bar is still strewn with chaos, it appears." it protrudes its full body from the bag, settling on Spark actual's shoulders. "Perhaps they have trinary?"

    Spark 5.5 buzzes, and shakes its monitor head. "Unit doubts it. However, it may learn something of this place... amidst the chaos." the robot watches as an orc is shoved out the front door onto its face, and then dragged back in by its legs, screaming.

    "...Perhaps." the tiny cat AI responds, still monitoring the chaos. "Perhaps."


    Spark stands up, flipping its hoodie over its head, and dimming the light coming from its CRT-head. "It would be best if this unit did not reveal itself entirely." it states, now standing and moving towards the tavern.

    When it reaches the door, it immediately has to jump out of the way as it crashes open. An organic runs out, apparently not capable of coping with whatever was going on.

    "...Breach and clear." Spark states, kicking the door and moving inside quickly.

    SPLAT

    Spark is immediately smacked in the monitor face with a tomato, which slowly inches down as gravity pulls it, smearing the glass. It reaches up, slowly, and removes it, staring at the food item. ...Oh, so that's how it is. it thinks to itself, crushing the item within its robotic palm.

    "Warning: additional incoming projectiles detected." beeps Spark 5.5m, slowly beginning to move back into the satchel Spark wore, realizing the danger it imposed on itself by being out in the open. Spark immediately rolls to the side, stopping at a kneeling position, and pulls out the kinetic accelerator from its back, clutching the weapon in both hands at it aims down the sights.

    BANG

    Spark catches a food item in the air with a shot, sending apple bits flying everywhere, and startling the shit out of some nearby organic, which runs out the door immediately, apparently deciding to be done for the night. "Good aim." the feline offers, its head poking from Spark's satchel again. The accelerator whirs and finally emits a click, indicating it was ready to fire again. The hoodie drifts over Spark's optics a little, and it immediately shoves it back, revealing itself entirely. Eyes immediately seem to focus on the robot, some in confusion, others in alarm at the newcomer.
    So much for not revealing itself.

    A nearby organic almost flies into Spark as they're tossed like a ragdoll, causing it to roll to its left again, landing just underneath a table. Thinking fast, Spark upends the furniture item, barely saving itself from a thrown axe, which impales the table. It stares out over the side and examines the area. "...This is just like the Cyberiad." it notes, emitting a soft ping.

    Spark's attention is caught by organics at the other end of the room, tossing food at various individuals. Emitting a buzzing sound, it set a new objective. Bean them back, with lightning.

    "So what are these green blobs? Mutants?" the robotic feline in Spark's bag inquires, catching the attention of a nearby orc. It turns to look at Spark in absolute rage.

    "WHAT YOU SAY ABOUT ME?!" it yells. It charges at Spark... and immediately gets blasted in the face with a kinetic shot. It flinches, its nose bleeding, but the blast doesn't seem to effect it too much as it continues to barrel forward. When it nears, Spark kicks the table forward, knocking it into the orc and causing it to bend over, releasing a gasp in surprise. As it attempts to stand up, the blue robot acts fast, slamming the butt of the weak rifle onto its head, before delivering a sharp kick into its face. It howls as it falls off the table, and onto the ground on its backside, only to be met with a merciless blast of electricity from Spark's palm. The creature screams as Spark doesn't let up, eventually slamming its head on the ground and knocking itself out. "Target incapacitated." it states, giving the unconscious orc another kick. A picture of a middle finger appears briefly on its monitor, before it looks away from the creature. Spark stares at its arm briefly, electricity dancing through it. "This unit needs to exhaust additional electricity anyways. Cell charge at one hundred and ten percent, and elevating." it ducks behind the table again, looking towards Spark 5.5m. "Try not to draw further attention to this unit, however." it states, prompting an almost irritable buzzing sound from the cat, which only states, "Noted."

    Placing the accelerator on its back again, it begins diving from cover spot to cover spot, trying to prevent itself from attracting too much more attention.
    Glory to Synthetica!

  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

    View Profile
    Distraction diverted Yvonne’s lustrous silver eyes for too long a moment and a mango she’d previously thrown came back to ding her on the saucepan helm, splattering violently into a juicy, sticky and stringy mess. The impact rocked her onto her heels, circular flailing arms all that kept her footing upon the bar counter. Recovered, she ducked her head from a tomato as more patrons caught on to the food volley - some of the food not breaking on impact and reused counter-offensively.

    Yvonne scampered along the counter top, her feet avoiding mugs and hands and-- oh me gosh! Leaping off the bar as a heavy-set minotaur slammed horns first into the stools and wood, thrashing its head about, the little one flew through splinters and bar-shrapnel as she ran for her life. Someone couldn’t take a joke, yeesh! What’s a tomato-splodge between friends?

    The drow-dwarf delinquent hurried under the closest table to confuse the lumbering goliath. On all fours she skittered across the floor as hastily as she could, passing through tablecloths. Just as she’d escaped to the other side of the material the minotaur slammed its club-like fists down on the table above, pounding it into pieces without effort. As the aggressor picked through the broken shell of the former table, looking for a black and red smudge beneath, Yvy crept under the next table-shelter as soon as she could.

    Fenn! Good grief, fancy meeting ye here!

    She whispered with overwhelming emphasis, “Mister Wenn, no time! Flee! Scary cow-man!” The warning was the least she could do for the frost-puck before she abandoned the position herself altogether, slipping through yet another table cloth.

    Poking her head up to scout her surroundings she watched a shiny metal golem thump and fry a much larger orc opponent, beating and sizzling the brute in swift succession. She had no idea who controlled the golem or what its purpose was, but one thing she knew for sure! It would be a whole lot safer behind that shiny golem. It knew how to defend itself, obviously!

    The minotaur raged in frustration when it couldn’t find Yvonne’s pulverized remains, raising up and mooing in fierce aggravation. Beady eyes noticed the little hybrid scurrying through the tavern, using all the cover she could, but such trickery could only be so effective. The lumbering beast threw Fenn’s table aside like a toy it no longer found interest in. Its legs stepped over the fae’s little huddled form and its hoof crunched down on the weakening floorboards behind him. Somehow he’d survived the passage of the minotaur unscathed but fully exposed.

    Yvonne bee-lined for her saviour, the technologically advanced golem, quickly ducking behind it in its hiding place.

    “Hello there! A pleasure ta meet ye! Sorry about that dangerous bull creature charging right for us!” she greeted cheerfully.
    Last edited by Yvonne; 07-02-2018 at 09:16 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.

  4. #14
    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 was- Fenn was out in the open?

    So Much chaos had happened since he had tripped that orc. What had he begun? Had he started this? Yelling, explosions, upturned tables… the tavern was in utter uproar! For a while, Fenn had stayed safe underneath his table, but then Yvonne of all people had appeared out of nowhere and advised him to flee from a cow. All the drunk fae could manage was a crossed-eyed puzzlement as she crawled through his mess of dishes and vanished through the tablecloth.

    And then his table and flew up into the air, one leg almost hitting him. And then the earthquake of a cowman had passed.

    The little fae was left shock-struck amid piles of broken glass ground into decimated floorboards. What? His hiding place? He almost squished? He scowled and hiccoughed as the burly minotaur smashed off toward other unfortunates. A part of him was afraid to move because of the glass — oops. A very different part of him was stuck on the realization that this bar was totally trashed and thus no longer able to dish out drinks and deliciousness. And thus, there were no more foods or mugs for him to make off with and nurse in quiet joy.

    His eyes narrowed and his cheeks puffed out in irritation.

    It wasn’t exactly intentional, the steady trickle of ice that slicked the floor outward from where he sat, but it was indeed done with the relish of spite and puffs of livid snowflakes once he realized he was doing it. Those brawlers could eat floor too, just like the stompy orc. ‘Specially that minotaur. Hooves and slick ground didn’t mix together well.

  5. #15
    upon the cheek of night

    EXP: 224,444, Level: 20
    Level completed: 0%, EXP required for next Level: 0
    Level completed: 0%,
    EXP required for next Level: 0


    Breaker's Avatar

    GP
    38,725

    Name
    Joshua Breaker Cronen
    Age
    30
    Race
    Demigod
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Ninjas. It had to be ninjas.

    It seemed like every time I robbed an Akashiman shogun of an ancient Scaran artifact in order to rescue my goddess from the clutches of a frost-titan, I ended up surrounded by the black-masked fuckers.

    They had caught me as I moved through the field next to the shogun’s manor, surrounding me. All sixteen of them. Some of them produced shuriken while others unsheathed glimmering blades. Secretive silent hand-talk flickered back and forth between them, laying strategy.

    They could not hide their intentions from me. My hazel eyes saw all, saw inside of them, to their souls and their histories. They had a pecking order, and they attacked in predictable sequence.

    Like a thresher running through a wheat field I chopped them all down, disarming and disabling with soft holds and swift blows. Within seconds I stood amidst a field of fallen warriors, their groans and cries mingling with the creaking of the trees.

    “Well done, Breaker.” I heard slow applause and looked up to see the shogun himself standing on a wide veranda. “Well done indeed. It is no wonder that people always whine about having to fight you.”

    “What do you want, nameless villain?” I demanded. I plucked the artifact, which was a simple if large and thick silver coin, out of my pocket and held it up in the moonlight. “I have what I came for. I was leaving. You needn’t have sacrificed your men.”

    “Ah, so you may think.” The shogun replied. He twirled his long, thin mustache. “But while you were being so badass, my best ninja was teleporting to a little pub just outside Stonevale. Do you know who he’ll be meeting with there?”

    My blood ran cold. What had I walked into?

    “He’ll be meeting with your friend Philomel van der Aart, and he has a potent gift for her. A most poisonous pricking, and then an everlasting sleep.” He smiled venomously. “Give me the coin, and I’ll give you the pub’s name. You might just be in time to save her.”

    “Tell me!” I commanded him, using the great power of my voice to attempt to sway him, but he had a stern resolve. I drove a fist into a calloused palm. I had to save Philomel. She was not just a friend, she was the Lyre Bearer. I had sworn to Am’aleh, Suravani, and Drys that I would protect her. “Fine!” I shouted, figuring I could kick a frost titan’s ass any day. “Here!” I threw the coin up to the shogun.

    “Thank you,” he said, catching it skillfully. “You’ll find your friend… and my assassin… at the Minister’s Alehouse!”

    That was all I needed. I turned east toward Scara Brae and took a greatstep through the folds of reality, emerging in a rush of air and sawdust amdist a massive bar brawl.

    “Philomel!” I called, searching for the faun. “You are not s-”

    A plateful of mashed potatoes and gravy caught me full in the face and sent me sputtering and stumbling sideways. I tripped over a kid (there seemed to be a couple of them around) and tumbled artfully between two barnstorming orcs. I accidentally rolled over their feet, and they howled in pain and left off fighting each other to kick me repeatedly in the ribs.

    “Enough!” I roared, and one of the orcs shit his pants. I rolled backwards and caught the other one in a twisting heelhook, destroying his knee in a way that would never quite heal. I spun to my feet and deftly caught a tomato whizzing toward my face, throwing it back at the dwarf that cast it with alarming precision.

    Amidst the melee I jumped up on a table, still dripping warm mashed potatoes, and scanned the area, searching for Philomel or her potential assassin.

    “Lyre Bearer!” I called. “Where have you gone?”
    "The breeze did not stir. The stars did not twinkle. The trees did not sway and the brook did not babble.
    For the world did not turn when Am'aleh wept, and a tear had tumbled down her cheek."


  6. #16
    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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    Personally, Philomel believed food should remain on the plate. All this infantile foolishness was not for her, with the tomatoes and good bread - not stale - being thrown across the room in all directions.

    The short dwarf lover who's name she had now forgotten, had scrambled away hastily when all started going to hell. The faun recognised some of those involved - the tiny fae Fenn, except now he looked somewhat insectoid, and the fiery fighter Felicity - and others she did not. But her main concern was currently focused on not getting stains on her perfectly fine clothing and so she hid beneath the same table she had crashed in upon.

    "Well," she said in a disapproving voice, looking at her beloved fox who was all but hissing with his back arched like a cat and tail savagely waving, "This has been a change in circumstance."

    Veridian scowled at her with deep golden eyes, skipping to the side as what once had been a hunk of pork slid along the floor towards them. The faun herself frowned deeply and moved further towards the wall the table butted - that with the window she had broken. Lips pursed she checked her assortment of weaponry and decided to pick out a green-bladed dagger over either of her sword and crossbow. Streadily she held out it, blade up in case any other cold dishes, dressed in dirt, should come their way.

    Do not like, Veridian stated into her mind. Not at all.

    "Well we could try to get out of the window," Philomel suggested, peering at a bench beside them, though it was covered in shards of glass. "We came in that way."

    Veridian looked at her and growled, baring his teeth. Anything.

    The faun shrugged and pushed herself onto her knees. Moving over to the bench she began to ease her way up, pushing aside the glass with her scarf in preparation. Behind her Veridian continued to spit, and she started to heave herself upwards, and from then on the aim would be to clamber onto the table itself, before -

    Slam. A fist caught her hard in the face.

    It was only her supernatural speed taking hold as her head was knocked back that kept it from knocking hard against the table. Quickly, she breathed in, gasping as colours blurred before her, a a jeer of dark and red.

    "What ..."

    There was a roar as Veridian was there, leaping forwards with his jaws agape. As Philomel righted her sense his form merged with the shadow before her. She heard an enrgaed cry, a bowl and a ripping of flesh. Summoning what energy she could she flicked the switch on the underside of her dagger and suddenly it was ablaze, flames proudly licking up and down the blade.

    Shoving her form through the gap and making it wider, she stood upright and came face to face with their assistant. He was clothed in black, had cloth wrapped around his face and had the fiercest eyes she had ever seen. In his hands he held sais, but one was currently only hand held as he attempted to grapple off the fox who was clutched about his throat.

    Suddenly a call: "Lyre bearer!" it yelled.

    She looked around, knowing she recognised that voice. From some months ago now but it was so well know .

    "... Maul slayer."
    Last edited by Philomel; 07-08-2018 at 12:39 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.

  7. #17
    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
    Zack Blaze: The Catalyst of Chaos, Avatar of Anarchy, Prince of Pandemonium, Savant of Shitstorms...

    The brawler's mind was busy mentally listing all the cool names that would be bestowed upon him whilst his hands slammed the rogue through the bar's furniture. Splinters of wood and splashes of drink flew out in every which direction and threatened to make themselves known upon anyone foolish enough to continue standing around the fighter and his prey. Just as Zack started to let loose, a familiar voice rang out from behind the former prisoner. The smile across the criminal's face widened as he began to turn to face a man he completely decimated in the citadel once before, and was more than happy to do so again. As he turned, his shirt ripped completely off of his form, a result of Nosdyn's kick only barely failing to find its mark and as a result disrobing Zack's upper body.

    "Hey, I liked that shirt," Zack spoke as his brows furrowed and his smile disappeared, "but I guess Loseric isn't absolutely useless after all. After I take care of you, I'll deal with him."

    He looked to the man who dared attempt to interrupt his fun. He looked around Zack's height and weight, though it was incredibly difficult to take one's eyes away from anything but the urine colored eyes of this demonic-looking foe. "You're face already looks a little trashed, pal," Zack took a deep breath as he slung a small uppercut in Nosdyn's direction, "and the best thing to do with a pile of trash is to burn it!"

    Zack's hope was that his words distracted the Haidian native from the real attack. A small shark-like fin of flames began to cut through the wooden floor of the establishment as if Blaze's hands threw the fiery attack like an underhanded baseball. Small embers sprang out and sparkled onto the floor before they quickly died away while the hot attack attempted to find its target in Nosdyn. The attack would hopefully cover the weird eyed warrior in flames, and if not, at least would give Zack a clue about whom he now fought.

  8. #18
    Newcomer

    EXP: 685, Level: 1
    Level completed: 35%, EXP required for next Level: 1,315
    Level completed: 35%,
    EXP required for next Level: 1,315


    Ulrich Craggenmoor's Avatar

    GP
    137

    Name
    Squiggy
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Salvar

    View Profile
    The wizurai huddled behind the bar, out of sight, with a series of golden threads dancing above his head to form a sturdy parasol of protection. At his feet lay the unconscious Dark-skinned elf. Behind him and beyond the bar was chaos.

    The bar-keep has left.

    —what felt like 20 seconds ago—

    Ulrich, with his mind on the notes. Formulated a plan to leave this place, get on his horse and leave. The second part of the plan was to never return to this ruffian infested squalor of bad drink and rough housing that only ended with unconsciousness.

    Then there was the fruits.

    And the robot.

    And the Minotaur.

    All of which circled around anyone strong enough to fight a mountain and manage to find a way to simply destroy everything at one. There was chaos. Like, did no one want to take a number and line up to take their turn!? He rolled his eyes and soon there was more that he couldn’t keep track of.

    With a resounding crack, a plate of meat and chips flew into the side of his head, setting the world into a dizzy spin. A lazy foot falling forward in a desperate attempt to be somewhere else as a great horned beast smashed its way through the majority of the bar. Dislodging a handful of spectators who had claimed it as a sticky viewing gallery. The crunch of wood, as loud as lightning, shook Ulrich out of his reveere as he made for the door. Tripping over Lilly’s leg. Landing face first in what he hoped was a spilled drink but either way was a memory that would stick with him.

    Pushing himself from the floor he looked around. Spying more contestants as the floor froze, an Icy glow taking most of the bar’s uneven flooring and taking out more of the green skinned foes in a comically efficient way.

    Looking down at the near defenceless form at his feet, his brown eyes made another lap in their sockets as he leaned down. His fists bunched into lilly’s outfit and heaved them both around to the other side of the bar. Utilising one of the many opening now available to them.

    —now—

    Another ripe tomato sores over the bar and somewhere into the back. Either bad aim, or someone liked to throw things. All the while, his mind and fingers worked. Stitching the golden thread that had been shielding him, onto his boots. Forming blades on the soles which pointed outwards in a fashion he had seen the tumblers use on frozen lakes to gain speed and stability.

    He hoisted the elf onto his shoulder and hobbled to the start of the ice. Beyond that was an angry looking fey creature. And beyond that, an undefended and previously smashed open window.

    His motions were unpracticed. Clumsy. But quicker than most, as the ice was clear of all but the orca who lay prone. Most wise enough to clear away from the hazard. The fairy he passed causing the ice he tried to shout towards, but the room was too loud. Instead motioingjng with his hand to communicate a- “thanks” as he slid past on magical skates. Bending his knees he pushed off.

    Catching the window’s edge with one foot and spring boarding into the cold air.

  9. #19
    Legend

    EXP: 45,220, Level: 9
    Level completed: 13%, EXP required for next Level: 8,780
    Level completed: 13%,
    EXP required for next Level: 8,780


    Nosdyn's Avatar

    GP
    2,737

    Name
    ~Nosdyn Krotar~
    Age
    Ancient...
    Race
    ~Old Soldier~
    Gender
    ~Male~
    Location
    Ettermire/Alerar

    View Profile
    "Now then."

    Nosdyn said carefully as his body was ignited in flames for a moment or two. His body was scorched and he suffered some degree of burning, but for the most part he endured Zack's attack. That was a nice attack. Nos looked through the hot fire as he looked at Leoric's position. There were other combatants in the area, and a that point he noticed that the floor was somewhat slick with a sheet of ice. Nosdyn would have to maneuver a little carefully. He was thankful for his boots at that point.

    As he stared back at Zack, the fellow spewed nonsense out of his face.

    "Let's see you try, Zack." Nosdyn knew the man's name as he was a participant and member of The Citadel's ranks. Nosdyn had good knowledge of most of the warriors that frequented The Citadel's halls. As he stood there for a moment longer, he cracked his neck. "I hope that's not your only trick." Nosdyn stalked forward towards Zack. Though he was sincerely a reformed Demon, he knew Zack was a criminal and his capture would give Nosdyn a nice payday with the local guards.

    As his eyes narrowed his body gave off steam from the criminal's attack. Be ready to strike back. Nosdyn thought calmly. Though his own growing unarmed combat skills needed a lot of refinement, he still was no slouch in his training. He just needed more experience. Nosdyn fought in the unarmed combat style of the demon horde. As he walked forward, Nosdyn grabbed a chair, and the sap that was sitting on it fell on the ground. Nosdyn had a weapon at that point. I could use my sword but that would be cheating, besides...I have to train more. Nosdyn thought to himself. When he was in striking distance, Nosdyn swung the strong oak chair right at Zakc's upper body.

    He waited to see what Zack would do. "Not a fight without some damned chairs." Nosdyn grinned.

  10. #20
    upon the cheek of night

    EXP: 224,444, Level: 20
    Level completed: 0%, EXP required for next Level: 0
    Level completed: 0%,
    EXP required for next Level: 0


    Breaker's Avatar

    GP
    38,725

    Name
    Joshua Breaker Cronen
    Age
    30
    Race
    Demigod
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    “Lyre Bearer!” My voice echoed over the cacophony of combat. My hazel eyes flashed over the flicker of flames, the fighting foes and the flying fruit. As a soldier slipped on a pile of slush and slammed into a slack-jawed sycophant, my swift eyes and godly cerebellum made sense of the situation.

    I spotted Fennik Glenwey, the little puck of a fae responsible for coating the floor in frost. I had helped the child-sized fellow fine tune his ice magic. I scanned past a man who called himself Zack Blaze, seeing many details of his checkered past in a single instant. The demon Nosdyn and the warrior Leoric who faced Blaze would have their hands full. Already flames licked at the floorboards as a result of his noxious powers.

    At the window behind the bar, a strange-looking fellow called Squiggy struggled to kidnap a female drow, whose name was unclear. It seemed his intentions were pure, however, so I saw no reason to intervene. I had my hands full looking for Philomel.

    There.

    Past the pilferous puck, behind the battling boys, and through the fast-spreading flames, I finally spotted her. The faun Philomel, the matriarch of the Gilded Lily, my traveling companion and ally of many years. In her hand was a flaming dagger, in her face was a masked foe, and on his face was a feisty fox-form fellow I knew as Veridian.

    I leaped from table to table, the wooden planks jostling beneath my boots, fruit and vegetables flying past me on all sides. I jumped over the spreading flames, intentionally upsetting a tray full of ale mugs which splashed down in attempt to extinguish the fire. The bar owner could thank me later.

    Sprinting the length of the last table, I took a flying leap and lashed out with a metal boot at the back of the ninja-assassin’s skull. If the bastard was tough enough to defeat me, Philomel, and her fox, then we didn’t deserve to call ourselves the Awesome-team. Which we never had done, but probably should.
    "The breeze did not stir. The stars did not twinkle. The trees did not sway and the brook did not babble.
    For the world did not turn when Am'aleh wept, and a tear had tumbled down her cheek."


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