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 Post subject: A Fox's Musings
Unread postPosted: Wed May 11, 2016 8:10 pm 
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Away an age...at last returned,
The land calls as much as the foam
A green sea, lately churned
calm once more as he neared home.

Old wood, 'neath well worn leather
resonates in his soul, each step nearer
to duty, a mountain, to turn back...a feather
A choice in fog, suddenly clearer.

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A beginning again, anew, if willing.
So many to see... to speak... hasten!
Steadfast now, a heart still chilling
and armored thus, that muscle chastened.

A man, a plan, yet a brother felled
Golden hair, a pyre near ready
His absence is guilt and pain compelled.
Rage, vengeance, wrath...steadied.

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The magic blooded pulls him back
from darkness where demons lie in wait
She bidst a task with wit and tact
Wrath distracted, bidden to the Gate.

To pain deified this most errant gallant
A lady to befriend, in truth a youth
Trust to earn and give, a challenge
Yet relish it yes, ne'er a thought uncouth.

A stranger to temple, the Raven beckons so
the lure of salt e'er his bane
Formerly chastened ice placidly softens
as shriveled verge doused with rain.

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Another purpose offered, counter? I wonder...
Caution now, the soul too bare
Blood gone raucous, venous thunder
Fully enveloped, entranced Raven fair.

Artist? Not quite, perhaps, a juggler to wit
ceaselessly tempting fate, adding ball upon ball
Confident...arrogant? Doomed to repeat yet writ?
To stay aloft is key, but if one drops...do all?


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_________________
There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. - Ernest Hemingway
The Fox's Bio
Kellan Armstrong's Bio
Quint's Bio


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 Post subject: Re: A Fox's Musings
Unread postPosted: Fri May 13, 2016 5:13 pm 
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Location: New York
A series of recurring nightmares...

*The man reaches the surface, shaking his head to the side to flick his soaked mane out of his face. He grins at the jeering jibes being shouted at him from the more veteren members raising a hand to them before he begins a fast swim toward the rope being lowered over the side of the gunwhale. As he closes the distance the shots increase in furtiveness and volume but he can make little out through the sound of the waves and the blood pounding in his ears. The barefoot, shirtless sailor is nearly half way to the ship when he is struck from below with such force that he is launched from the salt and sent flying through the air. As he spins, weightless, he loses all sense of direction before plummeting back into the sea, disoriented and terrified. As he rights himself and regains his bearings he swims frantically toward the ship kicking his legs and pulling with both arms.

As the monstrous jaws close around his torso he hears screaming and feels a brief instant of pain before it vanishes. It takes several moments before he realizes that the baritone screaming is coming from his own throat. He looks then, at the dead eyes of the striped shark holding him in its jaws and futilely claws for his deck knives secured in the sash at his waist. He punches at the shark's nose, fighting to get past the jaws to his blades as the tiger begins to pull him beneath the surface. The sea turns crimson and his chest burns with both wounds and lack of air. As the macabre duo descend the shark lets go, preparing to get a more secure hold on its copper-haired catch.

The youth wastes no time, drawing the curved, heavy blades from his sash and ramming the points into the beast's eyes. One is turned by the shark's rough hide but the other finds that dead black orb and punctures into the vitreous humor beneath. He bears into the one blade twisting it viciously, his lifeblood further salinating the now scarlet foam. The denizen of the deep swims off, perhaps in search of easier fare and the sailor kicks toward the lifegiving sun above, desperate for air and salvation. He falls short, unable to even tell his hands to release their death grip on the blades to help swim. The reverberation of several splashes echo in his fluid filled ears, his oxygen deprived brain unable to connect the sound to any cause...


**Fox flails himself awake, one of a trio of recurring nightmares tearing him from any sort of restful sleep. He stands, clad only in smallclothes, his chest bare as he staggers to the washbasin on the rustic stand in his quarters. He splashes water on his face and runs his soaked hands through his copper mane. As the faint candlelight catches in the stand mirror, a semicircular pattern of scars can be seen, beginning on his right shoulder, arcing out to his sternum and then back to his waist. Unseen by the mirror is the matching arc on his back.*

_________________
There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. - Ernest Hemingway
The Fox's Bio
Kellan Armstrong's Bio
Quint's Bio


Last edited by finneas on Fri May 13, 2016 7:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: A Fox's Musings
Unread postPosted: Fri May 13, 2016 6:54 pm 
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Location: New York
*He pushes the golden haired lady knight from his side he is dragged from hers. "Be steadfast!" he mouths, shaking his head as she makes to follow him, torn between her desire to go to his aid and her obeisance of the lawmen holding him. He grins impudently at the guards as they drag him from the Song of the Morning, holding him at their captain Antonio's command. As two hold him, a third approaches, flexing his hands eagerly. He begins to rain blows upon the displaced sailor bloodying his face, closing one eye and swelling his jaw.*

*The man spits out a mouthful of blood and saliva, mildly amazed that the abuse had not freed any teeth from his skull. He smirks at the man, teeth sanguine as he throws verbal jabs. "Come on, mate. Hit me with yer purse, next." The copper-haired man laughs deeply as the two hold him tightly. As the third is about to descend with another round of pain Antonio steps to the fore. He announces clearly for all to hear, trumped up charges against the man.*

"You are charged this day with attempted bribery of the captain of the Amnish guard here in Beregost as well as slander, conspiracy and consorting with those meddlers harboring a criminal in the Temple! Your punishment will be carried out forthwith. 10 passes through! Form the gauntlet men!"

*The guards drop the accused to the ground, forming up with the rest, a score broken into two lines, saps held eagerly. Antonio stands at one end, knowing full well that the proud man will not refuse. He is not disappointed as the Fox climbs slowly to his feet, dusting himself off and straightening his ostentatious fox tailed hat. He strides slowly to the beginning of the gauntlet, the Lady Cecilia looking on aghast, one hand covering her mouth. He strides forward confidently, head held high as the blows begin to rain down upon him. He staggers and stumbles but retains his feet on his first pass to the chagrin of Antonio. He turns, striding back through, grunts of pain escaping his clenched teeth as the blunt instruments beat heavily upon his torso.*

*He manages the second pass as well, going to one knee as he gains the brief respite before beginning the third. As his previous aggressor sneers in derision, Fox retorts by winking and blowing the guard a kiss before grinning broadly. He then starts forward on his third pass of ten. The blows are more fierce, his now damaged abdomen unable to endure the continued abuse. Ribs snap audibly, one pierces a lung, blood spews from his mouth. The insulted guard seizes his chance and breaks his sap over the man's head, sending him to the ground, barely conscious.*

*Antonio snorts a laugh, shaking his head at the futile display of pride. He turns to the Lady Lafayette, growling at her. "Get this mess off of my street before I drag him through the other seven myself." With that, the captain calls the group to attention, marching them back to the barracks, leaving the couple to their own devices. Cecilia shoulders the Fox to his feet, taking his weight and half carries him to the Song of the Morning. She takes him below, fortune blessed that a well known priest of Ilmater happened to be in attendance. The man retains just enough of his wits to wave the priest off as he begins to beseech his God for divine healing."No magic, priest, I beg you. Do what you can otherwise, if you wish."With that, the man coughs up a bit of blood before slumping down the wall, finally losing consciousness.*

-The man tosses and turns in his quarters, not waking from this second nightmare but does not wake, breaking into a cold sweat at what follows.-

_________________
There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. - Ernest Hemingway
The Fox's Bio
Kellan Armstrong's Bio
Quint's Bio


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 Post subject: Re: A Fox's Musings
Unread postPosted: Fri May 13, 2016 6:58 pm 
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Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2011 6:15 pm
Posts: 275
Location: New Zealand
So good.

finneas wrote:
A series of recurring nightmares...

*The man reaches the surface, shaking his head to the side to flick his soaked mane out of his face. He grins at the jeering jibes being shouted at him from the more veteren members raising a hand to them before he begins a fast swim toward the rope being lowered over the side of the gunwhale. As he closes the distance the shots increase in furtiveness and volume but he can make little out through the sound of the waves and the blood pounding in his ears. The barefoot, shirtless sailor in nearly half way to the ship when he is struck from below with such force that he is launched from the salt and sent flying through the air. As he spins, weightless he loses all sense of direction before plummeting back into the sea, disoriented and terrified. As he rights himself and regains his bearings he swims frantically toward the ship kicking his legs and pulling with both arms.

As the monstrous jaws close around his torso he hears screaming and feels a brief instant of pain before it vanishes. It takes several moments before he realizes that the baritone screaming is coming from his own throat. He looks then, at the dead eyes of the striped shark holding him in its jaws and futilely claws for his deck knives secured in the sash at his waist. He punches at the shark's nose, fighting to get past the jaws to his blades as the tiger begins to pull him beneath the surface. The sea turns crimson and his chest burns with both wounds and lack of air. As the macabre duo descend the shark lets go, preparing to get a more secure hold on its copper-haired catch.

The youth wastes no time, drawing the curved, heavy blades from his sash and ramming the points into the beast's eyes. One is turned by the shark's rough hide but the other finds that dead black orb and punctures into the vitreous humor beneath. He bears into the one blade twisting it viciously, his lifeblood further salinating the now scarlet foam. The denizen of the deep swims off, perhaps in search of easier fare and the sailor kicks toward the livegiving sun above, desperate for air and salvation. He falls short, unable to even tell his hands to release their deathgrip on the blades to help swim. The reverberation of several splashes echo in his fluid filled ears, his oxygen deprived brain unable to connect the sound to any cause...


**Fox flails himself awake, one of a trio of recurring nightmares tearing him from any sort of restful sleep. He stands, clad only in smallclothes, his chest bare as he staggers to the washbasin on the rustic stand in his quarters. He splashes water on his face and runs his soaked hands throuh his copper mane. As the faint candlelight catches in the stand mirror, a semicirclular pattern of scars can be seen, beginning on his right shoulder, arcing out to his sternum and then back to his waist. Unseen by the mirror is the matching arc on his back.*

_________________
Tooth decay is the leading cause of Barbarian Rage.


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 Post subject: Re: A Fox's Musings
Unread postPosted: Fri May 13, 2016 8:26 pm 
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Location: New York
*The man limps along the Lion's Way, his deformed torso a lasting travesty from a brutal savaging at the hands of corrupt lawmen. He turns, looking back over his shoulder furtively, hastening as best he can amidst relentless pursuit. Nothing follows that he can see, yet he feels it.... Suddenly the ground coalesces beside him, the living rock rising up, seizing him before his damaged body can move to avoid it. The primal earthen force carries him west, toward the coast, to a henge of ages past. The elemental emits a guttural sound as it lowers the damaged man before one of the pillars, vines creeping up from the dirt to bind him fast. He rails against the verge to no avail, his body failing him still.

*He strains to exhaustion and frustration, little more than a shell of the once robust sailor. Before his eyes the mass of earth shrinks, compacting upon itself and reorganizing to become a being of fire, robed and with flaming hair. The madman approaches, slowly, speaking phrases that are nonsense to all but himself. He promises relief from pain, a restoration to prowess past. He professes knowledge of which the healers of the current age are ignorant. A spidery creature scampers from the madman to the one time sailor, scampering up his entwined form and loosening the bindings on his armor, peeling it away. The tunic goes next and madman shrieks, bemoaning the charlatan healing that the Fox had received.*

*The well known madman speaks, then, in his maddening way, professing his desire to help as none other can. "Bones are healed wrong. We must break them to heal them. It must be, yes. You do not believe but we know we know." The entangled sailor pleads with the madman. "Please, Teris, no, don't! You don't know what you are doing!" The druid chants dweomers of strength upon himself and then starts forward as his prisoner squirms. He bears down on the deformed ribs, snapping the malformed bones one by bone and then, realigning them before calling upon the spirits of nature to heal them properly. As each bone is rebroken the man screams out in deep baritone pain, his mind swooning as it is overcome.*

-The sailor calls out in his fitful slumber, pleading. "No...no stop...please..."

_________________
There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. - Ernest Hemingway
The Fox's Bio
Kellan Armstrong's Bio
Quint's Bio


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