The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Exotic Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Remiel on 09-02-2010, 07:11:10</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>09-02-2010, 07:11:10</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://img39.imageshack.us/img39/8153/smallh.gif)</div><br><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><em>earken now to the epic saga of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III: a saga to make poets weep and brave men wail in earnest.&nbsp; From humble beginnings was he arisen, yet did he prevail over terrible adversity and mortal peril to vanquish the loathéd foe and save all of Generica, nay, the very world.&nbsp; Here, then, is his story:<br><br>Long was day and cruel and fierce the night when Sir Reginal Percival Fairweather III did retire to his fortress, the venerable tavern hall known as the Questgivers' Inn, where there was much feasting and spilling of tales.&nbsp; Verily, he did take up his usual seat at the place of honor, wherein the Inn lord, a mighty warrior whose name was Torvald Steelhammer, didst say to him:</em></span></span><br><br>"No luck again today, Reg?&nbsp; Pity, that.&nbsp; The usual?"<br><br>"Yes, Tor."&nbsp; Sighing, Sir Reginald slumped into his usual seat, glancing at the mug of hot cocoa that the bartender shoved in front of him.&nbsp; He'd tried ale once, had been told that it was generally the stuff that heroes drank while they sat and planned out their adventurous exploits, but had barely been able to stomach it.&nbsp; <br><br>He unshouldered his pack, set it on the chair in front of him, and opened it, removing a leatherbound journal and a small quill feather pen, which he dipped in ink.&nbsp; <em>Day 36</em>, he wrote. <em>Still no success.&nbsp; Still no one taking me seriously.&nbsp; Lately, I have begun to wonder whether the universe is worth saving.&nbsp; The Absolute Evil exists, I know it does, it is just a matter of--</em><br><br>A small, boiled potato interrupted him by bouncing off his head.<br><br>"Hey, Sir Fairbottom.&nbsp; Have you been slaying dragons again?"&nbsp; someone jeered. It came from a large, bearded man at the next table over, who slapped his thigh in merriment.<br><br>"He bores them to death with his gods-awful speeches!" someone else called, followed by a chorus of laughter.<br><br>"Come on, Fairbottom.&nbsp; Where's this Ultimate Evil you keep going on about?&nbsp; I think it must be hidin', too scared to show its face with a hero like you around!"&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>Sir Reginald carefully maintained his composure, looking up stoically into the unpleasant circle of leering grins.&nbsp; "It's Fair<em>weather</em>, thank you.&nbsp; And you'll be sorry, you'll see.&nbsp; It's out there, lurking just beneath the horizon.&nbsp; It will attack when you least expect it."<br><br>"It better not be after sundown then, because that's when I'll be shagging yer mum!"&nbsp; &nbsp;Once again, there was laughter.&nbsp; This sort of thing often passes for humour, although the resemblance can be quite strained at times.<br><br>Sir Reginald sighed, and turned his chair away from the hooting hecklers.&nbsp; <em>Oh, fickle Destiny,</em> he thought.&nbsp; <em>How much longer must I endure the mockery of cretins and idiots?</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather </strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>16-02-2010, 20:55:19</strong>
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				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP *<br>Healthy &nbsp;<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>The door to the Questgiver's Inn opened rather violently and slammed against the wall with a bang. The sound quickly brought a hushed silence to the room, more out of being startled than anything else. A figure shrouded by a mottled cloak of dark blue or purple or green, the edges of which were dusty and somewhat torn from traveling stepped into the quiet room. Those closest to her later proclaim to have heard a dark muttering that sent shivers up their spine, something about an oaf named Cleo demanding unattainable golden fleece. A few brave men had tried to glance into the dark confines of the hood only to find themselves paralyzed with fear as a gleam of menacing gold eyes peered back at them. <br><br>One small slender hand reached up to pull back her hood and a gloom seemed to lift from the atmosphere of the room, lightening considerably similar to a candle in the darkness. Later on, others profess that it was a young girl dressed in the pure white robes of a priestess stepped gingerly through the doorway, contrary to others who saw otherwise. Closer inspection and one would realize that her uniform was a tad different from the usual plain clothes donned by those who deemed themselves holy. Instead of being covered from head to toe, her shoulders were bared and a long slit up the side brazenly showed lovely sculpted legs. The colors were the same, white and gold, but the design was definitely unorthodox. <br><br>Waves of brown tumbled free and were held in place with a matching headband and she glanced up to survey the room with soft dewy eyes peering past her bangs. A rather large and hefty tome was held tightly in her arms as if it were a precious ornament...and it very well may be considering her occupation. She seemed timid almost, surrounded by so many men, and when soft lips parted to speak her voice matched her appearance perfectly, soft, learned, and melodical. "Excuse me, but are there any open rooms left?" <br><br>At her side, hanging off of a golden tassle that seemed to serve as a belt, was a worn leather bag. At the moment, it seemed relatively empty but a small bulge at the bottom hinted at some sort of precious possession or perhaps even a small amount of money. She tugged lightly at the leather strap attached to the travelers pack hanging off of her shoulder, the spitting image of a helpless girl struggling with a heavy burden as she waited expectantly for a response. The entire time she was glancing nervously about, seemingly unsure of herself or was she just searching for the innkeeper?
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>17-02-2010, 05:30:25</strong>
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				The presence of a young girl in such an establishment was noteworthy enough, but especially so one dressed in such a manner.&nbsp; It caused a great number of the male patrons to think most definitely unholy* thoughts.<br><br>The innkeeper, a great grizzled man with a great grizzled beard and an eyepatch, was unimpressed, though.&nbsp; He spit casually into a pewter mug, and then proceeded to wipe it with a dirty cloth.&nbsp; He was dressed in a leather vest and woolen breeches with great big boots, although the effect was ruined somewhat by a pin on his vest that said, in large, friendly letters, "THE QUESTGIVERS' INN.&nbsp; ASK US ABOUT OUR DAILY SPECIALS!"<br><br>He cleared his throat meaningfully, and nodded pointedly at the pin.<br><br><br><br><br><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">*Unless the god in question was Lascivius, the god of lechery and debauchery.</span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>17-02-2010, 05:38:23</strong>
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				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP *<br>Healthy &nbsp;<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>Amidst the throng of men, they were all of a hardy breed she was sure, probably none too bright either by the looks of it, but two stood out to her immediately. One who seemed to be leaning on the rather elderly side, though signs of wealth and proper upbringing could easily be seen as well as what Harley quickly wrote off as timidity and perhaps even cowardice. Standing near the gentleman was what could only be deemed a bear in human guise. <br><br>She stared pointedly at the pin that he so obviously motioned to and it was large enough that she could make out the printed words from across the room. "The Questgivers' Inn. Ask us about our daily specials!"<br><br>Daily Specials...? He didn't seriously expect her to actually ask did he?<br><br>Did he?<br><br>Looking up at the gleaming eyes peering out from the confines of his bushy face, the expectant glimmer answered her own unspoken question. <br><br>Goddammit. <br><br>With a smile that seemed almost twisted as she fought to keep it in place, she asked slowly in a careful tone. "Erm...what are the daily specials being offered today...?" Once the words had left her mouth she instantly regretted it and almost cringed as she waited for the response. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>17-02-2010, 05:51:57</strong>
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				The keeper grinned a mouth full of yellowing teeth.&nbsp; When he spoke, his voice was like the rumble of a subterranean earthquake.<br><br>"Funny ye shud ask.&nbsp; Our specials are as follows:<br><br>Ale...5 copper.<br><br>Ale an' a room...1 silver.<br><br>Ale, a room, and a quest...30 gold pieces."&nbsp; He had the decency to look embarrassed.&nbsp; "It's because quests're so rare, y'see.&nbsp; Not many left.&nbsp; They've all been done out. "<br><br>He spat into the tankard again, and smudged the grease around in what one could only assume were more aesthetically pleasing shapes.&nbsp; "So, what'll it be?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>17-02-2010, 06:05:08</strong>
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				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP *<br>Healthy &nbsp;<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>Harley eyed the mug in his hands warily, wondering dimly if all of the tankards in the room had been doctored with a thin layer of the man's saliva already. She did so love her hard ale and a soft bed would be a comfort after endless nights of camping out beneath the starry night sky but...one whole silver coin?! Not to mention that she'd probably need to be oiled up with a few drinks before she'd be able to truly enjoy putting her lips to those glasses that seemed to become more and more smudged with what one could only guess to be grease or the man's saliva with every passing moment. <br><br>Suppressing a shudder at receiving yet another eyeful of rotting teeth, she pursed her lips and considered the choices. No point spending precious five copper just for one measly drink. One drink wouldn't do anything for her, she'd need to have at least ten to get anywhere...<br><br>It looked like the last offer was already expired, then again she didn't need any additional quests to go along with her current impossible ones. But one silver for a ale and a room...parting with one beautiful silver coin? Wait a minute...<br><br>"I'm sorry but if I were to take up your second offer of an ale along with a room, am I safe to assume that this means drinks to last the entire stay?"<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Darkpoet</strong> on <strong>17-02-2010, 23:13:52</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Edmund Sullen&nbsp; (Level 1 Spookamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 1&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 3&nbsp; XP *<br>Healthy &nbsp;<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br>“But Bella…” Edmund’s voice would have trailed off had Cassibella not interrupted him. <br><br>“But nothing Edmund, you’re a disgusting wart. No, you’re the disgusting pus inside of disgusting wart, on top of a disgusting pig. You disgust me…you and your prowling around in the dark and gloom; how you gloat over your power but never actually do anything.”<br><br>“b-“ Edmund began before being cut off again.<br><br>&nbsp;“And my name, is Cassibellaunus, you dimwit. Go, now, and approach me again once you’ve made something of yourself. I need a man who is strong, a man with a name for himself, who can sweep me off my feet and, most importantly, make me famous. Are you such a man?” <br><br>“n-“<br><br>“I didn’t think so” Cassibellaunus said before Edmund could finish a thought. She stormed off, her puffy violet dress flaring around her slender form as if the wind had just picked up to further emphasize her point.<br><br>Edmund Sullen sulked, his eyes lowering their gaze to the ground, where it remained for quite some time…much too desolate to venture a glance upward, where there the sun might be vile enough to send its gleaming rays of light. Light meant hope, and there was certainly nothing to hope for, not without his dearest, Bella.<br><br>&nbsp;“Ah…Bella” Edmund sighed, wishing he didn’t have to spend so much time keeping his secret buried so deep, so deep that not even Bella could know it. <br><br>Eventually, Edmund wandered out of the alley he had finally cornered Bella in and began snooping around town for a way to sink in his sorrows. He found such a place…”Questgivers Inn”. He had never drank before, but had heard that normal people did this when they were upset; Edmund was upset, and had to give the impression of being normal, so he ventured inside and sat close to the bar. He reached in to his black jacket, allowing the rest of the world to see that he, indeed, wore a black vest underneath, and had on a black shirt underneath that. For future reference, his leggings were also black, and vanished into a pair of black boots. Edmund’s raven hair had a constant gleam and look of dishevelment. His skin, the constant look of being drained of blood.<br><br>Edmund reached in to his jacket, pulling out a small slip of paper, a quill pen, and a jar of the blackest of inks. He began scrawling a poem.<br><br><em>Woe is me<br>And woe is everything.<br>For everything is like woe.<br>The taunting sky, and the glaring stars<br>The bastard children, and putrescent bars.<br><br>Bellaunus and her damned lack of love<br>Bears such a loathsome resemblance to woe,<br>It Stabs, Rips, and Tears,<br>At my heart. So much so<br>I cannot bear to shed a tear.<br>Woe is me.<br>Woe is everything.<br></em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>18-02-2010, 08:35:55</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Harley</strong><br><br>"All you can drink, lass?" roared the gigantic innkeeper, letting loose a mighty laugh, and slapping his knee so hard the entire bartap shook.&nbsp; "Aye,&nbsp; pull the other one, it's got bells on.&nbsp; Nay, it's me special ale, home brewed in the back o' this very buildin'.&nbsp; Best ale ye e'er had.&nbsp; I call it Horse Piss.&nbsp; An' aye, it'll be a silver nougat.&nbsp; Unless..."<br><br>His single eye twinkled with mischief.&nbsp; "Unless ye care t'go against me in a drinkin' contest, lass.&nbsp; If ye win, then all yer drinks--an' the room--are on the house, free o' charge. What say you?"&nbsp; <br><br>"Leave her alone, Bart."&nbsp; This was from a man at a nearby table, a tall, thin man of indeterminate age with a scraggly beard and a permanent expression like a whipped puppy.&nbsp; He was sitting alone, accompanied only by a pile of books. Indeed, he appeared to be writing in one.&nbsp; <br><br>The mountainous man peered over at the scraggly fellow, raised a bushy black eyebrow, and then, grinning coyly, affected an extravagant bow.&nbsp; "Yes, m'lord. As you say, m'lord.&nbsp; Wouldn't want to offend, m'lord."<br><br>The thin man scowled, and shook his head.&nbsp; "Very funny, Bart."&nbsp; Transferring his attention to the brown-haired girl in the priestess' vestments, he sighed.&nbsp; "Pay no attention to him, my dear girl.&nbsp; He likes to have his fun with the newcomers."<br><br>---<br><br><strong>Edmund</strong><br><br>Although he was preoccupied with his angsty poetry, Edmund would eventually become aware that he was being watched by a small child.&nbsp; At least, it had to be a small child, somewhere in the pile of clothes on the floor, unless someone found a way of enchanting a pair of overalls, a jacket, mittens, and a woolly bobble-hat so they could move around and talk by themselves.<br><br>" 'Ere, are you a vampire, mister?" squeeked the pile of clothes.&nbsp; "Only, yer dressed all in black, and yer skin's so white.&nbsp; Only, yer not sparkling, so you can't be a vampire, 'cuz ever'body knows that vampires sparkle."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>22-02-2010, 01:50:10</strong>
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				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><em><br>Unless ye care t'go against me in a drinkin' contest, lass.&nbsp; If ye win, then all yer drinks--an' the room--are on the house, free o' charge. What say you?</em><br><br>Something seemed to pass over the girl, a spirit of sorts that disturbed her calm facade. Her lips practically twitched into a grimace as the innkeep's words sank in. Her ears practically perked up at the offer and a shiver went through her body. <br><br>Lowering her head slightly, her bangs shaded her eyes and a few silent moments later she seemed to shudder ever so slightly. It quickly became apparently that she wasn't merely quivering from distress, instead that light trembling became an outright rolling of her shoulders as a low chuckle emanated from her bowed head. <br><br>"Ah, Bart was it? I hope you're a man of your word cuz I'll be pretty pissed off if you back out now."<br><br>The laughter was obvious now, one of pure delight. Looking up, a golden eye peered past strands of brown hair and fixed itself squarely on the grizzly's one good eye. Her expression had completely changed along with her posture, no longer standing meekly at the door with hands clasped tightly around the dusty old tome. Placing a booted foot boldly on a nearby stool, she rested the book of her trade on her bared knee, the action itself had caused her 'uniform' to slide drastically back and away leaving an appalling amount of naked skin for any leering eyes nearby. <br><br>Grinning cockily, she leaned forward and tilted her face to the side. "I'll gladly take up any challenge you throw at me...as long as the reward consists of receiving free services of sorts, or even better...money!" There was a gleam of determination in her eyes and excitement seemed to flush her cheeks slightly. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Darkpoet</strong> on <strong>23-02-2010, 21:13:43</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Edmund Sullen&nbsp; (Level 1 Spookamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 1&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 3&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy <br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=60215.msg2753265#msg2753265">Quote from: Remiel on 18-02-2010, 08:35:55</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">" 'Ere, are you a vampire, mister?" squeeked the pile of clothes.&nbsp; "Only, yer dressed all in black, and yer skin's so white.&nbsp; Only, yer not sparkling, so you can't be a vampire, 'cuz ever'body knows that vampires sparkle."<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br><br><br>Edmund looked up from his work suddenly, the look of a startled animal in his eyes yellow/gold eyes. He frowned after realizing that ‘it’ appeared to be a small child. Edmund did his best to hide a snarl of disgust, or perhaps contempt at the innocence of children in general. Either way, Edmund had to hide the snarl, as it was his nature to hide his feelings. He responded with just a hint of ominousness coloring his tone. <br><br>“No, of course not. Besides, What are you, some kind of vampire scholar? Did you go study vampire theory at the academy? Not all vamp-” Edmund cut himself off, lest he give away the dark truth.&nbsp; Secretly, and to his chagrin, Edmund did not sparkle. This was truly the only thing that separated him from a vampire. Well, besides the lack of super strength, super intellect, immortality, and thirst for blood. Otherwise, he was most absolutely a vampire. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>25-02-2010, 05:39:46</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Harley</strong><br><br>The burly innkeeper, whose name was apparently Bart,&nbsp; threw back his head and laughed as Harley accepted his challenge.&nbsp; He slammed his hand flat on the counter, and grinned.&nbsp; "Aye, lass, if'n ye win, ye ken not only have a room an' all the drinks ye ken stomach on th' house, but ye ken ha' me pouch besides."&nbsp; With thick sausage fingers, he reached into his leather vest, produced a small bag, and jingled it to show her what was inside.&nbsp; Then he plunked it down on the counter top.<br><br>A table was cleared, mostly by virtue of grabbing the nearest one and tilting it over, forcibly dumping all of its contents--including two surprised drinkers--violently onto the floor.&nbsp; Then, two large tankards were produced from part of the shelving.&nbsp; They were dry, so it was hard to tell if they had been cleaned in his typical way.<br><br>Sitting across from the girl, he grinned again.&nbsp; "So, what'll it be, lass? Ale? Brandy? Rum? Grog?" He wrinkled his leathery nose. "Wine?"&nbsp; He elbowed a bystander in a friendly manner, severely concussing him in the process.<br><br>"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" said a voice behind Harley.&nbsp; It was the tall, thin man with the droopy mustache and the watery eyes.&nbsp; "Bart Ender tests all of his swill on himself before he'll serve it to any of his customers--including the turpentine he uses to strip the paint from the walls."<br><br><br><strong>Edmund</strong><br><br>The diminutive pile of clothes gaped at Edmund for a moment, and then giggled.&nbsp; "You're funny," it beamed. "I like you."&nbsp; It pondered for a moment, and then, sagely, added, "Bobby Jenkins is a doogie."<br><br>Having exhausted its supply of conversation, the child, or gnome, or halfling, or whatever it was, picked its nose and toddled away.&nbsp; <br><br>Poor Edmund seemed to be ignored by everyone else, although the cause of this seemed to be because of something brewing at the other end of the room.&nbsp; Some sort of drinking contest seemed to be gearing up; the contestants seemed to be a huge, hairy giant of a man with an eyepatch and a slender young woman.&nbsp; It shouldn't be hard at all to predict the outcome of such a contest in these kinds of situations, but you never knew--perhaps the massive man did have a chance, after all. <br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>01-03-2010, 02:22:35</strong>
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				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>The girl wrinkled her nose a bit at the mention of turpentine. The stuff was vile and she didn't have to taste it to know it, being able to smell it was good enough to convince her that you'd need an iron gut to handle it. Uncertainty flashed past her face for just a second before it was once again replaced with newfound confidence thanks to the sound of what she guessed were coins clinking together reaching her ears as Bart bet a small pouch of his as well. The rewards were just starting to look better and better even though the odds definitely seemed to be against her at the moment...but that could change...right?<br><br>Right. Better to try than to walk away thinking about a lost chance...Harley Bent never passed up on opportunities...no matter how small and unlikely they seemed. Sometimes she even surprised herself, though many times she left with a scowl on her face swearing revenge one day. And many times she was given that satisfaction when she later returned, called upon for help to ease them of some sort of mysterious ailment. Ah, the benefits of being a 'holy' person.<br><em><br>So, what'll it be, lass? Ale? Brandy? Rum? Grog?...Wine?</em><br><br>She was almost tempted to say 'Wine' what with that obvious pause and utter dislike, but she'd had enough of wine during her days in training. "I think...I'll go with...ale." It took a moment to decide but she figured that if she was going to be in a drinking contest, then she might as well drink to her heart's content in the process, loser or not at least she would've gotten something out of it. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>07-03-2010, 04:22:24</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Harley</strong><br><br>The behemoth of a barkeep threw back his head and laughed.&nbsp; "Ale, is it, eh lass?&nbsp; &nbsp;Ah'll have ye know, ah was drinkin' the stuff since ah was a wee laddee.&nbsp; It's jus' like water t'me.&nbsp; But ver' well, if ye wan' be in fer the long haul..."&nbsp; He turned, and shouted in the direction of some onlookers who were hovering nearby with unabashed smiles.&nbsp; This had the look of something epic, something they could tell their grandchildren about.&nbsp; "Boys!" Bart thundered.&nbsp; "Stoke the fire, bring out th' chairs, and bring up the 'special' stuff from th' cellar."<br><br>A few minutes later, the men in question returned, carrying between them a large wooden cask between them.&nbsp; A dripping spigot had been fit directly into the barrel; groaning, they heaved it onto the table surface.&nbsp; A few amber drops dripped from the spigot, splattering on the floor.<br><br>"Ah hope yer thirsty, lass," winked the huge man.&nbsp; "It's me own special brew.&nbsp; It's made from barley an' apples.&nbsp; Well, mainly barley an' apples."<br><br>Both mugs were filled to the brim, and Bart lifted his to his lips, threw back his head, and began to drain his.&nbsp; His throat undulated as he drank, his Adam's apple bobbing like a cork on a wave.&nbsp; He never paused to take a breath; not until the tankard was completely empty did he slam it on the table with a satisfied air.&nbsp; He belched out, long and loud.<br><br>{<em>LIV test: Bart Ender has a LIV of 3.&nbsp; At 2010-03-06 21:18:40, Remiel (uid: 9411) rolls: 3d10 Result: 12 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=14304)</em>}<br><br>"Whoa," he murmured, blinking slowly as he covered his mouth with his hand. "Mayhap that barrel's been down there a wee bit too long.&nbsp; No tellin' what sort o' woodworm o' other critter's been gettin' into it."<br><br>Nevertheless, he shook his head, grinned, and chuckled in Harley's direction.&nbsp; "Well, drink up."<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather </strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>11-03-2010, 20:25:06</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>The girl couldn't help but cringe slightly as the mugs were filled with liquid ambrosia...or so she liked to think. While still a golden amber in color something about it made her distrust the special concoction, making it seem slightly more sinister than it probably was. Or perhaps it was Bart's own unique 'flavor' added whilst cleaning that made his drinks so extraordinary? <br><br>Harley had spent the last several years enjoying holy water blessed and shared in Cleodotus' name. Thanks to a special passageway that she had found early on during one of her many unannounced naps and mysterious illnesses, Harley had made sure that the church's stock of alcoholic drinks never spoiled. Though even the taste of fine wine soon became mundane on a daily basis and on her rambunctious evening treks throughout the city she sampled the fruit of each tavern and pub.<br><br>Although confident in her own alcoholic prowess, a seed of doubt began to slowly blossom at the bartender's reaction. Competing against a bear who could apparently drink his way through a raging river gave her a rush of adrenaline...and while losing to him might be inevitable it never hurt to take a few extra precautions. The surrounding environment had also quickly changed and the excitement was almost contagious, an electricity in the air. This also meant plenty of pushing and crowding as each person tried to peer over the shoulder of another. <br><em><br>Well, drink up.</em><br><br>She blinked blankly as if just realizing that it was her turn. Gripping the handle of her mug, she brought it up to her lips and grinned mischeviously at the giant man. "Cheers!" It seemed to be a game to her and she was enjoying herself immensely. With her mouth hidden behind the massive mug, she whispered a few choice words into the brew. A charm and incantation of sorts that would turn alcholic beverages into nothing but plain, clear, water. A trick that many of the priests who had little to no tolerance for liquor practiced, an almost shameful secret that was passed down quietly. Harley was rather upset that there was no such spell to turn water into wine! Or so they told her. Instead she would find herself receiving yet another lecture on how drinking to excess is nothing more than a sin, with the exception of the few holy days when the chalice was passed around for even then each person only receives a mere sip (and eventually Harley was banned altogether from partaking of the cup due to her shamelessly draining the liquid, the stingy old fellow!). 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>15-03-2010, 07:03:52</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Harley</strong><br><br>{GOD test: Harley has a GOD of 3.&nbsp; At 2010-03-14 23:31:55, Harley (uid: 9411) rolls: 3d10 Result: 18 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=14387)}<br><br>18 vs. 12: Success!<br><br>As Harley mumbled her incantation into her mug, she was rewarded with the feeling of satisfaction of a spell successfully taking effect.&nbsp; Every magic user has, at one point or another, experienced the sensation, which is impossible to describe to someone untrained in the arcane arts.&nbsp; Roughly speaking, it was a bit like an icy kiss&nbsp; <em>and</em> a pleasant warming sensation, <em>exactly at the same time</em>.&nbsp; She didn't even have to taste the ale to know that the moment it would hit her tongue it would turn into cool, clear, pure spring water.<br><br>The keeper's smug, toothy grin began to fade after the sixth round, and disappeared entirely after the fifteenth.&nbsp; The contest, which had started out as an entertaining opportunity to watch a pretty girl become hopelessly soused, now had the makings of something truly epic.&nbsp; The entire room had gathered around the table to watch, the noisy hubbub turning into a stunned and impressed silence.<br><br>Around round twenty-six, Bart seemed to show signs of trouble.&nbsp; His convivial expression was flushed, his good eye unfocused.&nbsp; He hiccuped frequently, and when he went to grab for his mug, his fingers missed and closed on empty air.&nbsp; &nbsp;The tension in the air had now stretched to nearly palpable levels.&nbsp; As the two drinkers put down glass after glass after glass, the bystanders began to hold their breath without realizing it.<br><br>On his thirty-second glass, the bartender screwed up his massive, bearded face, wobbled a bit, opened his mouth to say something--and then quietly slipped out of his chair and spilled out onto the floor.<br><br>Instantly there was huge rush of air, like that of fourty people all taking a breath at once.&nbsp; They stared at Harley, who was still sitting in her seat without having any apparent ill effects at all.<br><br>Except for, that is, a bladder that felt on the verge of bursting.&nbsp; If she didn't find an outhouse, boudoir, chamber pot, or even a hole in the ground soon, it felt like it would soon explode.<br><br>"That was amazing!" cried the thin man with the soppy mustache, seizing her by the hand and blocking her escape.&nbsp; "I've never seen...how did you do that? I really must know!"<br><br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Darkpoet</strong> on <strong>22-03-2010, 02:55:33</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Edmund Sullen&nbsp; (Level 1 Spookamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 1&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 3&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy </span></span><br><br><br>Edmund looked down at the page in frustration. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Not much time to dwell on that, though. A crowd had gathered in another area of the bar. He had formerly been much too engrossed in his poetry to notice before, and the crowd had managed to completely block his line of sight to what was going on. Edmund stood up, approaching somewhat apprehensively. He heard some shouts, some gears, and the swift smell of ale from the excessive quantities being brought out nearly knocked him over.&nbsp; He perched himself somewhere near the back of the crowd, standing on his tip toes to see over everyone and at the figures at the center of attention.&nbsp; <br><br>By now, the two were well in to the contest, and the bear of a barkeep was looking pretty…well, squishy. He slogged back and forth like an obelisk ready to topple, and then proceeded to go for six more mugs. <em>Must be some kind of drinking contest</em> Edmund thought. His opponent didn’t seem much too hindered by the effects of the ale, despite the drunken unconsciousness of the colossal barkeep.&nbsp; Edmund snarled as his view became cut off by an absurdly tall figure. He stepped aside to get a better angle to see from, a brooding kind of look coloring his expression. He did not appreciate being interrupted. Who did these people think they were…getting in HIS way? <br></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>22-03-2010, 22:23:49</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>In desperate need of the restroom<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>Harley had known that she shouldn't expect to win after just a few rounds, but over thirty?! The man was a behemoth...or maybe actually a hippopotamus in disguise. It was a good thing she'd started out thirsty...but by the tenth glass her thirst had long been sated and drinking down the seemingly never-ending water was just becoming a monotone act. Of course, she tried to keep up the act, wouldn't want to make her little trick seem <em>too</em> obvious. Though by the time they were on their fifteenth round she wasn't pretending anymore. Instead of becoming sluggish and disoriented from the drinking as she should have been, she was starting to forget to pretend that she was and was starting to notice more and more that well...her bladder was full. <br><br>Very full. <br><br>But she wasn't about to lose either. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she squeezed her legs together, crossing and uncrossing them and shifting around constantly. 'Come on, come on, comeoncome onn...Geez stop drinking already and just go down!' It was easy to see that the man was starting to lose consciousness, and she was growing even more impatient the longer it took him to down his glass, she almost wanted to reach over the table and help him wrap his fingers around the mug and pour it into his mouth! <br><br>When Bart finally keeled over, Harley downed her last glass to show that she was indeed the winner and practically shot up and out of her seat. 'Gotta go, gotta go, gotta gogogo.' A beanpole extracted himself from the thronging crowd that was busily trying to pull up the bartender into a sitting position and see just how far gone he was, and started chattering enthusiastically. <br><br><em>That was amazing! I've never seen...how did you do that? I really must know!</em><br><br>She barely heard his question and was in far too much of a hurry to stop and listen, or to stop at all, and in fact she collided right into him causing the man to fall back into the crowd, a little domino effect fanning out at the outer fringes. Harley managed to propel herself forward a few teetering steps before getting back on her feet and making a beeline for the back door, slamming it open in her haste and sighing a breath of relief when she saw the outhouse...but not too relieved...yet. The outhouse was small and dingy..and occupied apparently. "Goddammit!" Pounding on the door a slurred reply responded irritably, "Ah'm busy! Can't get no peace anywhere..." and trailed off into unintelligible grumblings. <br><br>Glancing around Harley's only other option would be the few bushes scattered around the back and none seemed large enough to hide her from sight. Banging harder a lazy snore responded and a mental snap sounded in Harley's mind as her patience burned down to nothing. "That's it." Yanking on the handle, she pulled the door open to reveal a slovenly man sleeping soundly on the seat, head leaning back against the wall and mouth open as he snorted in his sleep. It looked as if the man had fallen asleep while in the middle of preparing to use the bathroom but hadn't quite gotten around to taking off his pants yet as his hands were still in the middle of unbuckling his belt. "Wake..UP!" Kicking him in the shin, she pulled him roughly by the collar of his shirt and managed to pull him halfway out, before stepping over him and soundly pushing and kicking his confused behind out the door, which promptly closed with a bang. And ah...blessed relief. <br><br>Opening the door, a very happy and rather smug Harley stepped out and onto the still unconscious man whose face was still buried in the dirt, and whose behind was propped up enough to make a convenient step down. She was humming a little tune, it'd been a while since she'd been so pleased with herself. Not just free rooming and drinks but she'd won herself Bart's lovely little pouch as well. She could still hear the jingling of coins within it and with a little skip in her step she was certainly looking forward to claiming her prize. Hm, maybe even get a few drinks too. Real drinks, not the watered down stuff. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cassiopeia</strong> on <strong>23-03-2010, 01:59:07</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Amira Ashby&nbsp; (Level 1 Lifeamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 1&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 3&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>It was a relatively quiet night ... well as quiet as it got this close to town ... but even so Amira could hear the beautiful hum and harmony of nature all around her.&nbsp; She was pleased to have found such a large tree with such a wide and comfortable (kind of) branch.&nbsp; The kelly green leaves even perfectly parted to give her a view of the dark velvety blanket of sky dotted by the glimmering celestial pin pricks.&nbsp; Her mind and soul got lost in the purplish black expanse and the stars seemed to wink at her approvingly.&nbsp; <br><br>Amira sighed softly and pushed the wavy crop of strawberry blonde hair away from her serene face.&nbsp; Yes, this was pretty close to perfection.&nbsp; Though truth be told perfection would have been just a <em>bit</em> warmer.&nbsp; There was a bit of a chill in the air tonight as well as a breeze, making it slightly less than optimal for her current attire, which was only her skin, her prized aura ring, and a placid smile&nbsp; But chill be damned!&nbsp; It would take a lot more than that for the Lifeamancer to muffle her natural communion with clothing.&nbsp; Goosebumps were but a trifle given how wonderfully exhilarating being bare before the night sky was.&nbsp; She even disliked having to put down the loosely woven dark green blanket over the tree branch ... but bark could chafe something awful and her skin was so fair ... nature would understand, surely.<br><br>She basked in the moonlight which filtered through the lush leaves making the ample curves of her body glow.&nbsp; Her peaceful meditation, however, was punctured in a moment as she heard the door to the nearby pub fly open and frantic footsteps quickly followed.&nbsp; She raised an eyebrow, assuming someone mustn't be able to hold their liquor.<br><br><em>Goddamnit!</em><br><br>The voice rang out in her mind like the horrid screech of some sort of perturbed bird, the annoyance, the distinct lack of peace and harmony, the ... wait a minute!&nbsp; She knew that voice!&nbsp; Slowly shifting her position so she could get a better view Amira pressed her hand to the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes, asking the tree if it would please move its branches just a smidge so she could see what all the hullaballoo was about.&nbsp; The tree was happy to oblige and with a soft rustling of its leaves repositioned the blocking branches.&nbsp; She thanked the stationary giant and removed her hand, narrowing her bright cerulean eyes so she could see exactly what was transpiring.&nbsp; <br><br>It was exactly whom she had suspected and the realization of the ill-tempered woman's presence immediately made Amira's ring shift from deep green to black.&nbsp; In a violent display of impatience she beheld the Godamancer tear the bumbling man from his privacy and toss him out.&nbsp; The blonde shook her head as a both bemused and disappointed smirk contorted along her full lips.&nbsp; Certainly she couldn't be rude and ignore and old acquaintance, even if this one wasn't exactly a ... copacetic spirit.&nbsp; Hearing the door creak open a few moments later Amira decided it was a good time to make her presence known.&nbsp; Turning and locking her legs, bent at the knees, over her perch, she let her torso hand down so that she was facing her old <em>friend</em>, albeit upside down.&nbsp; Her golden hair hung long toward the ground making her look like quite the eccentric, as if the nudity weren't enough.&nbsp; The dark haired girl's back was turned away and Amira simply couldn't resist the prospect of startling her.&nbsp; <br><br>"Harley Bent!" she exclaimed, just a bit louder than was absolutely necessary.&nbsp; "Still making friends everywhere you go I see ..."&nbsp; She smiled with amusement, and a hint of satisfaction, before nodding over to the unconscious man, or rather foot stool as Harley had dubbed him.&nbsp; The agile young woman leaned back up on the branch and jumped, landing in a crouch position on the ground, her toes sinking into the fantastically moist and rich soil beneath them.&nbsp; Swiftly she skipped the course of the short distance toward Harley who had a decidedly mixed expression on her face, one which Amira didn't bother to read in that particular moment.&nbsp; Without warning she nearly lunged at the Godamancer and wrapped her arms around the slender girl in a tight embrace.&nbsp; Even people as grumpy as Harley needed to feel love, it was good for her energy. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>23-03-2010, 07:26:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Edmund</strong><br><br>There indeed seemed to be some sort of a drinking contest going on, as was typical of the backwater provincial hick types around these sorts of establishments who had absolutely no <em>idea</em> how cruel life could be, or how black was colored the waters of a young romantic man's heart.&nbsp; When at last one of them toppled over in a disgusting, drunken delirium, the entire room erupted in a grating, cacophonous cheer, the bleating fools.<br><br>As if that wasn't enough...well, <em>chagrin</em>,&nbsp; Edmund found himself being jostled around by the tow-headed yokels.&nbsp; And when the winner of the contest, apparently a young, dark-haired girl, pushed her way through the crowds in a bit of a hurry, she did so by elbowing a rather tall, thin, sad-looking man with a scraggly beard out of her way.&nbsp; The man lost his balance, and flailed wildly, before collapsing against Edmund, causing him to spill his ink all over the pages of the poem he'd been so laboriously writing.<br><br>"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir," said the man, picking himself up and looking with horror at the ink all over Edmund's hands and shirt.&nbsp; "I most assuredly am.&nbsp; Oh, dear.&nbsp; You've ruined your letter."&nbsp; He picked up the ink-splotched remains of Edmund's poem carefully between thumb and forefinger.&nbsp; "I will have to buy you a new sheet of parchment in recompense.&nbsp; Er."&nbsp; He began patting his pants, a look of extreme embarrassment crossing his features.&nbsp; "This is embarrassing.&nbsp; I appear to have used my last coin."<br><br><br><strong>Harley and Amira</strong><br><br>William "Scropes" Scroper yawned, stretching, as he smacked his lips a few times, then spit out the dirt which had seemed to have been ground into his mouth.&nbsp; Or perhaps it was the other way around.&nbsp; He couldn't remember much of last night; he had started the evening in his usual campaign to get as thoroughly soused as possible in the shortest amount of time he could, and had wandered off for the outhouse...&nbsp; He must have fallen asleep on the bench. Again.&nbsp; He shot a hand between his legs, making sure that at least he was wearing his pants this time.&nbsp; Ah, good.&nbsp; He was.<br><br>The sound of voices drew his attention, and when he looked up, he could scarcely believe it.&nbsp; A young, very attractive, dark-haired girl was being tightly embraced by a young, very attractive blond girl.&nbsp; Who was, well, slightly naked.&nbsp; Rather more than slightly, in fact.&nbsp; In fact, it was hard to imagine someone being more naked than the blond girl, apparently, was.&nbsp; Naked.<br><br>He grinned widely, smelling of last night's booze and halitosis, and watched from the ground, praying to whatever gods might be listening that the two women would suddenly find themselves compelled to find a nice big mud puddle and start wrestling each other in it. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Darkpoet</strong> on <strong>19-04-2010, 16:54:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Edmund Sullen&nbsp; (Level 1 Spookamancer) <br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 1&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 3&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy </span></span><br><hr><br><br>Edmund’s eyes narrowed as the man talked to him. He could feel the rage building within him, threatening to boil over in to an all out eruption. Edmund bit his lower lip, something he did to stifle such rage. It wouldn’t do to make a scene, and draw attention to himself, but he needed to do something…people should be punished for ruining the poetry of great artists such as himself.&nbsp; It had taken several moments for Edmund to finally speak, but when he did, he clasped the man on the shoulder, his eyes glaring with a butterscotch sort of hue. <br><br>“Then I shall have to take something greater than coin.”&nbsp; He then leaned in, so that only the intended would hear him before whispering “Furnulum pani nolo.” <br><br>Turning to walk away, making sure that his charcoal colored jacket fluttered as he spun around. If there is one thing all spookamancers should know, it is to make everything look dramatic. Edmund did not have time for a serious curse, so he had to make do with one of the simpler pranks her picked up at Spookamancy Academy. When recited properly, It would make everything taste rotten for several days before dissipating. Still, commoners didn’t know that, and Edmund knew the poor old sap would be quivering in fear after Edmund’s tactful implication that he took the man’s soul. Edmund smiled devilishly as he made his way to the bar’s exit. In his head, he could hear his own malicious laughter for the man’s upcoming misfortune. This tavern-going business was fantastic. Edmund felt better already, and he hadn’t even had a drink.<br></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Remiel</strong> on <strong>20-04-2010, 04:22:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">GAME MANGLER<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br></span></span></div><br><strong>Edmund</strong><br><br>{SPK test: Edmund has a SPK of 3.&nbsp; Casting a minor curse like this has a difficulty rating of, mmmm, let's say, 6. <br>At 2010-04-19 21:11:05, Edmund Sullen (uid: 9411) rolls: 3d10 Result: 24 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=14840) <br><br>24 vs. 6: Success! }<br><br><br>Casting a simple curse was no problem for a mighty Spookamancer like Edmund!&nbsp; A tingling feeling in the base of his spine told him that the spell had taken effect successfully.&nbsp; For the next few days, everything would taste like rancid meat to the clumsy, ink-spilling oaf.&nbsp; <br><br>Of course, he wouldn't discover that until his next meal.<br><br>Strangely, instead of seeming mortified, or at the very least, chagrined, the man seemed excited.&nbsp; "Was that a spell?" he asked, his weak, watery eyes lighting up with interest.&nbsp; "Are you a Philosopher?&nbsp; Oh, you may be just the man I am looking for!"&nbsp; He scuttled around Edmund, managing to put himself in front of the man once more.&nbsp; "Do you have a moment, sir?&nbsp; There is something I would very much like to run by you!"&nbsp; &nbsp;He turned, and tried to catch the attention of one of the ubiquitous barmaids, since the innkeeper was currently passed out in an alcoholic stupor on the floor of his own inn.&nbsp; "Miss!&nbsp; An ale please, for my friend here!"<br><br>Turning back to Edmund, he stuck out his hand. "How do you do? My name is Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather the Third.&nbsp; I would like to buy you a drink."&nbsp; &nbsp;He blinked, and pat his pockets again, as if somehow by some miracle he would find some bit of coin that hadn't been in them from the last time he checked a few seconds ago.&nbsp; "Um...can I borrow a fiver?&nbsp; I'll pay you back, I swear on my honor as a knight of Fairweather."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Increasingly Improbable Adventures of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>17-05-2010, 17:46:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Harley Bent&nbsp; (Level 1 Godamancer)<br>LIV 1&nbsp; BSH&nbsp; 1&nbsp; SNK 1&nbsp; LIK 1&nbsp; WHT 3&nbsp; RED 1&nbsp; BLU 1&nbsp; GRN 1&nbsp; BLK 1&nbsp; XP 1<br>Healthy<br>_________________________________________________________________________________<br><br>Harley's humming stopped abruptly as she heard her name called out from the shadows behind her. She froze mid-step in utter shock and the smug smile on her face was quickly losing its edge. It was never a good thing when someone knew her name, from what she recalled she hadn't introduced herself to anyone yet either. She'd learned during her travels that it was best to come up with an alias of sorts before entering any new towns as many times she found herself leaving in the dead of night, or hurriedly skipping away as angry mumblings followed her every step. <br><br>Oh, she did her job alright. Traveling from place to place, helping those in need, giving blessings when asked, removing curses from time to time. Of course, it all came with a price. A rather high one. Though she was wise enough to never stay long in each place, she didn't think she'd run into someone who actually <em>knew</em> her. <br><br>Turning warily she staggered a few steps back as a nude girl suddenly sprang out of a nearby tree and locked her arms around her. Absolutely flabbergasted it took her an entire five second to recognize the woman who was being so..so...overly friendly and tried hard not to cringe away. "Oh! Why, hallo! So...<em>nice</em> to er, <em>see</em> you again...Who are you again?"<br><br>Practically dusting the nudist away from her, Harley disentangled herself...or tried to anyway but her arms were clamped rather tightly around her waist. As the two wiggled and squirmed, or rather, as Harley wriggled and squirmed and attempted to escape from the other woman's much too welcoming bosom - dear god were those her nipples rubbing against her arm? - she finally huffed and demanded, "Will you <em>please</em> get <em>off</em> of me?! You're quite heavy you know and I'm not one to go around lugging another person on my arm for free. If you really want a piggyback ride then you better pay up first."
			</dd>
		</dl>
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