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Fantasy 🌊 Merciless Waters - a fantasy 1x1🌊

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ObitoPancake

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a high fantasy roleplay with Wishfully Wishfully
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Salted ocean air pumped in and out of the bard's lungs as he raced along the neatly cobbled streets of Romasa. It stung and made him think for just a moment, what he was doing here; how he had gotten himself into such a mess. Deeper and deeper into the heart of Macemoria's capital he did go, running from what he could only assume were his worst nightmare. Two daunting men had stopped Amon behind the tavern he had finished his last performance at, looking to cause trouble. At least that was what the bard had assumed, anyway. From their demeanors and dress, it was easy to assume the two were part of The Vultures, a nefarious bandit group that had been seemingly tracking the bard for well over a year now.

What they wanted from him? Only the gods knew. But Amon wasn't keen on finding out.

Looking up, he took note that he had played his set well into the night. Above, the stars were shining brightly and without a care in the world. If only he could be doing the same. If it hadn't been for the circumstances, he would have gone as far as calling this night quite beautiful; but being trailed by bandits definitely ruined the view for him. It had never once crossed his mind that his home country and the scenery it provided would turn out feeling so sinister, though, something of that caliber probably wasn't something that crossed the normal man's mind often anyway. Lost in these thoughts, Amon kept his pace as steady as he could, stealing a glance behind him every so often to make sure he wasn't being followed.

It wasn't until he rounded a corner into a particularly dark alleyway that he felt his heart hit his stomach. The small bard skidded to a halt not three feet from a mysterious stranger, shrouded in darkness. For a moment he felt that he had misjudged the bandits- maybe they had set up an ambush? But a quick once over cemented the fact that this stranger wasn't involved with them. No defining insignia, no notable markings, but that would mean that this person was probably one of the streetfolk, which Amon happened to be equally terrified of. In one swift motion, the bard rested his hand on his harp.

If this shady figure tried anything, he was ready. One quick spell to stun and then he could draw his rapier.
 
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A lone figure adjusted the hood that cloaked his head, letting out a sigh. After enjoying a round in the local tavern, surrounded by music, warmth, pints, and quite a bit of eye candy, to be frank, he’d found himself in the back alleys of Romasa. It was nothing special, just another dark and damp hideout for the man to conceal his anticipated attack. He’d tracked the Vultures this far, having been sent on a mission just recently from a frantic aristocrat whose family had lost several high-value belongings in a robbery. Although the local law enforcement had been able to track and return a majority of the items, none had been as priceless as the medallion Cayvur had been tasked to return. A family heirloom, he’d been told. For the price he’d been promised, he wouldn’t have cared if it was a child’s toy. So far, he’d learned that the Vultures were behind the robbery, but he had yet to determine the medallion’s whereabouts.

Cayvur watched a pair of Vultures in the tavern, though they never seemed to notice him. They seemed quite intent on the musical performance, though in his experience, Cayvur had never known any bandits to be the artsy type. He’d hoped to catch them after they’d had some drinks, and he’d slipped out of the establishment just a few minutes after he’d seen them leave. What had confused him, though, was how they had gotten out of his view in those few moments. It seemed the only logical answer was that they were either in hiding or they had been running.

Erring on the side of caution, he stuck to the shadows as he searched for the bandits, only to find himself here—facing, well… not them. Cayvur gave the bard a once-over. The stranger was small in stature but seemed quite tense. Cayvur noticed the harp and the fighting stance but made no move of his own. He wasn’t looking for a fight that would possibly give away his position to the real targets at hand. “Well you don’t look like a bandit.” Cayvur gave a bored wave and brushed past the bard as he crossed through to the other end of the alley. “Nice set, though,” he called over his shoulder.

Cayvur stepped out of the alley, but before he’d been able to hide once again, two much larger figures stalked toward him. The elf reached for his daggers, his light feet preparing to either flee or fight.

“Hey, I’ve seen your face before,” one of the Vultures scowled as the other agreed that he was no friend of theirs.

“Look, I’m flattered, but why don’t we just settle this like the gentlemen I hope you prove yourselves to be. I’m looking for a medallion. Shiny, gold, got the Rysanth family crest on it. Maybe you’ve seen it?”

The other Vulture spat at him and drew his sword. “Even if we did know, we wouldn’t tell you, scum.”

“I’ll have you know, I bathed just this morning!” Cayvur dodged as a bandit rushed toward him, slashing near his head. His older sister had always told him his smart mouth would get him into trouble. He’d yet to disappoint her. Cayvur was quick to unsheathe his daggers and land a few hits on the first Vulture, quickly darting out of the way of the second. The men were much larger than he, but that meant they would also be slower. Cayvur was no stranger to some street fights, and he suspected this would be over quickly.

The first bandit fell limp after striking his head as he fell from Cayvur’s blow to the knee. The second was not far behind but proved to be just slightly more seasoned. Cayvur grit his teeth as the other’s blade snagged his arm, but he ducked under the longer blade to land a blow to the ribcage. Once the skirmish had ended, the elf caught his breath and then searched their pockets. No sign of the medallion, or anything of use. Cayvur frowned and stood. He felt a pair of eyes on his back as he prepared to leave the scene.

“It’s safe to come out now,” he called out to the bard. “Just so you know, you’ve got some pretty crazy fans."
 
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As this mysterious elf made decent work of the bandits, the tiefling bard counted his blessings in the alleyway. Though it was easy to dwell on what would have happened if this mystery man hadn't come to his aid, he was far more concerned with who exactly this person was... and what he was capable of. In terms of combat, Amon was fairly confident in his ability to cast spells. But his handiwork with a rapier left much to be desired and he knew it. He had seen children wield his weapon better than him on occasion and now, standing face to face with the elf, he hoped that he would have better luck if he needed it. Hopefully he wouldn't.

With a stillness in the air now, Amon took a quick look around, making sure he wasn't about to be jumped again, before letting his guard down a bit.

"Fans will be fans, I suppose," he said with a small, awkward chuckle. "Though I've never had any so rowdy before. Anyway, thanks for saving my ass back there, as awesome as my magic skills are, I don't think I would have been able to take them by myself."
 
Cayvur watched as the bard seemed hesitant to come out into the open. He'd been there before. Though, it seemed this guy had little experience with people chasing him down in alleys. He raised an eyebrow as the bard quipped about fans being fans. "Right... fans. Maybe you should look into a bodyguard or something, no offense to your magic. I know only a few spells, so not like I'm one to judge." He'd had the opportunity to learn magic at one point, though he'd squandered that of his own accord. He decided to leave that part out, though.

The elf turned his attention to the cut on his arm. He drew one of his daggers and cut a strip off the end of his cloak. Upon closer investigation, this was not the first patch of cloth missing from the garment. He sheathed the dagger once more and wrapped his arm in the makeshift bandage. It was nothing major, but he knew it was best to properly clean any wound before it got too nasty later on. He may or may not have learned that the hard way. Cayvur glanced up and noticed the bard still there.

"Think you can take it from here? I think I'd better be off before any more Vultures come looking for their missing companions, and it might be best for you to do the same. They can be a real gnarly crew when they want to be. I don't know why they were after you, but getting tangled up with them is not any place I'd want to be, just saying. Especially with what looks like a nice career ahead of you."
 

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