• Mature • Rynmere's Worst Burglar

[Rafael Warrick]

8th Saun, 716

At the first signs of morning, Rafael sneaked out of the Barracks. It had almost become a custom to do so. The first time had been nerve-wrecking, but now he walked almost leisurely towards the wrought-iron gate. Its spear-shaped banisters threatened to impale all those who tried to climb over it. A thick, heavy lock hung like a chain around the gate’s neck. It seemed so impenetrable.

Seemed.

Being of a thin and small build had some disadvantages. To be overlooked or assumed to be younger being primary examples. Even his siblings had sometimes teased him about it, such is the fate of the youngest. However, there were also perks.

Stopping in front of the gate, Rafael sucked in a deep breath and willed his stomach to flatten. It took some squeezing and wriggling to get through, but within a few trills, he emerged on the other side, largely unscathed.

On the tip of his toes, Rafael pattered across the cobblestone. He still vaguely recalled the location of Malcolm and Elyna’s residence. If memory served him right, it was on the road near the Royal Glenn somewhere, outside of Andaris city.

And therein lay the gist of his problem. It was too far to travel to on foot and return to the barracks in time. His only option was a to travel on horseback. Unfortunately, he didn’t own one. Which left just one option.

Borrowing.

Saddling one of the horses from the stables took longer than he would’ve liked. At home, he’d been spoiled and had his mounts saddled for him. It didn’t help to be standing in the semi-dark, but he didn’t want to risk going outside. It could be argued that he was temporarily stealing a horse after all.

Almost a dozen bits later he’d managed to get the saddle on and had hoisted himself into it. It didn’t sit exactly comfortably, and the dark-brown morgan he’d chosen didn’t go particularly fast. Nevertheless, he made it out of the stables and onto the streets unseen.

-------

The ride to Elyna’s residence was an uncomfortable one. Even the early morning was hot and the roads offered little in the way of shade. Twenty bits later he arrived at the cottage. The winded horse eagerly followed Rafael to a copse near the abandoned house. Once tied to a tree there, Rafael ventured forward to investigate the house.

It was almost exactly as he remembered it. Only quieter. The curtains behind the windows were drawn, disallowing any unwanted gazes inside. Rafael cast his gaze to the ground. There were no footprints leading towards the door nor any other signs of any recent visitors. Pressing one ear against the door he tried to listen if there was anything inside. But all he could hear was his own heartbeat galloping in his chest.

He circled the house three times before he decided that there weren’t any clues regarding Elyna’s whereabouts to be found outside her house. Not that he had expected to find any. But he had hoped he wouldn’t have to kick her door in.

Sighing, he walked over to the front door, took a step back and grimaced. The first kick shook the door violently. The hinges groaned and squeaked and a puff of dust erupted from the woodwork, but the door didn’t give. The second kick had a little more success, as Rafael could see the hinges starting to give. But it wasn’t until the fifth violent kick that the door swung open.

Rafael wrinkled his nose at the muggy air that came wafting from within. No one had been inside for quite a while by the looks of it. Covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, he entered the darkened house and went straight towards the windows to pull the curtains aside and open the windows. The air coming from outside wasn’t much cooler, but at least it wasn’t as muggy.

He glanced around. As far as he could see, there wasn’t anything unusual about the interior. No signs of struggle, no letter on the table, no pair of boots drying near the hearth. Standing there in the silence, a crushing wave of guilt washed over him. He had kicked in the door the Malcolm and Elyna’s house without much of a plan of what to look for, based on a mere suspicion that something wasn’t right.

Well. I can’t go back now... he sighed inwardly.

First he entered the bedroom. He imagined the lovers kept their secrets there, and so if there was any place where he might find a letter or note that would help in his investigation, the bedroom would be it. It wasn’t a large bedroom. Frankly, it was more bed than room. He was just about to rummage through the linnen when he heard the whinnying of a horse.

His horse? He wasn’t sure. Freezing, he perked his ears and listened intently. Were those footsteps? Iron-clad footsteps in the dust?

Instinct took over. At once he dived to the ground and scooted underneath the bed. He cursed himself for not having covered his tracks better. Any fool passing the road would clearly be able to see that the door to the cottage had been forced open. And if that failed to escape their attention, they would surely be able to spot the dismounted horse outside.

Tugging the bedsheets slightly over the edge, so he was hidden from sight, Rafael held his breath as he waited for the stranger to go away.

[Peake]

The heavy and extremely attractive Ouroboro plate armor made its way into the house, manned of course by the slightly less attractive individual that was trapped in it. Where the armor shined and attracted lustful eyes from men and women alike, the disgruntled face of Peake Maxos Andaris didn’t seem welcoming at all, be it by the valleys formed by his frown, the wild beard that reeked of watermelon-scented beard oil, or perhaps the bloodshot eyes that were clearly looking for a victim to molest with the very intensity of his gaze.
As Peake’s sweaty body entered the room, and the living space seemed to shrink under his height and width, his eyes began scouting all around him in search of the culprit. There was still a foreign horse outside, which Peake’s wide open eyes had easily spotted. Thus, there was still a chance whoever broke down the door was not far away – even if the windows were open.
The living space was far more organized than Peake’s own cottage, which were four walls in which mountains of armors, weapons, old clothes and a whore or two buried underneath it all. The furniture in the Skyrider’s home was far cozier, too, as it wasn’t limited to two buckets like Peake’s cottage – one for vomit, and the other for diverse organic waste. It even smelled better. To think a lowlife Burhan had a better living quality than Peake was an insult to not only his ego, but to the entirety of House Andaris. In response, Peake cleared his throat profusely before he spat right on the floor below, on one of the tables, and one of the walls of the living space. He would not be defeated.
The silver cloak fluttered behind him as Peake directed himself towards a doorway leading to a bathroom, in which lied a bathroom, obviously. As the Skyrider was not home and wasn’t changing or sensually rubbing herself with a soap-soaked sponge, Peake lost interest in the bathroom as well. Peake’s encounter with Elyna, although brief, had been a great gamble by his part. Sending her to her Duchy with the hopes of her providing information about the enemy risked Peake’s life, and if she did not cooperate or switched sides, Peake would pay with his life. As such, there were only three people that knew about said deal: Elyna, Peake, and the Boy King.

His heavy feet now took him back out to the living space and, moments later, into the final room. The bedroom was composed of a bed, thus the name bedroom, and some drawers. Obviously not spotting anyone in the three rooms that composed the home of the Skyrider, Peake sighed as he realized he was all alone in this empty cottage. Whoever had entered was long gone, and Peake could relax and maybe even nap in the abandoned house. Before napping, however, Peake had a thought he needed to put aside.
Moving to the drawers, Peake would gently draw each of them one by one, until his eyes finally caught what they were looking for: the underwear.

Now, Peake did not dwell in such perverted ideas in his regular shape, but ever since accepting the position of Commander of the Ouroboro Guard he had been very, very lonely. The stress and pressure of the rising war had tragically deactivated his manhood, which was comparable to splitting a man in half. Even further, he had no time to date or even visit one of his brothels, and even Syhera, his fiancé, had refused to satisfy him even by throwing him a pitiful hand to ease his needs. Elyna, on the other hand, was a very pretty woman, and in their last meeting he wasn’t smart enough to halt his yelling to try to seduce her. Her small frame, that innocent face and that brunette hair… It haunted him, she did, now that he hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in a while.
“Damn, girl…” Said Peake as he raised the panties, trying to imagine how they would look on the Skyrider’s frame. “Oh, how I would’ve bent you over… Would’ve split you in half, you tiny…”

Rising the panties to his bearded face, Peake pressed the fabric to his nose and sniffed vigorously. It smelled like nothing, but Peake’s aroused being clearly captured the scent of a woman – a woman in heat for him, obviously. Peake wasn’t blind. He recalled perfectly how the Skyrider had been trying to hide the heat that spread throughout her core under his sight, how she longed for his flesh like the rocky shore yearned for a wave to clash against them. She wanted him, which is why she went on that mission, why she agreed to all the terms Peake tried to rise against her.

In that very deluded moment, Peake felt it.

Something was alive down there. Something had been hiding, and he had detected it. It was his manhood, slowly awakening under his plate armor, perhaps under the wild imagination of the nobleman or perhaps because of the texture of a stranger’s panties in his hand. It was alive, for the first time in many days, and Peake was both happy and terrified: happy to feel it, terrified of losing it. Not wishing to waste this opportunity, Peake began fiddling with his armor in attempts of freeing his groins, to please himself right there before his phallus disappeared under the pile of responsibilities.
Like a child in need of releasing his bladder, example applicable to Peake’s current situation, the iron-clad giant moved to the bed and very harshly dropped himself on top of it, the bed and its legs protesting loudly as they started to give in under the pile of muscle, hair, armor and sperm that was Peake, his hands quickly trying to remove whatever they could so that his self-pleasing could begin.

Peake needed this.

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This thread alludes to this thread. Sorry Elyna bby

Thanks to Lazuli for this amazing template!

[Rafael Warrick]

8th Saun, 716

A strong, sour air of sweat and dampened cloth trapped inside armor came wafting into the cottage. No amount of nose-wrinkling could withstand the violent assault on the nostrils. Gagging silently, Rafael resorted to pinching his nose instead. The stranger gurgled, then spat. At least, it sounded that way. Disgusted, Rafael almost jumped out of hiding to teach the stranger some manners. In a way, he found it to be deeply offending that someone would desecrate Malcolm and Elyna's house so.

For a moment, the elephantine footsteps faded. Rafael was just considering crawling out of hiding to bolt away when the armored stomping returned. Closer this time. A horrid stench tickled his nose and he moved his other hand over his face too.

The shadow of thick boots passed by before coming to a halt just inches away from his face. He held his breath and wished his heart would stop pounding so loudly. But by the mercy of the seven, the intruder failed to notice him. Drawers were being pulled open. Did the thief honestly think there'd be anything else than bedsheets and clothes?

The sounds that followed confused him for a while. It sounded like sniffing but...surely that couldn't be it? Thinking himself alone, a gruff voice sounded. Male. Tenor-esque. Somehow Rafael wasn't surprised. Far more surprising however were the comments the man made. They didn't leave much to the imagination. Rafael bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks to avoid bursting into laughter. Here he was, hiding under a bed like a toddler while some monstrous, reeking man was sniffing underwear and fantasizing about its owner.

His amusement was short-lived however. The full weight of the intruder crashed down onto the bed and sandwiched him between the underside of the bed and the hardwood floor. His belly deflated like a balloon. Out of breath and under threat of being turned into a pancake, Rafael moved to wriggle himself loose and retreat to the other side of the two-person bed. In order to do so however, he could no longer protect his mouth and nose against the sour stench mixed with a strange scent of watermelon. The combination of the violently opposed odors nearly made him puke, but he managed to keep his last meal inside.

While the house was significantly cooler than the harsh rays of the twin suns outside, being trapped underneath a dusty old bed was unpleasant in its own way.Rafael desperately hoped the stranger was planning to take a nap. If so, it would simply be a matter of waiting a few bits. But fate didn't smile down upon him that day. Instead the hurried sounds that followed sounded more like undressing. Combined with the man's earlier remarks, Rafael had no illusions about what was going to happen next.

In one movement he pulled himself out from underneath the bed and jumped to his feet. His dominant left hand unsheathed his blade in a flash and he forced the cold steel upon the intruder's throat. “That's far enough.”

If he had had a chance to see the man before making his threat, his voice would've been far less confident. The hulking mass of muscle and scraggly body hair could hardly be considered a man. More like a bear. And a very large and wild one at that. Relying on his ancestral courage, Rafael kept his blade trained steadily against the man's skin, although he required both hands to do so. “Don't move. Don't think. Don't even blink.”

On the one hand, Rafael wanted to flee. But he had a hunch the boar of a man would come chasing after him if he did. On the other hand, he simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to reprimand the sweaty giant for his indecency.

“You're the worst burglar I've ever seen.” All five foot six of the young Lord shivered in disgust. “Do you have any idea how badly Elyna is going to kick your ass when she finds out you broke into her house to beat off to her underwear?”

"Unless of course..." he added contemplatively, "I don't tell her. Now what would make me not tell her, do you reckon?"

[Peake]

Peake’s unsuccessful undressing had left him splattered on the bed, both hands having tried to dig a hole through the chain-link and the gambeson below, without any major success. Not even a tip he could find under the layers of defenses, no matter how much he had grunted or how much he regretted not carrying a blade with him. If he had one, he would’ve ripped apart everything in the way of his self-pleasing, which his nails were unable to accomplish on their own. Soon enough, however, the bandit that had assaulted his cradle had completely broken the magic of the moment, and Peake felt his manhood wither away into oblivion once again, sinking into the deep oceans of his pubic hair to never surface again - apparently.
Peake sighed, and finally spat out the border of the panties he had in his mouth, the undergarment flying away from his face to reveal the blatantly bored expression of the honorable nobleman. A plain expression greeted Rafael, Peake not quite convinced of any danger, as his arrogance did not believe that even a blade could finish someone as entitled as an Andaris. His brown eyes ran up the tip of the blade until they calmly laid on Rafael’s surprisingly grey eyes, which Peake thought reminded him of the pale rears of the White Pearl’s gentleman club in Mid-town Andaris, which was filled with exotic white flesh rented to any men that could afford it. Even Rafael’s sword reminded him of his own manhood, or at least of its appearance in his better days, when Peake would wiggle it like the trophy it was. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of sex, lust, and women.

And this kid had ruined his relief.

“Boy,” Said Peake, a slightly disturbing calm present in his soothing voice. “Do I really look like a burglar to you?”
Peake allowed the question to sink in for a thrill, his body as still as a necrophiliac’s favorite corpse. At last, Peake spoke again.
“Take a good look at my armor. At its color. At the color of the cloak. Does it look familiar to you?” Peake said, with that calmness still on his voice. “Skyrider Elyna wouldn’t even dare lift her head before me. What makes you think you can draw a sword at me?”

The calmness in his voice was a strategy, of course, as Peake was slowly removing the curtains to reveal his intentions: intimidation. The art of intimidation was perhaps what Peake wielded best, not only with his overall appearance or social and military ranking, but also with the details imbued into his personality. Said art consisted of subduing targets with words and gestures, usually throughout threats. Of course, that was for newbies. To truly threat someone, you must not make them fear anything, but instead you must make what they already fear come to light. That was done by applying pressure, and remaining calm while the tip of a sword threatened one’s neck broke whatever expectation the boy had. If he wanted to see Peake beg, panic or sweat, Peake would do the opposite, just so that the boy’s insecurity came to life.

“You have two choices before you. You can play brave or you can play safe.” Said Peake a moment after. “Playing brave means you try to cut my neck, which will obviously fail, by the way, because your angle is incorrect. There is a reason why cutthroats attack from behind and not from a side – because it’s very hard to cut a man’s throat effectively from any other position than the back. You’ll either have to strain yourself and pray that I don’t retaliate, or attempt to simply decapitate me, which once again leaves me with plenty of room to retaliate mid-motion. ”
A critique to one’s form. Everyone was afraid in this life, and the fear of criticism by a superior was usually enough to sprout all sorts of doubts in a mortal. Even with a throat by his neck, Peake was still in control of the situation: he was the one talking, he was the one calm and he was the one laying the pressure on the other. Peake immediately had power over the boy just by ignoring the boy’s attempts to intimidate him. Stubbornness, ego and entitlement were great traits for this.

“So you try to end my life, and you return wherever it is you came from.” Peake proceeded with his monologue, finding it a bit hard to reach the boy’s eyes with his own steady and unmoving stare. “But you better return fast, boy, because as you might have imagined, I am not alone, and there is a reason why I came into this house: the door is wide open.” It was a lie, of course. Peake was alone, save if one was to count his horse as company. The reason he stumbled upon Elyna’s house was almost pure coincidence. The reason he entered was because he thought a woman would be inside, hopefully capable of cooking him something because ‘he represented the King’s will and needed to be fed’. Eating free was the best.
“Even then, even if you escape, it won’t be long before you’re found, or before the enemy army is at the gates, raping and pillaging, because you killed the one responsible for organizing the Iron Hand in the absence of a Lord Commander.” Rebuking the consequences of one’s action was also a good method to apply pressure, which Peake used. Thankfully, Peake’s appearance was hopefully enough to support his claims. The Extravagant plates, fit to Peake’s body, certainly did not scream of lies.

“Or you can be safe. You can admit that you’ve made a grave mistake, let go of you ego, and bow down so deeply that you kiss the floor in the few moments I’ll take to stand up.” A shorter option, safer option, which also hinted at a possibility of redemption. Two sentences that were easy to understand and needed no pondering. “But you better choose fast, boy, because I’m about to raise, and if your blade is still unsheathed you’ll need to kill me or I’ll have to kill you.” And of course, came the final strategy: to use all the pressure already applied so far, and force a choice to be made immediately without time for analysis. A bold strategy, certainly, but Peake had confidence for trials, and knowing that no human would choose to taint his hands with blood willingly – especially in societies as educated as Rynmere’s – only reassured him further.

As soon as he was done with his speech, Peake moved for the first time since his attempted session of moan-filled masturbation was interrupted, being his hands the ones that moved first as the elbows pressed against the mattress to help Peake sit up.

All or nothing was Peake’s game, and him being bigger, his bet was often the winner.

Thanks to Lazuli for this amazing template!

[Rafael Warrick]

8th Saun 716

Rafael clutched his longsword tighter until his knuckles turned white-hot. Out of all the imaginable responses, the bored look the giant shot at him was the most unexpected. There was no surprise, no fear, and no anger to be found in the dull brown eyes that stared back at him. And it soon became clear why.

Rafael shot a sideways glance at the armor. It looked familiar. His nostrils widened in disbelief as he realized he was threatening a guard. And not just any guard either. Yet, he didn’t remove the cold steel from the Ouroboro’s throat just yet. For all he knew the man had stolen the armor, or perhaps it was a fake. The Royal Guard had no business in Elyna and Malcolm’s home.

Then again, neither did he.

“You could be an impostor…” Rafael said as he cocked his head to the side. “I’d think a real Ouroboro guard would have something better to do than smelling someone’s underwear. Wouldn’t you agree?” His solemn grey eyes remained trained upon the giant. For the time being, he wasn’t flinching just yet.

However, a seed had been planted. The tip of the blade scraped against the nobleman’s skin as doubt started to gnaw at Rafael’s mind. What if the mass of muscle, sweat, and hair before him truly was an Ouroboro guard? His mind reeled at the thought.

Keeping the blade steady was starting to strain his muscles, and the razor-sharp steel cut loose a few precious strands from the knight’s well-groomed beard. A sweltering heat rose to his cheeks and little pearls of sweat glistened upon his forehead. Partly due to the mess he’d found himself in, and partly due to the ascending twin suns.

Gritting his teeth, Rafael shot a panicked glance towards the door. He hadn’t heard anyone else come in, yet he feared someone might have. The man-bear’s calm voice all made it sound so believable…

Somewhere he knew he had the upper hand. He knew he could’ve stabbed into the man’s vulnerable flesh and make him drown in his own blood. Yet, when the ultimatum was offered, he relented. As quick as he had drawn his sword, he now sheathed it and dropped to one knee.

…so deeply that you’ll kiss the floor… the threat echoed in his skull.

He shifted and dropped to both knees, lowering himself completely before the bulwark of a man. His nose almost pressed against the hardwood floor, and he could only hope the man considered his surrender to be complete. “I apologize, my lord,” he started, his voice barely a whisper. “I am deeply ashamed to have threatened your…greatness and to have disturbed you in the midst of a-.” He bit down hard on his lips. “A private act.”

Perhaps if Peake hadn’t asked Rafael to kiss the floor, he would’ve had some warning. Perhaps then he would’ve seen the dangerous glint in the boy’s eyes. Perhaps he would’ve seen that the boy’s mind was racing with plans of escape. But Rafael’s face was hidden from Peake’s sight, and the movement of his hands was sudden.

In a flash, Rafael seized both the man’s ankles and yanked as hard as he could. At the very least the bear would stumble. With a bit of luck however, the man would be toppled and come crashing down onto his back. Whichever the case, Rafael only needed a few moments. Within a trill he’d jumped up again and bolted past the entitled Andaris. His eyes were fixed on his destination: the large man’s horse. After all, he had tied his own mount to a tree in the shade. If the man would decide to give chase, he’d be delayed by having to untie the other horse first.

[/style3]

[Peake]

It was clear to Peake that the knave that had stolen him from the sweet release of ejaculation would desist. Contrary to popular belief, the nobleman was smarter than a teenage boy, something the general public had never quite believed as instead he was often caught in situations in which his intellect was severely questioned – like this one. For all he knew, the Baron had just invaded a random home whose door was forced open, and without even closing it or inspecting the terrain, Peake had just laid on the bed in attempts to pleasing himself with some female underwear. It was stupid, certainly, but Peake’s intellect would be questioned even further if said general public knew he would do it all over again.
As Peake tried to rise, the boy’s blade was sheathed and his already diminute frame was reduced to a bowing ovation, almost praying to the holy figure that was Baron Blackbeard. It was ill-timed, however, as Peake was still struggling to incorporate himself, the massive gut trapped in his breastplate and the weight of the armor itself were proving to be a challenge. Without any sort of grace, be it aristocratic, noble, royal, or even decently human, the giant managed to roll to his side – his pointed pauldrons tearing holes in the mattress in the process – and eventually, after various sorts of grunts, sharp exhales and animalistic grows, Peake managed to push himself back onto his feet.
The boy’s apology came through, but provoked nothing but an expression of disgust in the bearded features of the bigoted male, whom already blamed the peasantry for creating such a horrendously rude little boy. Caught in the middle of the act, Peake had no reason to lie to the child.
“If I don’t get my cock drained…” Said Peake, in a profusely disappointed tone. “I might die. And you will be the cause of it, boy.”
Watching the bowing boy felt somewhat perverted, as moments ago Peake had been trying to satiate his sexual thirst with some undergarments. Instead, and without moving from his spot inches away from the boy’s head, Peake’s long fingers reached for the drawer and extracted even more panties, all of the same size but with different colors, a rainbow of imagination only a man as desperate as him could appreciate. Moments later, he was stuffing them in his greave for later use. Meanwhile, his mind was working on trying to figure out a punishment for the boy, instead of questioning his origins or just what he was doing in the house of one of the King’s spies. The possibilities were many, and most of them involved the humiliation of the boy until tears came out of his eyes like sperm was supposed to come out of Peake’s manhood. An eye for an eye, he thought.

Unfortunately, the cruel images of torture playing in the Andaris’ mind came to a halt, as instead the cruelty was present in the very room. A hand rose to his chest as his expression changed into pure horror, his armored hand capturing a few loose hairs that waved down across the air. Peake knew where those hairs came from, because he had watched them from the day they were first born. He recognized their shape, their color, their scent, as he was the one that bathed those glorious hairs in the finest beard oil. Composed entirely from dragon fruit oil, an exotic fruit that was imported from the far east of Idalos, with a fragrance based around watermelon with slight hints of tobacco, mint and cinnamon, an interesting/dangerous essence that imbued Peake’s beard with the glory of a thousand golden chalices filled with the biggest black pearls men would witness… The images played in Peake’s mind as the hairs fell to their death, stripped from the love of Peake’s face, dying alone with the dust as if they were mere hairs and not Peake’s entire existence. A fist clenched, teeth were shown and a furious Peake demanded vengeance for this unforgivable offense against his facial hair.
Before he could do anything, however, the boy’s hands reached for the colossal tree trunks that were Peake’s armored feet, and yanked in a poor attempt to tackle the mountain. Although the boy’s attempt was extremely poor, as he lacked leverage over Peake’s hips, the blatantly furious beast was nonetheless affected, his center of gravity falling back and a series of awkward backwards strides took him to the end of the room. If a wall was present, Peake could’ve regained his balance and given chase to the villainous hare that had rasped part of the untouchable beard. However, the wall Peake’s back encountered was made of glass, the biggest window of the modest cottage being the recipient of the full weight of the individual. Obviously, no known matter would resist the massive frame of someone as powerful as Peake Maxos Andaris, to which the window shattered and the man, still holding quite some momentum, vaulted over from the edge.

Oops. Peake was definitely not paying for that.

Doing a rather impressive backflip, product of course by an extremely high amount of luck and the adequate leverage by the window’s edge, Peake managed to land on his fours amidst a sea of shattered glass. To state the level of his fury would be useless, as not even the seas held as much water as the nobleman held fury in these moments. This was only increased by the whine of his horse as a trot that turned into a gallop meant his horse was just stolen. Incorporating himself quickly, now that he was humiliated, Peake was lucky enough to hear a nearby whine: a horse waiting around the corner, tied to a tree in the backyard. The animal certainly did not look pleased to see Peake peeking through the corner, as his whine was clearly of pure fear, the animal unable to run away from the angry giant that drilled a hole with his gaze.
Bending over with grace, the unarmed Peake now possessed a shard of glass, with which he approached the horse. Even the horse seemed to realize how much more dangerous the man had become with that shard, as now the creature tried to untie itself from the tree on its own, surely praying for his hooves to acquire opposable thumbs. Thankfully, the horse was intimidated enough that it deemed a kick towards Peake’s chest futile, something Peake appreciated as now he wouldn’t have to skin the animal, instead cutting the rope and mounting the distressed animal, whom secretly vowed to be extra fast and extra enduring in the race about to start, perhaps aware of the danger he carried on his back.

Nobody touched the beard.

Thanks to Lazuli for this amazing template!

[Rafael Warrick]

8th Saun, 716

Glass crashed as Rafael hoisted himself into the saddle. Monstrous sounds came from where the half-giant had landed. He’d poked the bear, and it was frothing at the mouth.

Rafael dug his heels into the horse’s sides. Just before the vengeful King’s guard could reach him, the horse kicked up dust. First a trot, then a gallop.

Rafael tugged hard on the reins in an attempt to steer the war horse back towards the city. But the mount had a will of its own and turned the other way, out into the fields. The dirt road was ignored. Instead, the horse raced straight ahead and leaped over a low wall before landing in a corn field. Again Rafael pulled the reins, but the horse merely pranced, threatening to throw him off.

The thunderous sound of hooves approached from behind, along with a foul, foul wind. Rafael didn’t dare look over his shoulder. He knew what was coming. He threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around the horse’s thick neck, and closed his eyes, praying that it would be over soon.

But before the vengeful noble could reach him, the horse jumped back into action. Unused to such a strong mount, Rafael held on for dear life as he was being thrown around in the saddle. The horse raced forward, faster and faster. Nothing could stop it. Not the tall corn that snapped before it, not the loose stones that were kicked up and thrown at the pursuers, and certainly not some wimpy squire trying to tame the wild, wild beast.

The next few bits were a blur. First they went uphill, racing through a sea of corn. Then down again, at breakneck speed. The horse’s manes whipped at his face and the wind drowned out all other noises but for the frantic beating of his heart.

---

Shadow. The air chilled instantly. A thorny branch ripped at his leg. The horse snorted before slowing down to a trot, and Rafael seized his chance to dismount. Half-falling, half-jumping out of the saddle, Rafael’s kneecaps cracked dangerously as he hit the ground like a brick. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled back onto his pins and glanced around.

They were in the middle of a small forest. Why the horse had suddenly halted was beyond him, but he didn’t care. The steaming black beast was almost as dangerous as his pursuer, and he was eager to get away from both.

Incapable of outrunning a man on horseback, and with nowhere else to go, Rafael rushed towards the nearest tree and started to climb it. The wild pine’s thin branches creaked dangerously. Yet it only reassured him, for it meant that the giant pursuing him, weighing significantly more than himself, would have no means to scale the tree.

Unfortunately, he had no way to get down either. Not without having to pass the blood-thirsty monster in armor first…

[Peake]

If one often thought of the visual representation of rage, few would ever imagine that said imagery would bring the features of a nobleman. Fiery beasts and shrieking creatures would come to mind, most likely, for ire was an emotion that was often associated with inhuman beings. However, if one was to see the gaping brown eyes of Peake Maxos Andaris, or how the saliva invaded his beard by refusing to hide his teeth, perhaps they would recognize their mistake, for when you combine unmanaged anger issues, a position of power, and gigantism… Well, one received whatever came next from ire, and Peake’s features as a visual representation.
Peake and his mount advanced after the trail of the boy with utmost haste. The marks left on the cornfields, which were Andaris’ property the boy would have to pay for, were the path the boy had taken, obviously, and so the trail towards Peake’s vengeance. Rarely he saw the image of the boy in the distance, save for a few thrills whenever the terrain allowed it, yet those small glances served to fuel his ire even further. His mind was overwhelmed with torture devises, with gruesome rituals of pain, which mixed bodily fluids of all sorts onto whimsical apparatus, all designed from scratch to instill pain within the boy, designed by the most psychotic engineers Peake could hire. The ire remained as the unpromising chase continued, yet when it ended, the male still felt as aggravated and angry as before.

The scene the boy had chosen to be that of his demise was a small forest patch, and Peake appreciated the vegetation, for he would bury the boy somewhere nearby. Peake’s original mount was nearby and in sight, yet its saddle was empty and lacking of a soon-to-be cadaver. It seemed that said fierce mount had taken the time to halt and spread his manure, claiming the territory for himself, and yet again resembling the crude attitude instilled by his owner.
Peake dismounted without much grace, and it took him mere thrills to detect where the boy had ended up. The cracks of branches and the rain of twigs was quite obvious, and yet the waving of the tree in this more or less windless trial was enough of a giveaway. Eyes flying up, a disturbing grin appeared under the male’s beard.
“I got you now, boy!” he roared. “I got you now!”
Peake was obviously too big and heavy to climb the tree, but he was strong enough to rip it off whole – or so he thought. It was sad that he actually tried, hugging the tree and using all his furious might in attempts of ripping its roots off the soil. The only thing he proved to himself was that there were no witnesses to speak of his failure, for he would make sure the boy never told a word to anybody.
“You’ll fucking regret this!” roared the man now, desisting in his efforts to be overly manly.
His next strategy consisted of arming himself with pine cones, which he began tossing up the tree without much of a result. The Baron's insults and threats would probably have much more of an effect rather than cones, yet his mind was clouded. Thinking straight was all he wanted, but considering he hadn’t touched a woman in a long time, straight was a term that grew distant.
Upon a quick inspection of his surroundings, Peake’s eyes laid on a small conglomerate of rocks, conveniently placed between two nearby trees. His grin gained sadistic intensity, for it seemed that whomever painted this scene was wishing for Peake’s victory.
Two lunges over tree roots, and a quick sweep of his gigantic hands was all needed for Peake to be once again armed and dangerous. Without any pity for the boy, Peake’s strong right arm began tossing rocks, which flew with such speed that even crossbow bolts would shrivel up in envy. Each time they impacted against the bark, chunks of it left the trunk and flew down, dead. It was surprising that Peake’s right arm held so much strength, especially since it had been a while since he had exercised it in the same manner he would’ve in the previous scene. The boy would have a taste of said strength, for Peake’s aim finally sent a stone flying towards the boy’s rear. It wouldn’t’ be surprising if a mark appeared on the impact side, and branding him like Peake’s cattle.
“You’ll regret ever stepping before Peake Maxos Andaris, boy!” he yelled, the cackle that followed him sadistically spreading throughout the forest by a haunting echo. “You’ll—“
One of those swift projectiles bounced off the bark, and flew back down towards Peake’s head. It had gained some acceleration, for when it struck Peake atop his head, the man’s was invaded by a sharp pain he expressed with a loud yell. His hands dropped the stones, and instead went to grip on the impact site, the male stumbling back with his eyes closed, trying to push past the overwhelming pain. It was then when the hurt male tripped over those same roots he had lunged over before, and the golden tower of armor collapsed back.
The conveniently placed rocks by whoever had painted the scene now greeted the man, and served as a pillow for his head. When he landed, and his skull clashed against the stone, Peake lost consciousness.

The scene was silent once again.

Thanks to Lazuli for this amazing template!

[Rafael Warrick]

8th Saun, 716

The roars of the mad man sent a flock of birds fluttering out of a nearby tree in a frenzy. Nature itself wanted nothing to do with the lumbering, drooling monstrosity that desecrated the earth. Even Peake's mount seemed to sigh in relief as Peake's weight slipped from its back.

Perched up high in the oak tree, Rafael could make out Peake's massive form through the foliage and, for a moment, feared the man would attempt to climb and claw his way up there. There was a rawness to the Royal Guard's voice that left little to the imagination. If the man would manage to get to him, he would not survive the encounter. Rafael looked around him. He couldn't climb much higher, the branches were to thin and if one was to break, his fall would only be greater. But his attention was once again drawn towards the earth at the sound of some guttural groans. The sight of Peake wrapping both arms around the stem of the tree was both hilarious and terrifying and Rafael let out a staggered burst of laughter which only served to enrage the half-giant more, of course.

A small rain of projectiles were flung in his general direction and one or two hit him, though not with much force. Pine cones?

"Really?!" he shouted down at the infuriated man. It was quite insulting that the beast honestly thought he could be taken out with mere pine cones. He instantly regretted his comment as Peake now moved to a far more dangerous projectile.

Something large whooshed through the air and a mere trill later, the air was knocked out of him. A fist-sized stone struck him in the abdomen, and one foot slipped as he doubled over at the sting of pain. Flailing his arms wildly, he managed to prevent a painful drop to the ground and got a hold on a branch overhead. He was so busy keeping himself out of Peake's claws that the he missed how exactly the man had knocked himself out, but by the time he had regained his balance and looked down, he found Peake laying flat on his back with no sign of movement.

For at least two more bits he remained in his position, trying to assess if Peake was feigning unconsciousness or was actually passed out. When the half-giant continued to remain still, Rafael mustered the courage to descend from his hideout and rushed over to one of the saddled horses. Without looking back, he hoisted himself onto the horse's back and dug his heels into the animal's sides. He could only hope that the blow to Peake's head would blur whatever memory the royal guard had of him as he made way to Andaris, empty-handed.

[Whisper]

Peake Andaris

Awarded Points

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/5
Structure: 5/5
These points can/cannot be spent in magic

Awarded Knowledge

Combat: Using Whatever is Available
Intimidation: Words, Gestures Make Threats
Intimidation: Social and Military Rank
Location: Malcolm & Elyna’s House
Nobility: Difference in Rank
Nobility: How Other Nobles Live
Ouroboros: Duty over Pleasure
Strategy: Remaining Calm

Awarded Extras

Loot & Losses	Injuries
None	None
Fame	Devotion
-4: Breaking & Entering	None
-3: Perverted Sexual Act
-5: Masturbation in Public

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Rafael Warrick

Peer Review

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/5
Structure: 5/5
These points can/cannot be spent in magic

Awarded Knowledge

Intimidation: Using a Weapon
Location: Malcolm & Elyna’s House
Nobility: Living Without Servants
Strategy: Observations Come Before Actions
Strategy: Play Brave or Play Safe
Strategy: Submission

Extras

Loot & Losses	Injuries
None	None
Fame	Devotion
-4: Breaking & Entering	None
-5: Threatening a Commander of the Ouroboros

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Comments

Haha! Eww. Peake is such a pervert. And a bully. I was totally rooting for Rafael in this thread! Great job - this was very fun to read, gents!

If you have any questions, comments or criticism about your review, feel free to send me a PM and we can discuss it.
Thank ye.