• Mature • Mission: Implausible

(Sabine) -PM to Join

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Peake
Approved Character
Posts: 333
Joined: Mon Apr 18, 2016 2:17 am
Race: Human
Profession: A**hole
Renown: -60
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Mission: Implausible

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Sabine.

Peake’s testicles retreated into his body as the name reached him, carrying the same weight as a full blown kick to the crotch. For said reason, they started aching even if the kick was metaphorical. Wasn’t she the one that had been writing all that garbage on the ‘Gazette’? Something about Peake being the cause his drunk brother got beaten up in some alley. Just by the looks of her face, Peake could recognize the salt in that woman’s veins. If Peake tasted her she’d probably taste like a grapefruit or a lime. Straining his acting skills to the limit, which resulted in him just staring with dead eyes at the female until she was done talking, to which he proceeded to give her his back and immediately ignore her for the rest of his existence. It was a shame to let such a pretty gal escape his sticky bed, but knowing himself, Peake suspected anything that was to come out of his mouth would be a curse or a rude remark that exposed him.

Peake slowly made his way towards the broken-down counter, in which a disgusting turtle stew awaited him, its smell worse than all the urine in the establishment combined. It was as if they forgot to clean the turtle, and used its shell to cool its intestines full of waste before tossing it into the nest of spiders that had been living in the bowl for the last four arcs. From the smell alone Peake knew he would no longer be human if that concoction entered his body. Surely a tumor would instantly grow within him, transforming him into something like a Yludih or a Ithecal-like creature.

“Yummy, ain’t it? Finest my mamma has cooked in a long time, aye. Say hello, Ma!” As soon as the bartender said, Peake’s eyes caught the sight of a lady hiding past the kitchen’s door. It wasn’t the strange fog around the lady what scared him most, nor was her cadaveric features characterized by the deepest wrinkles the nobleman had seen, but it was in fact the eyes what surprised him most. It was impossible to tell if her both eyes were extremely lazy or if she was looking at each side like a lizard. Looking down on his stew, a cold sweat broke through his forehead as he tried to block the mental image of just what the old hag had tossed within the pot. If the wooden spoon touched the substance, it would surely dematerialize the very trill.

Thankfully, Peake’s suicide mission was suspended as fate stormed within the tavern. A blond pig in a red dress was the head of fate’s group, each marching by Peake’s side and leaving their particular scent to linger around his nose. Hope was not lost, and it was in fact completely regained, once the bearded individual entered the secluded tavern: Frakko Hujin had come. And, thankfully, his goons had locked themselves in here with Peake.

Frakko was an interesting individual. Not one bit spent outside his mother’s womb and he was traded for a basket of moderately fresh apples. The buyer, a blind fashion designer whose career was strangely on the rise, adopted the baby and taught him everything he knew. Frakko grew an artist, like his adoptive father, yet his art was disastrous. At first, Frakko gained knowledge about architecture, and his first creations were revealed for the world: a carriage designed to carry horses with luxury – idea that didn’t receive much attention –, and the design of an extremely cheap castle made entirely of wood. His career as an architect ended with plain 0 sales, and so Frakko attempted to start a grocery shop. However, his license was denied by the Treasury because there was a grocery right next to his own, and since he was not allowed to use the docks to import stocks, he had to buy them in the grocery shop next door to later try and sell them himself.

The locale lasted no more than thirty arcs before Frakko was ruined, and without a coin to his name and no possibility in investing in materials, stock, or property, Frakko changed careers and became a ‘clairvoyant’. His two most successful scams were ‘Predicting the past’ and ‘Spirit fighting’, which meant he pretending to witness a battle between conveniently invisible spirits, taking bets, and being the only one that could witness the winning spirit. These days, Frakko’s business involved mugging old women in the ports.

To Peake, Frakko was a loser. It wasn’t that he hadn’t paid taxes in the last arc, or that he and his business sense was as sharp as a stool, but it was the beard on his face what made him qualify as stupid. Just by a single glance, Peake’s hypocritical gaze found thousands and thousands of mistakes in the hygiene, trimming and shaping of the beard. Is it too much to demand absolute perfection from a man’s beard? A beard was a responsibility so heavy that Peake, just like most women with a greatly blessed bosom, had to regularly perform exercises to strengthen his lower back, unless he wanted back pains to consider a reduction of size in his facial hair. For that reason, Frakko had to be eliminated.

Instead of trying to sip on the stew, Peake snapped his finger towards the bartender.
“Bring me a bottle, quick!”
The bartender must’ve thought Peake, or Keppler as he was now known as, had a jest to prove for the bar. With a sigh, a bottle of the strange ale was handed to Peake, whom quickly grabbed it by the neck before he turned around and, without a warning or a word, smacked the last goon of them all right in the forehead. The sound, similar to the one a coconut would make, stated just how effective the bottle was against a man’s head, the bottle still whole as if it was made by stone rather than crystal. While the goon simply fell backwards, Peake readied the bottle and with a powerful swing he threw it towards the small, closed window by the now locked door. The window exploded outwards, and so did the bottle once it hit the stone ground outside, shattering in the dark night as the sound echoed through the alleys.

It was just then when Peake turned towards Frakko and yelled out for the whole tavern to hear. “Frakko Hujin, you are under arrest by the authority of the Iron Hand. Knights, on guard!”
Just as Peake stepped back and readied his stance, the two knights that played cards on a table quickly stood, armed with nothing but a fork they had to split between the two. The rest of the knights, having remained undercover for many breaks, were the drunk that didn’t seem to hear, and the drugged one that was claiming he was ‘almost there’ as he contorted within his dark corner while his eyes were still fixed on Sabine. However, outside one could hear the marching footsteps approaching through the alleys, the reinforcements that awaited being finally summoned by the signal of shattered glass and a giant’s yelling, soon to reach the doors and start trying to break down the barricaded door with their shoulders.

Until then, Peake and his two unarmed knights had to defend themselves against swords, daggers, and acidic turtle stews.
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I'm so sorry about the delay. I hope I gave you a good enough reply to make up for it.
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