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 The Search for Manly and Other Assorted Misadventures! 
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Joined: Wed May 07, 2008 10:43 pm
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Location: Globetrotting
Post The Search for Manly and Other Assorted Misadventures!
The drum of hoof beats create a bass beat that throbs through my whole body, the almost solid noise given a little variant depth by the sharp thrum of bolts being released from crossbows before thudding into the ground at my feet.

To some people it would look like I were in a hellish situation, hounded on all sides by furious elves who insist on persisting with the misunderstanding that I have somehow kidnapped the daughter of their tyrannical lord and forced her into a life of depravity. Obviously this is ridiculous, she just came with me after all, no force required--sadly not even that dreadfully fun pretend kind that I’m so fond of! You know the kind where you get to be the stern school master with a severe expression and a quick cane hand, while she pretends to be the naïve and reluctant school girl who has been misbehaving; possibly behind the groundskeepers shed at the bottom of the bowls green. And what starts out as a dashed good thrashing to teach her a lesson in propriety quickly turns into something more sinister when you get a glimpse up her wayward frock and---wait. What? Where was I? Oh yes, hellishness. Of course you would be forgiven for thinking this is a situation reminiscent of a level of hell, but to me it is simply divine, heavenly if you will. You see, I’m a Sexington and if there’s one thing a Sexington enjoys ahead of everything else then it’s a bloody good chase, even if on this occasion I am the rabbit rather than the hound.

So here I am now, bounding through the undergrowth like the erstwhile fox with my current nemesis the Duke of Coranalis pursuing me with his private army taking the part of the royal hunt. No this isn’t hell, this is entirely too much fun to be hell--profitable as well, providing that I can once again slip through the fingers of our darling Duke then I’m fairly certain that the gaudy bejewelled mask (Masque D’Frenziene, apparently) currently weighing down the bag on my left shoulder will fetch me a pretty penny on the open market. Now you might consider that escaping the Duke would be problematic, after all he is a shockingly tenacious man who desperately desires the return of his daughter so that he can marry her off and get some extra cash in his coffers. However what you don’t know, and what the Duke himself is also unaware of, is that I’m about to run out of ground. In fact in just a few yards or so this forest is going to give way to open sky above and indeed below me. And when that happ--

Ah there we go, free fall is a VERY unnerving experience I might hasten to add but it really isn’t a problem since as I believe I mentioned earlier I am a Sexington, and all Sexingtons are expected to be possessed of a multitude of talents for any situation. Now I know what you are thinking and no, sadly flight is not one of my many gifts, I’m shackled more to the mundane skills of being a composer and playwright (more on that during a moment in my life when I am less pressed for time, I’m sure) as well as the family occupations of adventuring, espionage and romping. However it just so happens that my great uncle, Harold Cochran Sexington was an inventor and it is his genius that allows me to be entirely unconcerned by the prospect of hurtling to my untimely demise. Speaking of which now would probably be a very, very, very good time to pull the sodding cord!
The lurch of the silken canvas spilling out of the pack strapped to my back and filling with air still tears at my stomach, threatening to drag the contents of my breakfast back out into what I’m sure it is convinced is its natural habitat. Then the weightless feeling hits and I let out a giddy laugh, of course it’s the next moment that is the honestly terrifying one; the moment where you float easily to the ground, well aware that you are completely at the mercy of any stray projectiles that your pursuers might choose to hurl your way. Luckily for me the Dukes’ men are even worse shots when they are astonished than they are while hurtling through a forest at break neck speeds, which is nice.
On the ground I disengage the clasp that holds the contraption to my back and turn to give a quick salute to the distant figures of the Duke and his men, calling back without really caring if they can hear me or not,

“I will, naturally, pass on your regards to your daughter! See you soon Davos, old chap!”

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because I shagged your wife.

Thu Aug 21, 2008 11:56 pm
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