Training

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Training

Postby Adjanah » Fri Jun 01, 2007 1:37 pm

((Short snippets from the training sessions, feel free to add your own. Let's have a look into the minds of our characters. :) ))

Adjanah
With a sound like a gunshot, the solid oak staff hit the fence post, making it shed splinters. Broken rib. A quick tumble back, around, a quick thrust, and the staff lanced gainst the fence post again. Two fingers, broken. Her imaginary opponent reeled back in pain, and she jabbed him in the sternum, the pole ringing against the wood. He winced, grunted, glared at her, and lunged back. She darted to the side, crouching low, and went for his knees in a wide sweep with the staff, tumbling him over on the ground. The old fence post fell over with a groan, the rotten wood finally giving up the fight. She placed a foot triumphantly on his heaving chest, placing the tip of the staff against his neck. He looked up at her with pleading, angry eyes.

She grinned at the victory. Birds complained loudly at the racket from the surrounding trees. The sun beat down warmly on her glistening skin, and she wiped her forehead. From behind her, the lieutenant clapped halfheartedly. "Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. Any sloppier and the fencepost would have WON, Adja..." Adjanah peered at the panting, wounded man on the ground, his eye a purple welt, his fingers twisted and broken, his breathing ragged and painful. She sent Sayvara a glare and thrust her staff down, crushing his throat, the staff making a loud CLACK against the old wood.

Sayvara clapped once and sat down on the big rock behind her, pointing at the next fence post. "Again!"
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Postby Sayvara » Fri Jun 01, 2007 2:59 pm

Sayvara walks thourgh the woodworkers camp in Overhill. The gnats from the nearby stream take an interrest in her bare arms but she has still decided it is better for this training so she can keep going without exhausing herself. She has her short gloves of thin leather... sleeveless white shirt.... tight pants that allow her great freedom of movement. When training to survive sudden ambushes, it is better to be silent, agile and quick than slow and clunky in a tin can.

...touching his cheek...

She pulls breath... the vision haunts her. It cannot be true. The Song must be wrong. She would not be together with an elf! Would she?

A sudden rustle from a bush on her rear left quarter causes her to spring to action, pulling her sword from its hold on her back. The blade is wrapped in several layes of cloth to make it non-lethal... or at least not as much. Her body tenses as she gets into a combat stance... ready to take on her attacker which is...

A coney. The fightened rabbit runs out of the bush, away from her. She blinks and slowly lowers her sword again... easing upon her stance.

...kissing his temple...

That wasn't a touch of camaraderie. She would not kiss the captain. He is her boss... a superior! One does not mess around like that. It's unprofessional... impractical... a very stupid thig to do if one is not... lovers?!

Another rustle, again on the left side of the path. A quick look to see it it is another forest animal. Nothing... is seems clear... she lets down her sword and sighs.

Then promptly takes a broadside to her belly...

- Aw blimey Sayvara! You a'ight?!

Sayvara doubles over as the hit to her solar plexus takes her breath away. Still she waves dismissively at the attacker and tries to reply.

- I... I... I'm fine...

The hobbit steps out on the path from his ambush point to the right of it. Once he has concluded that Sayvara is not hurt from the blow, his demeanor goes from concerned to annoyed.

- Damnit Aellan... what's the matter with you?! This was child's play and you let me take you out just like that.

He snaps his fingers.

- Much on your mind lately, hm?!

Sayvara finally manages to pull breath again and begins to straighten up. The sucker punch still hurts and makes her answer in shallow gasps.

- A... a bit.

Perogo Greenholm - swordfighter extraordinarire and the finest duelist from here to Angmar thankyouverymuch miss - crosses his arms and looks at her sternly.

- Well let me tell you something missy, I didn't come out here to try to train you only to find you left your head in your other pants! Focus!!

He points at her as he barks the last.

- Oh go shag a bear Perogo... you don't know what this is about.

- True enough. But you know what?

- What?

- It doesn't matter, damnit! Ask yourself this: can you do something about it at this very instant?

- What?!

- Can - you - do - something - about - it - right now?!

- No...

- Then get your priorities straight! Either you go deal with you're dreaming away about, or you let it rest because whatever it is it's very surely grown up and can hold its own until big slow unattentive mama Aellan has time to go cuddle it!

Sayvara growls at the provokation... but he is right. There is nothing she can do right now... other than train and hone her skills.

- That's better, says Greenholm. Now get yer big arse back to the lumberers and we start over.

Sayvara smacks a horsefly that tries to bite her arm and walks the path back down to the woodworkers camp.

...lays down next to him...

She shakes her head... and mutters to herself...

- Focus, damnit... focus!

/S
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Postby Lirandel » Fri Jun 01, 2007 5:49 pm

He feinted to the side then rolled to the other, keeping his bow in a gracious momentum from hitting the ground. He turned, just in time to avoid three quick thrust from a spear; The first he ducked, the second he slightly moved to the side. And the third meant for his abdomen area he parried in a downward arc then throwing the weapon forcibly to the side. The bow making a clang as wood hit wood.

His assailant was sweating profusely on the point of staggering due to fatique, Lirandel in return took a step back and waited. eyeing the man in front of him, his breath coming calmly.

Nothing more than a common bandit. you should ease his pain...

Lirandel snarled at the man, which in return seemed taken aback by the sudden expression on the elves face.

"Jus get outta here" He yelled at him "I have no quarrel with yer!"

He looked uncertain as he spoke the words. In truth this should have been easy. the elf had come alone into his camp of men. Speaking calmly that he wanted to know who was behind the attack of the militia of Archet. They had laughed at him, scorned him. Bullied him, thinking themselves greater men in front of this white trashed and alone elf. They had drawn swords.

"Tell me what I need to know and I will spare your life!"

Lirandel answered in a hoarse whisper, as he walked towards the man, crossing over a body lying across the now smoldering campfire, arrows protruding through his now burning face.

The man walked several steps back, his face turning to fear. He looked from side to side watching his men lying dead, arrows or their own weapons imbedded trough them. He began to cry as he saw his wife lying among them, her dirty face locked in an expression of terror.

He eyed the elf, his face on the brink of madness and frustration then suddenly charged clumsily ahead in one final confrontation...

Lirandel raised his bow.

"So be it..."
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Postby Haelewulf » Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:15 pm

Haelewulf tossed his practice blades on top of the pile to the side of the training circle. Rolling his shoulders he dumped a pitcher of water over his head, relishing the feel of the icy-cold fluid caressing his tired muscles.
Shaking back the wet hair from his eyes, he strode back towards the Last Homely House, abode of his host Elrond, wincing occasionally as a newly-acquired bruise made its presence felt.
He grinned to himself wryly. He was good with the blade, very good by human standards, but whenever he sparred with the Elves of Rivendell he learnt a new lesson in humility. Today had been no different. He played over again in his mind the effortless flourish with which his Elven opponent had disarmed him, and resolved to ask the Elf to show him how it was done whenever he got chance.
For now, though, he needed to rest, and ponder that which the exercise had helped him put from his mind; the image of himself, pierced nigh unto death, leading a last assault into shadow.
He passed through the beautifully carved arch into the cool atrium of the Last Homely House. He hoped he wouldn’t see Elrond himself; Haelewulf still felt somewhat abashed at abusing his host’s hospitality by attempting to question him about the Company leader Lirandel. “You overstep the bounds of courtesy, master Haelewulf,” had been Elrond’s uncharacteristically sharp dismissal, and while ‘Wulf’s curiosity remained insatiable, he valued the goodwill of the Elves far more.
His hopes were to be dashed, however, for descending the stairs at the end of the atrium was Elrond Halfelven himself. ‘Wulf’s fears were laid to rest at once, however, for the look the Elf gave him had no trace of ill-will in it.
“Master Haelewulf! Our warriors continue to provide good contest for you, I hope?”
Haelewulf bowed deeply before grinning in relief and answering, “Contest, master Elrond? I fear that they would have to strive harder against a combat dummy!”
The Elf chuckled, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up wryly. “You continue to improve, Haelewulf. Your father is very proud of you.”
Haelewulf smiled. “He is a great inspiration to me, sir, as are you.”
Elrond batted aside the compliment with a hand, moving past Haelewulf towards the doors. “I understand you and some of Gwaedhon’s friends met with Lady Nolemire in Celondim.”
Haelewulf nodded, his face becoming grim. “Aye. We saw much… but the lady assured us that not all we saw must come to pass.” He turned to the Elf, who was waiting for him. “How much is avoidable, master Elrond? My own fate, dying in battle leading men against the shadow… that is an honourable death. But the others… lost love, insanity and slavery… the loss of everything they know and love… Sir, if I am to die, I do not wish to die hopelessly!”
The Elf sighed. “No future is set in stone, master Haelewulf. Know only that if the Company fails in its endeavours, and if other companies fail in theirs… then that which you saw WILL come to pass.” Elrond turned to face Haelewulf. “I go now to meet with another whose quest will have great import on the visions you saw… but remember, master Haelewulf, what it is that you fight for.” The Elf turned toward the doors. “Farewell, Haelewulf, Elf-friend of the courts of Imladris.”
Haelewulf knelt, bowing his head. “Farewell, master Elrond Halfelven, guide to the race of Man and benefactor of the West.”
The echoing of the closing doors echoed through the atrium, as Haelewulf got to his feet again. A chill began to settle into his muscles as the cool of the house contrasted with the heat of his exercise. He shivered, then went in search of his rooms to wash and dress himself. He needed to speak to his father, and his father was in the Weather Hills, dispersing the hordes of the White Hand. It would be a long ride…
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Postby Felaion » Sat Jun 02, 2007 1:06 pm

((Felaion is NOT Skitzophrenic. [However you spell that word] I'm just using this as a more vivid way to describe his muddled mind. The Black writing represents the voice of corruption, not Sauron literally speaking to him. The Cyan represents purity, through the voice of the Lady Nolemire. In the same way, not literally.))

Felaion Baker, child of Gondor cracked his hoe down into the dirt with a resounding thud. Exerting a painful grunt, he draws the tool through the dusty earth, effectively turning over the soil. With a sigh, he bring the hoe up to stand erect, and rests his weary arms atop it's structure, after passing his arm across his forehead, wiping it clean of sweat. Abruptly, his relaxed pose is shattered when the snap in the hoe, carelessly fixed, gives in to the weight, and he stumbles forwards, the hoe shattering into more pieces than the original two, after its first break. Felaion lands heavily on his knee, grunting in pain, desperation and pure annoyance. Lifting his head, and a couple of the shattered pieces, his gaze wanders towards the nearby wall, against which Felaion has rested his other things. Prominently resting next to them, is a short sword. It is a very short sword, more a dagger, but of clear Gondorian make, and belonging to Felaion. His gaze passes over it, and as he stands, he simply states, although only inside his mind:
'No'
The simple word resounds around his thoughts, as he considers all its many interpretations. Puzzling, he stands, wiping his hands on his muddy coat and turns towards the sun, burning clear and bright in the afternoon sky, it's warm glow drifting down over his expression, but doing naught to console him. To him, the sun could be as cold as winter frost, as dim as the night sky. It meant nothing.

It stared at him. It’s gaze piercing into his back like a cold shiver running down his spine. Felaion could feel it, causing him to turn and glare accusingly at the sword.
‘I won’t!’
‘You should.’
The voice echoed inside his head, repeating itself, over and over, a quiet whisper.
‘All the others are.’
‘I don’t care what the Thorn is doing. I’m a farmer, not a fighter.’
‘You’re a thief Felaion…’
‘I won’t do this!’
‘Liar…’
‘I said what needed to be said!’
‘Murderer…’
‘Father?!’
‘No child. He is dead, at your hand.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Afraid of the past are you Felaion? Still afraid of what you did?’
‘Yes…’
‘This is why you cannot…’
‘I cannot fight with the Thorn.’
‘You will only betray them the same way. You will run and hide at the crucial point, casting their lives away; your cowardice will be guilty of more than one death this time. Can you let that happen?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’

Regardless to say, Felaion was troubled. Celondim had done little to lighten his heart, and had made many of his troubles even worse. He was annoyed, and agitated. Things no longer made sense the way they used to.
‘Why did you lie Felaion?’
‘I didn’t’
‘You twisted the truth. You do not intend to stand by the Thorn.’
‘I intend to do what I must.’
‘It may be because you lied that you cannot understand what you saw.’
‘Why show me that???’
‘You saw what you needed to see, Child of Gondor. For there are three things you would fight and die for.’
‘How do you…?’
'I know many things. You would fight for Gondor. Your lies cannot hide this. She is not the monster you portray her as.’
‘I would… For my Father.’
‘You would fight to protect those you love.’
‘Kellidir.’
‘More than that, Felaion. You care for the Thorn.’
‘He cares for her.’
‘Deceiver… You have not yet taken him.’
‘Be gone, song.’
‘Don’t you Felaion? You care for her also.’
‘I’ve buried those feelings. I’ve thrown away the key.’
‘But you do still love her.’
‘I love Kellidir more!’
‘Keep telling yourself that, Felaion.’
‘What???’
‘There is one last thing you would fight for...’
‘Life…’
‘But you know what that vision showed, don’t you?’
‘If the Thorn and other Companies fail, you survive.’
‘If they succeed…’
‘You must not fight Felaion… to save them. You must run.’
‘No, I don’t…’
‘Fool! You forget…’
‘What?’
I SEE YOU!

The voice inside his head had been met by another, one that resembled the Lady Nolemire's so clearly, that Felaion now puzzled over the purity of the first voice. With a shout, Felaion smacked his foot against a rock, sending it hurtling into the air, but simultaneously doing painful damage to his foot. Collapsing onto his knees, he groans in pain, muttering curses under his breath. Now a different word resounds in his mind.
'Why?'
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Postby Adjanah » Sun Jun 03, 2007 2:17 am

*has chills*
*applauds*
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Of Thorns and Apples...

Postby Haelewulf » Thu Jun 14, 2007 2:06 am

((Pre-approved by Lirandel, fear not. More to follow. :) ))

((This scene takes place the day after the Event, the Sword of Thorns.))

“My dearest Kelli…”
Haelewulf sighed and screwed up the letter he’d just begun, tossing it onto a growing pile in the corner of his rooms in the Green Dragon. What hope was there for him if he couldn’t even begin a letter to her to his satisfaction? With a resigned look, he began afresh:

“Dear Kellidir,

The Thorns’ training sessions began yesterday… All went well, except that Sayvara nearly tried to kill Felaion. It wasn’t anyone’s fault really… but still.”

Haelewulf looked up from the parchment, grimacing as he recalled the look of rage contorting Sayvara’s countenance. He shook his head. She’d mastered herself in time… but he still hoped the day would never dawn that she would ever be looking at him in such a fashion. It also made him even more resolved to eliminate his own anger from combat. He bent his head again to the task of writing the letter.

“Lirandel worked us hard, but everyone tried their hardest, and even Archie stopped asking questions eventually!” Haelewulf suppressed a chuckle even now, recalling the irrepressible hobbit’s near-perpetual string of push-ups.

“Today Lirandel begins my own training. I’m quite excited… he’s a hard blademaster, but he’s the best, so I’ll try to keep an open mind and my tongue in check. He asked me to bring a sack of apples along, oddly enough.”

Haelewulf glanced over to where the sack sat beside his desk, and pondered again what possible use they could be, unless Lirandel merely liked eating apples during training sessions. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on the letter.

“I hope you’re doing well. I miss you.”

His pen hovered over the bottom of the parchment in indecision, then, shaking his head at his own cowardice, he settled on “With fond regards, ‘Wulf.”

Sealing the letter, he slipped it into the post box as he left the Dragon, bound for the woods and his first real training session.

He reined his horse in outside the Thorn’s Sanctuary, mounting the stairs. “Master Mornereg?”

Lirandel was already there, his back to Haelewulf, an impassive look on his face, his eyes closed, his legs crossed. The sword of Thorns lay across his lap, its blade bare to the rising sun.

Haelewulf stopped in the center of the duelling ring, respectfully waiting until Lirandel deigned to acknowledge his presence. At last Lirandel rose smoothly to his feet. He indicated briefly to the edge of the circle. “Remove your armour.” Haelewulf moved to comply, shedding the flimsy protection of his quilted Elven travelling shirt and his leather ranger leggings. Lirandel was already stripped for training, the hard muscles of his arms and legs shifting under skin like marble as the Elf warmed up.
Haelewulf finished preparing himself, and waited for further instructions. The Elf spoke without looking at him. “Go and fetch one of your blades, and bring the bag of apples over here.”

As Haelewulf strode over to his grazing horse to retrieve the apples from the saddlebag and his blade from its place under the saddle, he surreptitiously tested the limits of his shoulder. Despite the dislocation of the previous day, and Lirandel’s effective but heavy-handed treatment, the small jar of athelas essence that ‘Wulf had used before sleeping that night had worked wonders and it was all but healed. Nevertheless, Haelewulf hoped that further push-ups would be avoided.

As it turned out, his fears were almost unfounded…

“Sir?” Haelewulf peered at the Elf keenly, trying to ascertain whether or not Lirandel had actually cracked a joke. When it became apparent that the Elf wasn’t joking, obvious disappointment registered sharply on 'Wulf's countenance.
Lirandel eyed him impassively, a small tightness about his jaw the only hint of his displeasure. Without being asked, Haelewulf dropped to the floor and pushed himself up thirty times.

“You heard me,” said the Elf as ‘Wulf regained his feet. “Set an apple on that wall, and split it.” Utterly disappointed, Haelewulf stalked across to the spike of masonry that Lirandel had indicated. There was just enough room on the flattened top, around shoulder-height, to rest an apple on. So this was the great secret of the Mornereg, thought Haelewulf bitterly. He splits apples.

Taking two steps away from the spike, Haelewulf spun and struck the apple midway, sending the top half spinning off the hill in a shower of apple pulp. He turned back to Lirandel. “There!”

Lirandel’s jaw tightened again, but the Elf held his temper. “Place another, and I shall show you.” As ‘Wulf moved away, the sword of Thorns swept in a glittering arc toward the apple… and then swept on, the apple resting undisturbed.

Haelewulf blinked. There was no way that the Elf that had bested him with little effort had just completely missed a stationary target. As he watched, Lirandel casually lifted his sword and with the tip, gently nudged the top of the apple.

It fell away, cleanly severed.

Haelewulf swallowed hard.

Lirandel walked over to him, stopping just in front of Haelewulf, who was unable to tear his gaze from the two halves of the apple, resting next to each other. Lirandel took hold of ‘Wulf’s shoulders and spun him about to face him. Leaning in, the Elf ground the words out between angrily clenched teeth.

“When I tell you to do something, Man of the West, I expect to be obeyed. I am not your witless blademistress, I am not your father, and I do not have the time to explain myself to you. Moreover,” - and here the grip on Haelewulf’s arms became as strong as an iron vice - “I have already demonstrated just how vastly superior my skills are to yours. I am the Mornereg, and was hailed as a blademaster before your father’s grandfather walked this Middle-earth. You WILL listen and obey, or you will go your own way, for you are useless to me unless you can learn.” Lirandel released Haelewulf, and turned away, his composure restored.

“Now, Haelewulf son of Phindor, split an apple.”
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Postby Sayvara » Thu Jun 14, 2007 12:16 pm

(( In relation to Haelewulf's latest - and most excellent - post, watch this video. ))

http://www.thearma.org/Videos/NTCvids/c ... eblade.mpg (6 megs)


/S
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Postby Haelewulf » Thu Jun 14, 2007 4:13 pm

((Thanks, Sayv! :-D And awesome clip!))
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Postby Adjanah » Thu Jun 14, 2007 8:07 pm

((Just lovely, Wulf! Very fine read! :D ))

Imladris

She could feel her heartbeat. The steady thub-dubbing sound in her chest that let her know she was alive. It was her anchor. Her focus.

He turned on the spot, swung his blade low, caught hers and twisted, making the blade fly from her hand in a single, clean stroke. "Again!" he barked, waiting, while she pulled the blade out of the ground, turning to face him again.

Slow. Silent. Calm. Her heartbeat filled her, the faint, tinkling sound of the blades clashing together were like small bells in her mind. Distant. She breathed deep.

Again, he swung at her. In a graceful arc, she leapt aside, away from his deadly blade, and landed, her feet firmly finding purchase in the soft soil. She found his eyes, and he nodded the slightest bit at her before lunging. His body flew at her, her blade only narrowly catching his, deflecting, parrying, then thrusting, pushing him back for a second...before he again gained the upper hand. Again, her blade went sailing into the air. "Again!"

She smiled deeply, somewhere inside herself, in a part of her mind she had not opened fully for the last five years since he had left her in Bree. She felt her bond to him strengthen anew, his teachings coming back into sharp relief in her mind. Her father. Her teacher.

She leapt at him, catching him off-guard for a fraction of a second, her leading the charge this time. He parried and leapt aside, her blade missing him narrowly. Sparks flew off their blades as they rang against each other, until they both jumped back and landed in all but symmetrical positions, facing each other, ready. A short flourish and a grin, and she charged him again, holding her sword horizontally in front of her.

Elation. She felt it all welling back into her, filling her. Endless nights under the stars. Riding from town to town, calling no place home. Stories. Encounters. His words. His training.

The pace quickened. They leapt and lunged, the signature elf-moves being played out. Him, battle-hardened and well-polished. Her, brash and sharp. Parry, dodge, swing, thrust, parry, parry, jab, swing, thrust. A glistening sheen of sweat spread on her forehead, and she laughed, the laughter of someone with a broken leg that suddenly finds she can stand up again. Again, she lunged. Again, her blade flew from her hand, but not as easily. "Again!"

Her heart beat strongly in her chest now, faster, with an aggresive, feral edge to it. She loved that feeling. Savored it. She felt the heat of her body and the way her sweat made her clothes cling. This was living. Nothing to interrupt her, nothing to distract her, just the blades, and the dance. Nothing except...

Sharp pain. The tip of his blade caught her cheek, a fine spray of blood following it in an arc. The wound was superficial, the reason was not. He stopped the fight and quirked an eyebrow, looking at her. "Do not allow distraction into your mind, Adjah." To emphasise it, he performed a quick flourish with the blade, the silvery metal making figures-of-eight in the crisp evening air. She put a hand to her cheek and nodded, feeling the warm, sticky sensation of blood on her fingers. "Why do we train with sharp edges, Adjah?" He stepped closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. "So that we may allow our minds to stand even sharper, father." she replied. He nodded, a rare smile crossing his lips. "You remember. That concludes this lesson, daughter." He wiped the tip of his blade and sheathed it. Then he nodded at her again, as if he knew what went through her mind, and started to slowly walk away, observing the rare and exotic blooms on the trees near the Last Homely House.

Nothing except...him. Bah. With an almost annoyed expression, she lifted the silver necklace Felaion had given her, out of its' nestled spot between her breasts and out of the shirt, looking at it.

"Ne'er a feckin' moment in bleedin' peace, is there?"

She smirked dryly and snorted, shaking her head. She slipped the necklace back inside her shirt and set off after Lirandel.
Last edited by Adjanah on Thu Jun 14, 2007 8:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Haelewulf » Thu Jun 14, 2007 8:21 pm

((Beautifully written, Adj! And a most intriguing revelation at the end there! :-D Of course, I might just be several steps behind everybody else... *chuckles* ))
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Postby Felaion » Thu Jun 14, 2007 8:29 pm

(( :D Well written Adj! Shame you don't write more often! :) ))
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Postby Lirandel » Fri Jun 15, 2007 2:44 am

And you tell me why Lira is not satisfied with Felaion doing his charming work on his daughter...
I frecking rest my case dudes... Heheh... :wink:

Your brother

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Postby Haelewulf » Fri Jun 15, 2007 3:07 am

((Dude... that's a helluva dad to win over. Mwahahaha. Good luck, farmboy! :-D ))
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Postby Felaion » Fri Jun 15, 2007 8:29 am

((Doh! Still t'aint fair, everyone hates I!))

...Poor Felaion :cry:
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