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Spooky Mittens

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  1. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CoTH] It had come to pass that that fateful night did end. Two months prior you'd have found The Green Knight baring his thorns against a band of brigands who sought to take the town for all it's riches (not that it had much anyway). In his efforts to prevent a young boy from getting himself killed, Tirkas found his way to a small flaming cottage, only to watch as Ruska threw himself within to save a girl. Helena was her name, and she had been the focus of the boy's affection to his ultimate detriment. She survived the ordeal, but he did not. This was a point of shame for the elf, because his goal that evening hadn't been to fight anyone. It had been to see the boy and his love to safety. Instead he was left with a simple reminder that the folly of youth must be tampered with the wisdom of age, lest it snuff itself out. Tirkas erected a small monument, in the manner of his people, to the deceased boy Ruska. A sapling, srouted and encouraged with Tirkas' druidic magic, stood atop the site where the boy had been buried. An object of personal value had been embedded in the tree trunk, where it would eventually be consumed by the growing wood over time. A rough, unshapen piece of emerald. This had been a prize that Tirkas and Ruska had competed against eachother to recieve. This seemed a fitting use for it. For a time, the grass around this grave would always seem to grow a little bit greener. In the mornings, it wasn't unusual for Tirkas to visit this site and reflect on his deeds the previous day. He sought to keep himself along a narrow path laid before him by god, and that required discipline. Reminding himself of his failures was only the first step. Today was a bit different, though. Tirkas had been given a new task, one which he still didn't grasp the full gravity of. He was supposed to recruit someone in the village, an outsider like himself. Tirkas had been told of his new calling some days ago, but still he had yet to actually approach the individual in question. The only information given to him about this man was that he was strong, and that he might be receptive to god's light in the coming days. Ultimately, The God of the Green Flame would not force someone into his worship, they had to submit willingly, so this task was one of the very most sacred in Tirkas' view. He was being trusted with the immortal soul of another. By about mid morning, Tirkas had finished his morning meditations. He was done ruminating on his task, and today he felt he understood it well enough to proceed. Now all he had to do was find the guy. Tirkas understood he worked with the guard, so that was where he would start. The guardhouse. @Fennis Ursai
  2. Spooky Mittens

    The Story of the First Cothmas

    Somewhere, out in the forests of Coth, a lone elf rested his weary eyes beneath the gentle rustling of pines and branches. A light snowfall blanketed the wilderness in a white film which stifled all the worldly noises. This was definitely one of Tirkas' most favorite seasons because it was so very easy for him to just relax and let himself drift off into a trance for hours on end. Cool winter nights while the snow fluttered about were as peaceful as the grave. He sat beneath a great conifer, taking refuge in the needles around its trunk. His armor and weapons were left in the small cottage he called home these days, so he wore little more than a thick winter cloak over his ceremonial robes. He sat in a meditative position with his eyes closed and his ears wide open, absorbing all of the subtleties of the forest around him. He listened intently to the great emptiness of the wind and slowly sank into his trance. He let the word fall around him, melting into the background until he was left with only himself and the cool sensation against his face. Eventually, even that would fade, leaving Tirkas a singularity in the universe, basking in the void as his subconscious mind took control. He opened his eyes, but he did not see the world as he knew it now. He was in a dream and laid out before him was a warped facsimile of reality. The colors were much more vibrant, and present even in the absence of light. He found himself in a great garden stretching out as far as the eye could see with no perceivable end. The world rolled in upon itself at its edges, forming a dome of land that stretched all the way into the sky, and if one looked straight up they could see the very same garden. Though it was cold to the touch, this garden was lively and vibrant. Tirkas felt himself wandering about the mazelike flowerbeds and hedges, admiring all of the wondrous plants that his mind had conjured until he came upon a specific section. This section was so stark, because unlike the rest of the dream this section was dark, blanketed in snow. In the middle of this plot stood a single balsam fir with a gentle dusting of white. It stood no taller than six feet high, and its colors were darkened and muted as if the sun was not shining here. Tirkas approached with apprehension at first. He feared that if he touched this dark tree, then perhaps his brilliant dream would turn into a terrifying nightmare. He could sense that this was an omen even in his restful trance, and in his sleepful state, he could feel his heart breaking faster by the second. He reached his hand out to touch the tree, eyes wide and afraid, and as his fingers tickled the evergreen needles, a creature slithered from within the tree. An emerald green snake, tall as a man and as thick as the tree trunk it wrapped itself around. It's head leveled with Tirkas' own, slotted yellow eyes piercing the Elf body and soul. It said nothing, and yet somehow Tirkas knew what it was thinking, he knew what was coming, and even as the snake opened its jaws to bite his arm, Tirkas did not flinch. The pain was stark. He awoke with a shout, eyes bolt open and glowing dimly in the night. The world came back to him, the cool dirt beneath his legs, the gentle breeze that made the snow flutter. He assessed his position and witnessed that the roots of the tree he sat beneath had risen from the ground and found their way into Tirkas' arms, like the fangs of a snake. The tree drank of his blood, and on this night god performed a miracle through this sacrifice. As Tirkas turned his head to look he finally noticed that the tree above him had sprung to life with a vibrant green glow, as though a fire burned behind the veil of what was real and imagined. "Holy shit." He said aloud, and a voice in the back of his mind answered with Yes, my child, indeed. He gazed upon the surroundings, maybe by instinct or by some unseen deific hand, and saw that all of the small balsam fir's in the area started to glow like this gigantic one that Tirkas napped under. Dozens of trees were glowing as bright as any torch, and immediately Tirkas knew what he was meant to do here. He bolted to his feet and ran to the first six foot tree he could find and set to work chopping it down, using his druidic magic to hack at the soft trunk. It would still take him several minutes to get through, but when it was done he hoisted the tree over his shoulder and saw that it was still aglow. "I have to show the Father!" Tirkas shouted to himself with holiday glee as he started to sprint across the fields back towards the town.
  3. Cothmas is that special time of year when The Cothmas Goat comes down from the sun and chooses a special farm to obliterate.  Then the community comes together for the ritual of charity and brings the farm back through the power of their good cheer~

    1. Narcissa


      Will Cothmas try to eat my shirt if I pet him, though?

  4. Oh Cothmas goat, oh Cothmas goat, how lovely are thy horns~

  5. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CoTH] He proceeded towards the backline of his attackers, but a call came from behind their ranks. A man, he called for his comrades to retreat. They wouldn't find much difficulty escaping from Tirkas. He wasn't interested in giving chase to them, and while he was agile in his armor he was still not quite as swift as an unarmored man. One of them, however, pushed to the front. In the very short moments that followed, Tirkas discerned that this was the commander. He was presenting himself for the elf, either as a distraction so that his men could fight back, or so that they could escape. It didn't much matter to Tirkas, he was going to be forced to contend with Aethelmir. Why not now? Tirkas met the axe swing with the rim of his vine-made shield, presented such that the inside hooked under the axe's bit and the rim itself struck the haft. This was disadvantageous, as it gave Aethelmir an anchor upon which to drag and pull, but such a thing was only true of a shield that was a single solid object. This one was an appendage unto itself and the vine would start to uncoil immediately. Tirkas intended to strike towards Aethelmir's eyes with the end of his vine, hoping to force him to snap his eyes shut or to move his head away. He followed this with another spell. Two fingers extended in the hand which grasped his dagger. He swept this hand low, starting from his outside right and waving across in front of Aethelmir's forward-most leg. A green glow emanated from his fingers, forming an etherial leaf which flung itself from the elf's grasp towards Aethelmir's thigh. A foot across, it threatened to wound his leg deeply, though it lacked the power to take his leg off clean. @Vansin
  6. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CoTH] While Tirkas took cover behind the coop, the old woman found within her the strength to carry Helena off and away from the immediate danger. Hopefully, the armed Tirkas would prove to be a superior bait and the raiders would not divert. He found a door on the coop that had a pretty simple wrought iron handle and hinges. This was the door used by the farmer to reach into the nests and collect his eggs, so it needed only be sturdy enough to keep the wind out. Tirkas ripped it from the coop with relative ease and gripped it such that he could rest it against his arm and protect his head from one side. He gripped his spear underhand then, resting the shaft against the point of his gauntlet. Before he could do anything else, one of the soldiers rounded the corner. Tirkas smelled them long before he felt the footfalls on the soft turf. The spearman would turn the corner to find Tirkas staring him in the face with shimmering green eyes, his reflective retinae dancing in the flames. He parried Tirkas' thrust with the shaft of his spear, wheeling his weapon around in order to bring it back in line with the elf's face. Having both hands on his weapon made this an easy enough task, having superior leverage in almost every regard, but Tirkas planned for this. He lunged in, knowing that he could expect the others to be set upon him in another moment. He leaned forward and drove the coop door into the shaft of the raider's spear, turning his own spear around with the force the raider applied so that he could thrust with the blunt butt of the shaft into the man's face. He released his hold on the door and took to gripping the raider's spear shaft. His aim was the eye socket to inflict pain and disorient the man and use the chaos to take control of the spear. Pressure from the impact would be used to transition the Tirkas' weapon from it's fully extended configuration back into the dagger form. Following this, Tirkas would wheel around to the side, whipping his left arm about from one side to the other in a one hundred eighty degree swipe. He turned upon his heels and rotated his torso with it, just as five axemen began to surround him, two others still hiding around the corner. As they lifted their axes and swords to rain blows upon the lone elf, a thick green vine burst from where he gripped the raider's spear, casting the weapon out and wide with a woody appendage holding it tight. The vine swept across like an intelligent limb, taking the swords and axes down at their knees and laying them onto their rumps. "Come one or a hundred men, it makes no difference to me." He growled as the spearman drew a long dagger and rubbed his eye. "You'll be joining me in hell all the same!" He bounded over the axemen as they began to recover their footing, making a direct charge for the archers in the back. Despite his heavy armor he was quite swift, a result of his elven anatomy. The lands of The Church on The Hill were lush and rich with life. Tirkas could feel the vitality of the hills and the forests flowing through him. His vine returned to his side, forming a coil at his forearm, like a targe. He guarded his face just below his eye sockets, presenting only the top of his head as a very difficult target.
  7. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH] "Damn." Tirkas muttered once more, this time with a small twinge of sadness in his voice. He saw the boy rush out of the hot flames, only for a wooden support beam to fall on his back. He sent his lady love sprawling onto the ground in front of the home, but she was unconscious it seemed. The old lady, she rushed to Helena's side. Tirkas took a step forward to offer advice. They could not stay here, none of them. The old lady, the unconscious lass, and Tirkas the Green Knight. All three of them were sitting ducks. He opened his mouth to speak before his heart sank in his chest. The sound of a bowstring, the whistle of an arrow, and the loud metallic PTANG of an iron arrow head connecting with the spinal plate of Tirkas' brigandine vest. He had two choices in this moment. Beat feet and make his escape, or stand firm and let the old woman run. Neither scenario had any guarantee of success, but only one had a chance of keeping Helena safe. An old woman couldn't carry the girl, and Tirkas could not outrun nine raiders with his kit with an extra body slung over his shoulder. "So be it." He made the stupid choice. To stand his ground. "Get to safety, crone." Tirkas yelled to her as he slipped away from the street. He sought any sort of cover he could find, for these men would eventually hit a soft spot woth their arrows and Tirkas was much interested in not letting that happen. A nearby chicken coop would have to suffice. @Vansin @Fierach
  8. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [COTH] Tirkas really should have seen this coming. The chances that Ruska's lady love would be found in imminent peril was obviously high, so why would it come as a surprise to the elf that the girl was, in fact, caught in a fire? Yet here Tirkas stood, wide-eyed, as Ruska charged into a burning house to save his precious Helena with the kind of fervor that only a desperate young man could muster. Tirkas reached a hand out to grab for the boy, but he was too late by a mile. He merely stumbled forward and shouted after the lad. "Ruska, no!" But this call would likely go unheeded. How could you stop a boy from trying to save the object of his infatuation if he still had breath in his body? Words alone would never work. He was going to do this, and there was really nothing Tirkas could do to help him now. The elf was not emotionally invested enough to risk running into an inferno, and he wasn't dumb enough to think he would do anything besides getting in the way anyway. So he turned his attention towards the old woman. She was likely unmovable with words and Tirkas wasn't about to carry her off over his shoulder. He also wasn't about to stay here and wait for the house to burn down for nothing. "Damn." He muttered, stuck between his desire to escape and his desire to help Ruska. "Ten seconds. . ." He finished to himself out loud, making his thoughts real. He would give Ruska a moment to emerge, then he'd take the old lady and leave. @Fierach
  9. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH] "At once." Tirkas replied. He was finally able to put a name to the expression he'd seen on the boy's face before. It wasn't something you could easily mistake so it was obvious that she was someone he cared for. The way he described her as the daughter of my father's friend rang untrue in Tirkas' ears. No, the girl I am in love with seemed a more fitting description even if Ruska wasn't yet ready to say it out loud. So the pair would run off towards the main section of the village, away from the bonfire and towards the people. Tirkas held his spear with the tip pointed high, held well above the heads of passers-by. They would have very little time to actually find Helena, and once they did the town would likely already be beset by raiders. Tirkas was, as said before, only one man. He couldn't guarantee his own safety, let alone the safety of a village, but with a bit of luck and quick thinking he might be able to protect a boy and the object of his affections. "What does she look like, Ruska? This Helena of yours?" Tirkas called over the jingle of his armor and the sounds of panic. Two sets of eyes could search faster than one. @Fierach @Vansin
  10. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] So the boy chose to parry with his forearm when he had enough time to parry with his stick. Tirkas had purposely taken the long way round by whipping his stick around his head before striking, if Ruska had controlled his swing, he could have diverted and intercepted Tirkas' blow with a schrankhut motion. This spoke to the boy's inexperience, which was to be expected at his age. “Lad, your moves are too wild. Tighten up.” Tirkas began, pointing his stick directly toward Ruska with his hand-shake grip. He pressed his thumb flat against the back and kept pressure with his third and fourth fingers, while the first and second acted to control. He bent his knees, turned his toes left, and hinged his waist so that his leading right shoulder was almost 90 degrees above his right heel. “Whether a stick or a sword, the tool in your hand is an extension of your arm lad. Hold it firm, but fluid, like this.” He explained while Ruska was lost in his own imaginings. Tirkas wondered if he was listening, and furrowed his brow as he saw Ruska look away from the fight at something else. Then Tirkas heard a crash, and the sound of roaring flames kicking up elsewhere. He turned and took in the sight, catching a glimpse of the last bit of fire falling from the sky upon the village. It's a raid! He thought, running through his mind for what to do. He had heard the rumors that bandits had been plaguing the roads around these parts lately, but this seemed a bit more sophisticated than you'd expect from your average highway robbers. Tirkas was one man, he could not hope to stave off more than two or three at a time, perhaps five if he used his magic. Even then he couldn't guarantee anyone else's safety, especially against an organized force. “Stay near, if you want to live.” He said to Ruska, throwing his stick to the ground. He reached for his dagger and tore the weapon from his belt. It was a curious blade, about a foot long with a grip that was far too long. Tirkas held it in both hands and tightened his grip with an audible leather crackle. Drawing his hands apart, the dagger grip erupted in both directions with a dim evergreen flash, solidifying in a new configuration a moment later. His one-foot-long dagger suddenly became a seven-foot-long spear. Tirkas offered no weapons to the boy, if he was seen wielding he would become a target. Tirkas was unfamiliar with this town, and he was too far away from the most obvious shelter on the top of the hill. Retreating into the outskirts seemed a decent idea, to slink away in the dark. Though that would likely draw some attention if a large group did it. People around the bonfire were already scattering and looking for loved ones. “Ruska! Have you any that you love? We will find them.” Tirkas added, motioning for the boy to lead the way. @Fierach@Vansin
  11. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] Smart. Ruska stopped his forward momentum and let Tirkas' strike miss him. He was getting sharper in such a short amount of time. Tirkas allowed his weight to continue carrying with his original motion, putting his left heel down and sliding his right foot across the wet grass, turning to face Ruska all the while. He turned his toes on both feet to face slightly to his left and returned his stick to a middle guard position. In sabre schools, this arm position is called carte. There is great variation between teachers, but the similarity is that the weapon is held mid-torso with the palm of the hand pointed up. Tirkas held this position below his right breast. He could see that Ruska was getting frustrated, but he had that youthful spirit. He wanted to learn and improve, but he simply didn't know how. This was an area where Tirkas could be most helpful. He didn't answer Ruska's question right away, letting the boy act out his next maneuver. Tirkas performed the same slip of his left leg as before. "Eyes up boy!" He shouted, digging his left heel in and note that Ruska was not watching Tirkas' upper body. This would make it difficult for Ruska to tell how Tirkas was going to defend himself in the long run, which wasn't so important on the boy's mind at this moment, nor relevant to his immediate actions. He countered this strike differently from before, intercepting Ruska's blow with a hooking motion of his own stick. The carte position was important to this as Tirkas needed to crank his wrist in this movement, pushing Ruska's blow slightly higher, and much further to Tirkas' right than he would have probably intended. This put Tirkas' arm in a position where his forearm was practically perpendicular to the ground, and his upper arm was at a ninety-degree angle to his torso. Rotating his wrist and forearm, then extending at his elbow and maintaining his momentum from his parry would bring his stick over his head and back around to strike Ruska across the cheek on his right if he wasn't able to react fast enough. "Protect yourself when you strike, gain control over the space first!" @Fierach
  12. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] Tirkas steeled himself against Ruska's fierce gaze. He knew that look because once upon a time he gave that same look to his own teacher. The boy would grow more vicious with his next approach, and Tirkas would use the fire in his heart to cement a lesson in his mind. Tirkas didn't look unnerved, but he visibly inhaled and exhaled as if to still his heart. He wouldn't disappoint either, because he came at Tirkas with a very powerful blow. Probably the simplest, strongest stroke if we consider pure biomechanics. Tirkas met this blow by sliding his left foot behind his body, a few inches past the outside of his right foot and a couple of feet behind. He moved his right hand out now, intending to intercept the strike laterally, where leverage was weakest to push the strike off it's intended path. He leaned his torso slightly right as well, pulling his head offline from the strike. The tip of Tirkas's stick threatened to whack Ruska on the side of his left eye socket if Ruska pressed forward. "Strong, but obvious!" He shouted through the process of the maneuver. @Fierach
  13. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] So Ruska rolled off his left side, back onto his back, and arched his spine, in some bid to keep Tirkas from hitting him atop his head while positioning for his next move. Well, he would keep Tirkas from striking the top of his head, but the stick might just barely clip his left ear instead. Ruska then tried to clamp his legs down around Tirkas's waist with his calves. With his free hand, Tirkas simply shoved down on Ruska's right leg and signed, pulling his left leg back towards his right immediately after. "That's all wrong, lad." Tirkas started, speaking loud enough to be heard over the rain. "This isn't fun for anybody." He said in a somber tone as he tossed his stick at the boy. "Once more, on your feet." Tirkas backed away one more step and held a hand up to the crowd. A man among them tossed a fresh stick, only a couple inches shorter than the first that Tirkas had just tossed to Ruska. It seemed these simple folk appreciated sporting behavior. Tirkas gripped his stick now, leaving about eight inches of space below his grip, and roughly 16 inches more in front. He rested the stick upon his right shoulder. "Before this is through, I'll have beat you into a proper swordsman." @Fierach
  14. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] So Ruska decided to fall to the ground without trying to recover his footing. He didn't even grab for Tirkas' sleeves or jacket, and this fact wouldn't go unnoticed. He dropped to his buttocks, rolled his body left and sent a kick aiming towards Tirkas's right leg. It would never arrive. When Ruska's butt touched the ground and Tirkas felt the thump of his weight through the soft dirt in front of him, he acted. He stepped towards Ruska, turning his pelvis to face him square on, and in this process cut off the path from his left side to the inside of his right leg. He placed his foot down with the toes facing his left side in anticipation of later bringing his right foot forward near the boy's head. Ruska then, instead, made contact with Tirkas's left leg from the outside, more specifically the top rim of his greaves from the front due to the turn in his leg. The force of the blow would lack its maximum momentum, but it had enough to cause Tirkas' foot to slip along the wet grass slightly, halting his forward movement. Luckily his weight was still on his right leg. In the movement for this step, he performed a downward strike with his stick, flicking the tip forward with a movement of his wrist. The strike was all speed and lacked power, but striking the crown of the boy's head or his temporal plate would sting all the same. Ruska's right arm was free, so he could easily parry this blow if he saw it coming. @Fierach
  15. Spooky Mittens

    Church On The Hill

    [CotH: The Feast Bonfire] Disappointment. It was something everyone would eventually have to face at some point in their life. Most people faced a little bit of it every single day. For someone like Tirkas, who spent most of his time alone, it was a somewhat rarer occurrence, but it was something he was definitely feeling in these few fleeting moments between tempos. He imagined that Ruska would soon be feeling the same thing. He sought to close the gap, to seal off Tirkas from being able to execute the specific kind of lever lock he was hoping to pull off. This was of little consequence, as his end goal was still within reach. By moving forward in this specific way, with this specific goal in mind, Ruska was playing into Tirkas' original plans, but in a slightly different way. Ruska was stepping forward and trying to bury his face in Tirkas' chest. The very same place where Tirkas had moved his hand to when he'd first made to strike the boy along his nose. Originally Tirkas meant to backhand him firmly, but the force of his blow would be dampened because of the move closer to his hand, however, Ruska had forward momentum of his own. That meant this became more as though Ruska were headbutting Tirkas' metal hand protection, just right across the side of his left eye socket. Upon feeling contact, he would then move his hand down to Ruska's shoulder, aiming to get his hand somewhere around the boy's clavicle both to keep him at bay and as part of what he was doing with his legs. SImultaneously, actions were taking place below the belt. Ruska had stepped in and turned to shoulder check Tirkas. The elf felt the boy's arm, so he knew what was to come next. The clever positioning of his right foot inside Ruska's inside line had been done for a circumstance like this. As Ruska stepped in to perform this shoulder check, Tirkas quickly swept his right foot out, turning with Ruska's movement, and sweeping his left foot with the heel of his right. With Ruska unable to see this maneuver he had the tactile sensation to go off of, but honestly, if he found some way to avoid having his foot swept then Tirkas was out of his depth as to how. The sweep would widen Ruska's stance and destabilize his position, allowing Tirkas to shove his shoulder with the left hand and watch the boy stumble, assuming he was able to obtain the hand position he wanted. These two movements worked in unison to achieve a similar goal to what Tirkas had first wanted, only this time he was aiming to knock the boy on his butt rather than his face. He would have to see how the boy reacted before determining whether to take this to the ground or simply let him fall. @Fierach