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Spooky Mittens

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  1. Zan crested the hill and observed the springjack's destruction. The creature observed Zan now as well, from the confines of the trees and the underbrush. A strong man, tusks in his lips, riding atop a horse beast. Black Philip knew these well, and he didn't mich care for them. He especially didn't like it when they had riders. He wasn't like other creatures, Black Philip. He had existed since a time when men and beasts were not so far apart, when these monkies hadn't yet dreamed of taming nature to their whims. Perhaps the black springjack would show Zan and this horse what it meant to be truly a beast of the wilds? With a powerful leap, and the sound of earth hollowing and upturning, Black Philip burst through the treeline, clear over the branches, like a streak of dark night careening towards Zan and his horse. He landed with a thump, and yet this did nothing to slow him down, his claws drigging deep into the earth of the hill and carving huge gouges into it's greenery. He peered with beady red eyes up the slope at Zan's horse, his horns leveled low with sinister intent. He was gonna break that horse's neck if he was given half a chance. @Better Than Gore
  2. CRACK! The sound resounded through the forest and over the hills. A loud thunderous crackle, as if a tree had just fallen from a great and mighty gust. The birds scattered far and wide, while critters of all shapes and sizes hid in their holes. A sense of dread thickened the air as though a storm was brewing, though the sky was clear as a bell. Black Philip. It was a nickname the locals had given this creature, said to be an incarnation of some otherworldly fiend. His fleece was black as midnight, and his horns were wild and twisting. Two sets sprouted from his head, one curved only slightly, the other curled like a ram around his ears. To the uninitiated he looked like nothing more than a fat ram, but on closer inspection it would be plain that this creature was peculiar. The head of a goat, the body of a sheep, and the legs and feet od a rabbit, all packed into a frame that was only slightly larger than a mule. One honker of a Springjack. Black Philip could be seen bounding to and fro, and every now and again he bounced himself full force into a tree. CRACK! Now he was at the edge of the clearing, and he struck a tree with a mighty blow, throwing his whole body off the ground and kicking two foot deep holes into the turf. This tree was old and dry, mostly dead wood, and as his thick black horns struck the trunk, the tree came cashing down at the botton of the hill. @Better Than Gore
  3. Cabbage, The Cabbage From atop the cat girl's shoulder, Cabbage wiggled his little spindly root arm like one of those whacky flailing inflatable tube men. He sang as the two newcomers made odd expressions and gestures to him. Alice even said Cabbage's name, though he didn't ever tell it to her. Rather, he couldn't, at least not in a language she understood. Luckily Cabbage was named after what he was! "BehhEH!" He beeped, pantomiming with his little limb as though he were pulling a hat off his head and placing it back. "Beh beh beh." He continued. Maybe he was trying to say Hi pleasure to meet you, I am Cabbage, supreme leader of all things vegetable and you will bow before my greatness! Or maybe he just wanted to make some noise. Alice chatted with the pair of other fleshy beings, and Cabbage soon lost interest and turned his attention back to the thing he was really after. Would he be able to grow into a big beautiful tree? Or would he always be a tiny little Bok Choy? Such existential desires hurt Cabbage's crunch-water brain, so he started to shudder which made his leafy bits flap about. @Lawman @vielle @supernal
  4. [Territories of CoTH, Afternoon Woods] Tirkas stood in silence and listened as his companion explained. He held no skepticism in his face, and he patiently awaited the end of her speech. As she came to a close, Tirkas bowed his head a bit. He knew battle well, and he knew that for most it was never something that left you. He would hesitate to call it traumatic but that was probably the closest word to fit how he felt. When he finally spoke, his voice was softened and carried no judgment. "It eases my nerves to hear you say that. Let's hope we don't have to fight." He replied. "And, it's just Tirkas, if you would. I gave up my title to devote myself to the cause." Like Demi, Tirkas also had a past life. He was still known to some as The Green Knight but the moniker was just a nickname now. Tirkas no longer owned land or titles in any other territory. With this awkward conversation out of the way, Tirkas turned and continued on into the wilderness. The pair would travel at as close to a set distance away from town as they could manage using primitive methods, attempting to establish a perimeter. They would be on the lookout for anything suspicious, which Tirkas would be able to pick out quite readily since he was very familiar with the area. Above all else, they were on the lookout for people. Tirkas wasn't much for idle chatter, so he couldn't think of anything to say to Demi besides the occasional warning that the terrain ahead was knotty and rough, or overgrown and thorny. @ViverFever @Ghorroj
  5. HNGFFF Memorial Day week is always the fukken worst >:C I can finally pull my head up for air, I'll be slapping up a Cabbage post before the night is out~
  6. [Coth : The Laughing Springjack : A Song of Wine and Cheese] The Laughing Springjack. It was the most popular tavern in the village, attracting both locals and travelers at all hours of the day. It was named for a peculiar creature that looked to be a cross between a rabbit and a goat, sporting a goat's head and a rabbit's legs. Even the sign out front was in the shape of one with its mouth agape as if amused. Naturally, being the most popular, this tavern had access to some of the best products around. In particular, a particular kind of wine that Tirkas found to be eerily similar to the sort his family made back home. The Green Knight found himself sat at a table somewhere in the middle of the room. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the elf, or to the three empty bottles on the table before him, or the half-empty one in his hand. He had given up on cups entirely and took to sipping directly from the bottle. It took almost as much drink to get Tirkas drunk as it took for a dwarf, but even with his heightened self-healing, he couldn't keep up with the stout mountain folk. Tirkas was, truly and utterly, plastered as he could be. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes were droopy. He seemed to be having some difficulty holding up his own head every now and then, but with the way he glared at the platter of cured meats and cheese in front of him he clearly had something on his mind. He started speaking, to no one in particular. "It may be all that is available." He started, hiccuping at the end. "B-but it just doesn't compare. Is this really hic all we can muster? Am I hic doomed to quit my life of hic adventure and swordfights to become a damned hic cheese farmer?" He was getting louder as he went. His brow pinching into a scowl as he took another long drink of his wine. "At least you don't disappoint me, wine friend. At least hic you don't leave me feeling empty and soulless like this poor mold. Hic he doesn't even realize how mediocre he is." Tirkas was now talking to his food items like they were people.
  7. Cabbage, the cabbage. Oh what joy! The fleshy thing with the fluffy top had understood Cabbage's inane and repeated beeping! What a smart, good little fleshy thing, the best, a good companion. "Behbehbeh. Beh. Beh." He made a bunch of quick, soft beeps as the catgirl extended her arm. Cabbage would waddle right over to it and quickly extend the length of his spindly little root appendages. He draped them over the girl's arm at first, but then wrapped them under and lifted himself up. In total his little Bok Choy body weighed about two pounds. She scooped him up and lifted him to her shoulder, where he would sit happily. He transferred his right spindly appendage to Alice's head, wrapping the limb around to the other side where the tip rested at the corner of her forehead opposite to Cabbage. It wouldn't do to be falling off, but he was careful not to block the fleshy creature's vision bulbs. He understood her questions, but he wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to articulate his desires to her. "Bhhhhh." He started as though he were going to beep, but instead he just let his head split open and puffed out a wheeze of a sort. Such deep thought did not suit his crunchy plant brain and it gave him a headache. He started pointing at the trees, especially trees with fruit. Then he pointed to himself, back and forth, rapidly. "Beh!" @Lawman
  8. [The Wilds of CoTH: A Few Miles Out] They made their introductions and preparations, briefly, for the light of day was a fleeting thing and these travelers would need it. Father Constans was a kind man, and he showed his deep caring by following his wayward children to the edge of the village. Tirkas remained mostly silent the whole way, except in cases where he was addressed directly. When addressed, he gave curt answers, direct and to the point. Even after Constans bid them farewell and they wandered into the distance, and even still a way after they entered the wooded lands between Coth and their destination, Tirkas was mostly silent as a mouse. Strange magic surrounded The Green Knight that made him seem like a piece of the background. Though his armor was heavy, he left barely an imprint on the ground where he walked. He led his companion along a path of his own making, towards a brook he used as a personal crossroads. It was a good distance out from Coth, but close enough that the pair could sweep as long as Tirkas maintained his bearings. He had a clear idea in his head how they were to reach their destination in as quick a time as possible, while also remaining unmolested by avoiding main roads. Now was probably going to be the easiest stretch of the journey, so Tirkas took to speaking. "So, Demi." He began. "Father Constans hasn't told me much of what our task is. I don't think god has revealed it to him in full yet." Tirkas spoke with a certain intonation, he clearly believed what he was saying. He went quiet for a time again. A few minutes passed before he spoke. "I wonder, though. I understand why the good Father chose me for this task, but as I understand it you are an artisan." He spoke softly. In a small bit of clear earth between a coterie of birches, Tirkas came to a stop and finally turned back to look upon his new partner for the first time since they left. "We might encounter real danger on this quest, Demi. If we must fight, which I hope we will not, but if we must. . ." Tirkas' face adopted a grim expression, his brilliant green eyes locking onto Demi's. His gaze was intense and unyielding, his face like stone and his brow furrowed just slightly. "Could you take a life?" It didn't concern him that Demi was a craftsman and not a soldier. It also didn't concern him that she was missing one of her primary limbs. What concerned him most was whether or not her mind was in the right place, for most people were capable of extraordinary things despite their limitations if their mind was focused. @ViverFever @Ghorroj
  9. That one depends largely on what you're wearing. If you're but a peasant in nothing more than your normal clothes and a kettle helm, then yeah, getting cut is about the most dangerous thing that can happen to you. This changes as you grade up in armor, with chain and plate armors almost entirely removing that threat. A sword's sharp bits can do nearly nothing to a person in adequate metal armor - but then, those armors were very expensive and somewhat rare comparatively. The main fighting force would have primarily been poorer, less able to afford the best gear, and thus outfitted with the bare minumum (or close to it). A sword would make very short work of the common soldier. Damnatus already covered the concept of the murderblow (a stroke given with a sword where the one giving the blow grips the blade and strikes with the "wrong" end), and this concept exists in nearly every martial codex that covers longsword/single sword. While it is a functional move, this is really not ideal and requires quite a bit of setup. Fiore covers the topic of fighting a swordsman in armor, and for the most part his tactics on the subject revolve around grappling. Both how to grapple while in armor, and how to use the sword itself as a lever. Being able to wrestle is more important than being able to deliver a murderblow. Ultimately, defeating an unarmored opponent with a sword requires much less physical fitness as it's nearly all bladework. Even a fairly snall cut in the right spot can be lethal which makes cuts the primary concern. Taking out an opponent who is fully armored from head to toe, however, requires considerable fortitude as you are trying to force energy through their armor. Knocking them about is the biggest threat, as blunt force will travel from the armor itself into the person wearing said armor. Exactly. A sword's morphology will largely dictate the way in which you are going to use it. However, it can be difficult to determine ehat that exact method is. See, swordsmanship in the west has been largely a dead martial art, owing to the advent of firearms. It's only been within the last 30 years or so that historians have been trying to reconstruct these styles based on historical manuals. Sometimes there exists a weappn with no manual to reference, as is the case with Falchions and Viking era swords. How these swords were meant to be used, and by whom, is a game of speculation and deduction. Take the Type 2 Falchion. This is a sword with a slight curvature, and a clipped point. Except, the edge is on the "wrong" side of the curve. So you have this peculiar two-pointed tip. We have no idea why the sword is shaped this way, but we can speculate and deduce based on it's shape and what we know about the mechanics involved in a bind that this clipped point is used to engage your opponent's sword and shove it aside at the extreme reach of your weapon. This is advantageous because it puts your sword arm at less risk to create an opening. With less specialized swords, things are a bit more straight forward. Mostly every type of arming sword is able to be used the same way. As is the case with longswords, two-handed swords, and the backsword family of swords (backsword, basket hilted broad swords, and sabres).
  10. Spooky HEMA Practitioner Here: My primary discipline is longsword, but I've been getting more into "sword &" lately so let's see if I can't offer a gem of wisdom on this point. What Cacti said is largely true here. Once you have built of a familiarity with a particular sword, you can generally tell where it is based on weight and balance. You shouldn't actually need tonsee it to know where the edge or the point is, presuming the sword in general is well designed. Where it becomes iffy is in building that familiarity in the first place. So first and foremost, the invisibility of your blade would have to come about as a toggled ability, or something you applied after many hours of practice. That being said, additional factors might impact that choice. For example, if you can't see the blade, how are you to know it isn't dull or chipped? Do you risk running your hand along it in the hopes that it is dull? So again, you'd end up needing the ability to turn the effect off if your sword is capable of being damaged. As for feinting, your opponent doesn't need to see your sword to know whoch way it's coming from. There are enough tells between your arm, legs, and eyes to be able to predict the arch of a blow, so those tells can still be used in compound attacks to feint. It can also be used by your opponent to guard themselves, since they can tell where your sword is ultimately going based on your biomechanics. Imo, the real advantage to an invisible sword is the element of surprise, or when it comes to giving point. Every other stroke can be guarded against with broad lines of defense, but a thrust is somewhat more difficult to manage if you aren't exactly sure the length of weappn you're dealing with. That extra inch or so of invisible blade might be all you need to edge your point in.
  11. Cabbage, the cabbage. Cabbage was rarely ever spoken to directly, so it took him a few feet of waddling before he came to a stop. This bright pink meat creature with bright pink petals had called out to Cabbage, he was sure of it. While he did understand the language she spoke, he could not speak it, but the fact that he was now turning about to face her gave evidence to the notion that he was listening. His tiny little root legs elongated and coiled about, allowing him to rotate without picking up what you might call his "feet". Beady little beads of black pointed at the cat girl, but they were lidless and unmoving. Were they eyes? Nobody knew! She seemed concerned though, and Cabbage responded in the only way he could. "BEH!" He beeped before whirling about back into his original position. He started waddling forward with swiftness, but turned sharply to circle back. He "ran" straight into the cat girl's shin, all one pound of his leafy body, making a funny slapping noise should his face actually connect. You see, Cabbage would much prefer to not get stepped on. Then he started to bounce at the girl's feet and waved his spindly little "arms" about near his leafy greens. The then proceeded to beep repeatedly. @Lawman
  12. Cabbage, the cabbage. It was a funny little creature. A walking cabbage, sporting stubby little root legs and wiggly spindly root arms. It hobbled this way, it hobbled that, tiny black beads drating side to side. It's glossy green leaf top swished and swashed. Every now and again the critter would beep. "Beh!" It chirped as it wandered the city streets. The realm was full of vim and vigor, with plantlife sprouting uncontrollably. People might consider this beautiful, but to the creature Cabbage such things were a trifle. All it wanted to know was how to get some of that sweet growth juice for himself. Thus began; Opperation Feeding Station. An empty flower pot, a blank patch of dirt, a soily riverbank. Any of these would serve Cabbage well, but there were so many meat bags stomping about, and Cabbage was so very small. He spent more time trying not to get stomped on or kicked rather than searching for some tasty dirt.
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