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Spooky Mittens

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  1. The sight of The Green Knight was not an uncommon one around Coth and it's surrouding territory. He was a man of normal stature, beautiful by human standards, sporting robes of green and black. The gentle clicking of metal plates about his chest and legs heralded his approach where he walked, though little warning they did give as Tirkas stepped with grace and stealth. Despite his armaments, he was no more noisy than your average man carrying a bag of coin. He wore several layers, some comprised of normal clothing, and some comprised of armor. His outermost garb was a brigandine jacket that protected Tirkas' torso from the front and back. Under this jacket he wore some bright green robes that peeked out around his neck and legs. His pants, once grey, were a newer black pair, stuffed neatly into a set of greaves that had been oxidized near-black. His arms were adorned similarly, with a vambrace only on his right hand and jack-chain strapped to his sleeves. His satchel was plain brown hide. He carried two weapons on his left hip as well, a sword by outward appearance, and a funny looking dagger with a grip that was far too long. He strolled through town, headed to a specific location. He recalled the previous evening when The Father had given him his mission. He was told a time and a place, as well as the nature of his visit, and so Tirkas carried a deep satchel over his left shoulder. He didn't need provisions of his own, but his newest companion might have need of them. There was obviously food in the bag, since Tirkas' newest animal companion stood upon his shoulder pecking at the bag opening now and again. It was a bird, a sleak and shiny green peacock. Tirkas had named him Percival, but the bird obviously cared nothing for the named given to it. Tirkas arrived promptly at the time he was told, for what was a man who could not keep a schedule? While he might normally keep to convention and announce himself, he saw no need. His pointed elven ears could hear the conversation within from up the way, and his bear-like sense of smell would recognize Constans anywhere, so Tirkas simply let himself in. The door opened, and he slipped inside the forge shack like a ghost. He was obviously ready to go already, so the elf stood and waited to be addressed directly. @Vansin@ViverFever
  2. Cabbage The Cabbage General Info Name: Cabbage Gender: Cabbage Species: Leshen Description Cabbage is, as one might expect, a plant. Specifically a sort of Bok Choy. His body is a very pale shade of green, wider near the bottom and narrowing near what one might approximate as his head. He has wide green leaves growing out of his top. Cabbage has a mouth that is usually seen hanging slack with nectar leaking out. Two tiny black beads comprise his eyes, but nobody really knows if he can actually see or not. Cabbage has several small root-like appendages, four to be specific. Two short ones growing out of his bottom to serve as legs, and two thinner, longer ones serve as arms. Physical Characteristics Height: 1' 0" Weight: 2lbs. Personality Cabbage is often underestimated as being a dumb little puppet of a creature due to the pathetic body he happens to inhabit. However, deep intelligence exists behind the unassuming facade. As a Leshen, Cabbage is actually an ancient nature spirit that has existed for millennia. Howe he ended up trapped in a Bok Choy is anyone's guess. He can't speak, but he can communicate in other ways. He likes to get himself attached to someone who can speak and follow them around for as long as they will allow him to. He offers various forms of assistance to any traveler that will have him. Powers and Skills Recycle: Cabbage can eat and recycle any materials that he consumes. He can make use of any of the typical things you might think of when you think of "consumption", but also some things you might not think of. Basically, any material that fits into his mouth can be "eaten". He then converts the material in his tiny plant body into something else entirely, using a type of deep transmutation magic. The end product depends on what type of material he was made to consume. For example, Cabbage can consume milk and spit out a block of fully aged cheese, or perhaps he consumed some venom and spits out the antidote. Cabbage never chooses to do this on his own because he doesn't like it, but he will do it upon request. Goodberry: Cabbage is really good at specific kinds of magic. In particular, he can cast the spell Goodberry as many times a day as he pleases, so long as he has access to three things. First, Cabbage has to bury himself in a patch of good dirt. Next, he needs some water. Third, he needs sunlight. Given a few minutes like this, Cabbage will start sprouting stems out of his top portion, and berries will sprout from these stems, growing to the size of a clementine. One berry is filled with magical nourishment, supplying an adult with a full day's worth of food. Cabbage likes when people take his berries because they're heavy and get in his way. Transmutation: Magic that focuses on transforming objects, Cabbage uses transmutation mostly on his own body. Cabbage can cause his little root appendages to grow or shrink. He can cause all four to reach a maximum length of five feet, and he can get around on the root vines quite quickly and with accuracy, allowing him to scurry away from danger in a flash. Additionally, he is able to lift a pretty hefty load with his rootvines ; up to one hundred pounds which he may carry at a speed of 0.25mph. Cabbage can also cause his leaves to grow to exorbitant sizes, allowing him to provide cover to his allies against the elements. Like a big cabbagey blanket. Busy Bees: The nectar that flows endlessly from Cabbage's mouth serves an actual purpose, aside from being a sweet liquid. It is particularly attractive to bees, and also has a mind-controlling effect upon them when they feed. Cabbage can connect with and control up to fifty bees in total, but they don't live for very long so he has to encounter the bees within a couple of days of when he'll need them. Usually, Cabbage will let the bees go, or get them to pollinate him.
  3. [Outside CoTH : Tranquil Spot] Haha! Yes, come a little closer bird friend. Tirkas thought to himself as he lowered towards the ground. It started with one knee, though he kept one foot planted firm. He bent forward and rested his left hand in the soft grass as we watched the peacock peck and hop. He held a hand of feed out, low to the ground as an offering to the creature. Such a regal bird, it deserved a certain show of respect. If he could just get this creature to take the food right from his palm, that would make Tirkas' whole month. The bird seemed completely distracted. It would be a simple matter to pounce and catch it, but that would be rude. @Vansin
  4. [Outide CoTH : Tranquil Spot] Yes! Brilliant. Tirkas thought to himself as he watched the magnificent bird gobble up the pieces of dried fruit. It seemed pleased for a moment, probably more with itself than anything, but that was short lasted. A moment later and the bird hopped back away from Tirkas. Let’s see if I our feather friend likes this. He mused as he took a bit of salted pork and tore it into tiny pieces like before. He mixed this with some of his dried fruit, mostly apricots and blueberries with a few bits of apple. A small handful was accumulated, which Tirkas would sprinkle hither and thither, creating a mock trail towards his feet. He decided to see if the peacock would approach close enough, and in the meantime he set to starting his next handful of goodies. Would the creature eat from his hand perhaps? One could only hope. The elvish warrior was still awestruck by the beauty of the bird’s green and blue plumage. “Back home, we haven’t any birds that look quite like you do. I wonder if this is a sign from god?” It was oft assumed by Tirkas that any green colored critters of the wild were sentinels sent by his lord. This was probably not true, but what was the harm in thinking it? @Vansin
  5. [Outide CoTH : Tranquil Spot] It moved! Not just moved, but approached. It took only a few moments for it to take notice of Tirkas, and quickly enough it started to strut towards the elf with determination in it’s posture. The brilliant fan of tail feathers followed behind, swaying side to side almost like a little dance. Tirkas was still stunned and motionless, at least for a few seconds more. It took him a moment to collect himself, and once he did he started to mimic the bird’s movements. When the bird twisted left, so did he. When it twisted right, so did he. When it wobbled it’s head, he would also wobble his. Lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, he wondered what the peacock was thinking. Did he think the elf was a potential mate? Or perhaps he thought of Tirkas as a mating rival, and he wanted to assert his dominance by showing off his splendor? No, it seemed to be much simpler than that. Tirkas could tell after a few moments making an utter fool of himself that the bird had noticed his foodstuffs hanging out in the open. “Ah, a hungry bird I see.” Said The Green Knight as he slowly reached a hand towards his dried apricots. He tore one into four bite sized pieces and tossed the segments into the grass in front of him. Then, he took a step back to see if the peacock would approach. @Vansin
  6. [Outide CoTH : Tranquil Spot] The “Tranquil Spot” was little more than a simple clearing in the forests surrounding The Church On The Hill. It was small, only about thirty feet across, but it was distinct. In the center of this clearing was a rather large tree stump that had once belonged to an ancient and mighty oak. It had been cut down generations ago to build who-knows-what, and since that time the stump has remained. Various plants have overtaken the undergrowth, sprouting flowers and feathery foliage all about. This spot in particular was a favorite of fireflies, and the pleasant aroma was nothing to scoff at. It had become one of Tirkas’ favorite places to dream and he often made the trek through the woods to find it. The day was warm, and the sun was high, so the elf did not wear his armor. Instead he could be seen sporting robes of green, worn under a black jacket with a bright green sash tied about his waist. Hanging from his shoulder was a picnic of a sort, just some preserved fruits and dried meat that he planned on eating after his trance. He even brought his favorite meditation rug which was tucked neatly into the bag in a dense roll. However, today was to be something special. As Tirkas cleared the darkness of the wood and stepped into a shaft of sunlight he spotted something magnificent. There on the stump, it’s plumage spread wide and tall, was a peacock of considerable luster and size. The elf stood a moment, stunned by the bird’s beauty. @Vansin
  7. [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
  8. 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.
  9. 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

      Narcissa

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

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

  11. [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
  12. [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.
  13. [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
  14. [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
  15. [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
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