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Spooky Mittens

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  1. Sounds great to me, I'll be able to get started after work tonight
  2. But of course! Religion is the obvious starting point. My character, Tirkas, would likely encounter the city on his way North to investigate the disappearance of Coth's prophet. His first goal would be to establish a place of worship, followed by a new knightly order within the city to cement it's relationship with Coth.
  3. It's such a nice puzzle piece, it fits right in without any wiggling or forcing. It just makes sense for a Coth citizen to move on in. I'd like to take it.
  4. One of us! One of us! One of us!
  5. The threat was very serious, and Tirkas didn't doubt that Arturo would have tried if Tirkas had indeed intended on tricking him. There was no trick here, but traveling down the thought path made the elf laugh out loud. "For what little good my assurances will do you, I assure you this is no ruse.". He chuckled out before a deep breath killed his laughter. He breathed it out slow and smooth while Arturo drank and cleaned himself. He would need some of Tirkas' medicinal salves later to actually clean the wounds, but clearing the dirt out for now would help. "I can use someone with your. . ." Tirkas paused mid-breath as he watched his new companion assess a Gnoll corpse, and then dislodge it's canine teeth from the skull. "Constitution.". He finished, quirking a brow as Arturo dropped both fangs in his pouch. A fan of trophies, I see. Tirkas proceeded to lead Arturo out of the swamplands and toward the township of Coth. It would take them a couple of days at least, and alomg the way, Tirkas did indeed dress Arturos wounds, applying a curative paste to keep them from festering. Back in civilization they'd be able to see an actual healer. The whole way Tirkas said very little, but he hunted for Arturo and provided shelter by way of lean-tos. @Opaquely Translucent
  6. It was clear he was weary and slow to trust. Who could blame him? After all, the swamp was hot and full of hostiles. For all he knew, Tirkas was about to skin him and eat him raw. It seemed, perhaps, a little naive that he wasn't more hostile. Tirkas certainly would have been. "My name is Tirkas Leafglint.". He began as hebstarted to trudge towards Arturo. As he walked, he gripped his spear in his left hand and rested it across his shoulers, with his right hand draped over the other side in a lazy fashion. "I see you are wounded. I am skilled in dressing wounds, and I have medicine to fight infection.". He offered as he grew nearer. Tirkas reached down when he was only five paces away and pulled a water skin from his harness. He took a drink from it first, then corked it and offered it to Arturo. "Drink, and clean your wounds. I'll dress them properly when we get safe. There are more of this pack lurking these swamps, and they are soon to come hunting for this party." @Opaquely Translucent
  7. The recent happenings in Coth's territories had been troubling Tirkas for some time now. He spent much of his time casting as wide a net as he could, trawling the furthest borders of his domain. The swamps were one of those places. With the sharp rise in heat and the oppressive humid atmosphere, Tirkas had taken to wearing much lighter garb than he normally did. As in, almost nothing. For days now, Tirkas had been on the trail of a vision. It had come to him in a dream; a stranger from the heavens, fallen to earth in a fetid quagmire. He was wreathed in snakes, though none touched him. He was surrounded by blood and destruction, but at the fringes there was all of creation folding in on itself. Tirkas had taken this vision to the priestesses and they gave him a number of interpretations. This traveler might be a man of god, sent to rend the foes of the church into nothing. Or, perhaps, he was a calamity here to tear Coth to the ground. Either way, he was someone Tirkas had to find. So here he was. He had nothing worn on his torso, and his legs were garbed in tight fitting hose. He wore some supple leather boots and a cloth tasset with his harness. Dressed a she was, Tirkas' arm markings would have been visible, were it not for the mud he smeared over his flesh for camouflage. His spear served him well in the swamplands, as it doubled as a walking stick that he could use for support and to test the depths of the murk. Days had gone by, and still he persisted, until fate struck. The man he had come here to find awoke in the distance, and Tirkas remained well hidden in the mud. He knew these grounds to be a frequent haunt for things that went bump in the night, so he was cautious. Just as he had suspected, it didn't take long for a pack of Gnolls to descend on the scent of fresh man flesh. They accosted Arturo and the warrior fought back valiantly, but not without incident. Tirkas had taken to a particular group of black ash that just now provided the Gnoll archer his cover. His muddy coating and elvish deftness allowed him to remain undetected, even with the creature's superior sense of smell. An arrow nocked, aim taken, and Tirkas would answer it with a sudden snikt. He thrust his spear, the tip caked in swamp mud, from a knotty hole that Tirkas had been laying in until just then. His spear found the Gnoll's jaw, and the long leaf-like blade pierced clean through the neck, slashing across it's spine from the inside. The Gnoll's shot fired, but not on the course he wanted. The arrow sailed high into the distance, and shortly after it's body would run limp. Tirkas emerged from his hiding spot shortly thereafter, dislodging his spear with a boot to the creature's head. He turned to look for the wounded fighter, and whistled loudly to alert him. @Better Than Gore @Opaquely Translucent
  8. He thrashed and he bucked, and several dead trees lay flat tha ks to Black Philip. A veritable warpath had been carved into the grove as the Springjack tried to dislodge this freeloader, but when all was said and done he knew that he had failed. Zanzarog still held fast, though his body had been beaten and bruised. He showed determination to match Black Philips. Too tired to keep up this game of whack-an-orc, Black Philip's breathing became heavy. He trodded weakly for a time, but soon he lay in the underbrush, placing his chin flat against the earth and letting his powerful hind legs sprawl out behind him. He let out a bleat in protest, but you could tell his heart just wasn't in it anymore. Fine, manbeast, slay me if you will. He thought. I'll haunt your whole lineage. Zanzarog, however, would find himself in possession of the largest Springjack, and if he let his mind wander he might even see visions. As Black Philip began drifting off a strange fey magic took hold of the woods. Fleeting visions of Black Philip's past brought to light in the waking world. If he paud attention, Zanzarog would see a simple tale of court intrigue. A prince, proud and ambitious, set his sights on a maiden. He took her as his own, only nights before she was to be wed to another. The jealous fiance, a foreign king, forced him into cruel ultimatum. He was cursed into this form, to live as a Springjack for one thousand years, and his unborn son would be spared. The visions ended, as that was where Black Philip ceased to be anything more than a vicious beast. @Better Than Gore
  9. [Territories of CoTH, Afternoon Woods] The pair had spent the better part of the day traveling without pause, save for a few moments here or there to share a word or gather their bearings. As Demi began to speak at greater length, Tirkas decided that now was as good a time as any for the pair to have a bit of a break. They had wandered far enough now that the geography of the forest had shifted some. They broke into a brushland, an area where trees had either burnt or fallen away which was now blanketed in shrubs and bushes that rarely grew taller than a man. It was still fairly sunny here, and so it suited Tirkas' needs perfectly. Tirkas kept walking until Demi finished speaking, looking all the while for a suitable place for them to pause. He remained silent for a few moments longer before he found a nice mossy spot to sit, and there he would drop the sack he had hoisted over his shoulder. "You needn't worry so much Demi. I didn't find your reaction offensive." Tirkas finally replied as he took a seat, cross-legged, in a nice sunny spot. "Come, let's take a break. We've been walking since morning." He finished, patting a hand on the clear spot beside him. As he waited for Demi to take a seat several small twigs would appear to sproute from around Tirkas' head. They took to curling clockwise, almost like a crown, and finished by sprouting many tiny leaves. He followed this development by taking a drink from one of his water skins. Once Demi finially sat herself down, he would answer he question. "Well, now, there's an interesting question indeed." He started, rubbing his chin and looking out across the brush. "I suppose it's both. If you think about it, that is. To work for The Father is to work for The Church. I guess that answer isn't satisfying. You probably want to know where my loyalty lies, who I actually want to work for. Unfortunately the answer tot hat is also quite plain, it's both." He thought back to the small events that had occurred since his arrival in the village. Everything had led him to his current point of view. "God has shown himself to us all in some small way, and as far as I can tell, Father Constans is some sort of prophet. I didn't used to put much stock in gods, since they all seemed to willing to sit by and watch the world burn. Our god changed my mind, back when Viscerex and his bandits raided the town. I. . ." He hesitated, the words dying on his lips as he furrowed his brow. He put the thought on hold for a moment as he opened his sack and pulled out a neatly folded cloth. In the cloth was a handful of Tirkas' personal blended trail mix. A nice fatty cured meat, cut into small pieces, mixed with various nuts and dried fruit. He handed it off to Demi, since he didn't actually need to eat for at least another week. "I lost a boy that night. I'd only just met him. When the raid broke, I tried to usher him to safety and took him into town to find his lady love. She was in a shack, and it was on fire, searching for her cat. He ran in after her, and I stood by and watched, like the same gods I once scorned. I could have helped him, I know I could have, but I didn't want to take the risk." His voice trailed off a bit, growing quiet as he turned his eyes down. "So, looking to the future, when I can help, I must. That's what god showed me. That's why it could be said I serve both. Constans needs someone with my skills, and Coth needs Constans." @ViverFever @Ghorroj
  10. He tumbled and fumbles and ripped up the ground, tearing a path as he tried to right himself. The manbeast beside danced around him with care and boldness. Most men ran in fear from Black Philip, but not this creature with sharp lower tusks and dark skin. He had the audacity to rope Black Philip by the horns. Needless to say, the springjack was pissed. Black Philip tore his horns out of the ground as he flopped and wiggled, finally he got his feet back under himself and he shook the dirt from his head, but where did the manbeast go? Philip turned left, and he turned right, but Zan was nowhere to be seen! And then he felt something. Zan had climbed onto the Springjack's back, using his rope as reigns and grabbing a tuft of curly fleece. He let out a shriek of fury and started to thras about as strongly as he could. He kicked this way and that, tossing dirt and grass in every direction. If that wasn't enough to do it he would take off running as fast as he could. To say that Black Philip was fast was an understatement when it came to the animal kingdom. Gazelles had nothing on a Springjack of his size, and he bolted into the forest at fifty miles per hour. He was swift as an arrow, but he had such maneuverability that he could turn rapidly even at speed. He would dart through the branches and the bramble, tearing a path of carnage through the wood. Every bird for miles would scatter as Black Philip knocked over several trees. Such a rampage was taxing, so he couldn't keep this up for long. If Zan could manage to hold on for just one minute, Black Philip would tire himself out. @Better Than Gore
  11. Black Philip was swift and strong, but luck was on Zan's side. He managed to get to his saddlebags, he whipped up his lasso, and as the springjack leveled his head down and primed his hind legs for a powerful thrust of his horns, a fibrous appendage wrapped about his head. The twisting and angled horns atop his head made a perfect target for Zanzarog's toss, and even if he had flubbed it a tad he would still land true. With a powerful yank, Zan directed Black Philip into the dirt just a few feet in front of him. The mess of black fleece and grassy turf barred towards Zan, flipping heels up across the ground. His body threatening to flatten Zan in the mext moment. @Better Than Gore
  12. Interesting. . . Black Philip could almost feel the fear pourong off Zanzarog at this point, and yet despite that fear he stood his ground for a time. If the springjack had wanted, he could have bounded down the hill and tossed the half-orc like a ragdoll for hours of fun. The more he watched, though, the less he wanted to play. Do you think yourself my equal? He thought as he watched Zan draw a dagger. Black Philip knew what those were, they never managed to pierce his thick fleece. Then Zan started to shuffle towards his mount. Or do you think you are superior? Black Philip chuffed loudly as he beat his forelegs through the air. The sudden swift movement made a noise like soft thunder. The movement agitated him, and he took off down the hill. Of course, with forelegs so short and hindlegs so long, traversing a grassy hill downward was a bit of a task. He would stumble more than once, and switch to a rapid side-to-side movement to compensate. Zanzarog might just have his chance now, and Black Philip let out an angry bleat. "BAHHH" @Better Than Gore
  13. He could feel the muscles on the horse's neck ripple and shift as the weighty springjack threw his considerable strength into the beast. It only toom three mighty leaps, and in the blink of an eye he sent the horse tumbling with a sickening SNAP Followed by a crunching sound as the beast went limp and rolled down the hill. The rider followed, casting himself free just in time to avoid breaking his legs. Black Philip watched him roll down the hill, bouncing over a few stones and roots on his way. The sight pleased him. The limp horse pleased him. That snap pleased him. He looked on with his dim red eyes until Zan came to a stop. He let out a loud bleat and started to binky on the top of the hill. He bounced about in a circle, kicking his hind legs this way and that, in celebration over his victory. What fun it was to unleash his strength in this way. Soon the rider would rise again, and Black Philip would only stop his celebratory binkies when the man found his legs. Then they'd have a staring match. @Better Than Gore
  14. 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
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