Howdy, Stranger!
Categories
- 3.7K All Categories
- 3K The Midnight Age
- 757 Announce posts
- 122 Newbies
- 6 Class Guides
- 803 Harpy's Head Tavern
- 57 Echo Canyon
- 309 Self-Affirmations
- 163 Town Crier
- 135 The Exchange
- 167 Sparring Grounds
- Combat Guides
- 30 Combat Logs
- 188 Idea Box
- 9 Classleads
- 578 Roleplay Logs
- 107 Aetolia Development
- 5 The Void
- 742 Miscellaneous
- 9 Announcements
- 417 OOC Chat
- 215 Tech Talk
- 45 Scripts
What's ursine?
Moirean
Chairmander Portland
I haven't really done much shapeshifting RP at all ever, so this is my first "bear thing" - I'd love any advice yall have for this type of RP!
--------------------
You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
Commander,
I've heard that you lead a fairly powerful pack of Werebears. As a
werebear, I have been in search of a pack to run with. I would like to
speak with you about it, when you have a spare moment.
Thank you for your time,
Cohort Sigvir
Bearmoi:
She is a typical Werebear and is small, soft and rolly-polly, with dark black fur covering her body in a soft pelt. The pure sable coloring is complemented with accents of a rich, tawny-brown around her muzzle, the hue continuing down around her neck, forming an arc that almost looks like a golden pectoral across her chest. Her body is compact and squishy, her size small as a koala, while her paws are tipped with long claws and are almost hand-like, perfect for getting her into more than a good bit of trouble. She walks with the boon of Iosyne. She walks in the favor of Iosyne.
(set at a rakish cant) : a pair of Impish horns
(inked into the skin below the ear) : a black-inked tattoo of a pair of crossed fists
(soulstone grip around the right hand) : a shield of shackled souls
(molded to the left arm) : a steel arm webbed in living soulstone
Straightening into rigid, militant attention, Sigvir squares his shoulders and crisply salutes you.
Sigvir:
He is a typical Human. Tousled red-blond hair gleams about a handsome, youthful face; it hangs to the nape of his neck, shining like beaten copper or red gold. Thick, expressive eyebrows frame stormy dark blue eyes. High cheekbones and a sharp, square jawline give him a sort of blunt masculine charm into which he obviously has not grown; a touch of youthful awkwardness still attends him. Despite that, his clothing does not conceal the swell of powerful muscle beneath lightly tanned skin.
(worn on the legs) : black leather soldier's pants
(over the torso) : a tabard of the Shadow Keep
(covering the body) : a Carnifex's side-buttoning black wool longcoat
(covering the torso) : a Carnifex recruit's black leather shirt
(worn on the feet) : black leather hobnailed jack boots
(hanging from the shoulders) : an extremely long striped scarf
(covering the body) : black Carnifex plate with menacing spikes
(worn on a finger) : an arcane black ring
(covering the eyes) : a pair of diffusal goggles
(worn on the hands) : an iron ylem-binding gauntlet
(worn on a finger) : a mesmerizing rainbow ring
You have emoted: Moirean pads in, snorting once at the salute, a snuffling sort of noise. Apparently you're allowed at ease.
Sigvir releases himself from his tensed posture, lowering his shoulders to a more relaxed position.
You have emoted: Moirean plops herself down on her furry rump, peering at you with beady brown eyes. She sniffs once, suspiciously.
Sigvir's eyes flick to the weaponbelt, and he creases his brow for a moment in a frown before his face clears.
You have emoted: Moirean shifts her weight, lifting a paw to swat at you experimentally. The gesture is soft, perhaps even playful, but - even as a small bear - it carries more than a bit of sheer strength.
The blow is strong, but Sigvir resists it well, swaying back on his feet. He manages to avoid stepping back, though his face betrays the effort involved.
Ecks has chosen to start his journey in Spinesreach.
You have emoted: Moirean lets out a snuffling sort of noise, paw settling back down on the ground with a clacking of claws. There's a rumble deep in her throat, a pensive, primal sound, and then she she speaks. Kinda. It's bearish, and growling, but you can understand it somehow.
You say, in a feral tongue, "You are a bear?"
Sigvir says, "I am. Usually I'm a bear in truth, but I've been testing things for the past few days, Ser."
You have emoted: Moirean looks skeptical. Maybe. It's not very easy to tell with her furry, ursine facial features. She lets out a short rumble and twists down to stand on all fours. She says nothing else, simply padding away, with the choice to follow apparently up to you.
----// He follows, we go clear Xaanhal \\----
A mountainside den. (Tarea Mountains.)
A den has been burrowed out, into the very side of Mount Gallows, dipping down beneath the snowy peak to unfold into a roomy chamber within the rocks. Rugged furs line the floors and a crude firepit - little more than just charred rocks in a ring - warms the center of the area. Large enough to house an entire pack of bears, the cave opens up wide, extending down to the very edge of the mountain, where the walls abruptly sheer off, rock cut away as if by some magically precise force. In their place is a sheet of ice, glassy and translucent, covering the exposed wall like some sort of natural window - through this chilly pane, the magnificent scope of the Tareans unfolds, with the snow-peaked mountains rippling away in dazzling waves, topped, in the very distance, by the dark spires of Spinesreach soaring up above the icy vista. A massive pile of corpses has been built in a corner of the den. You see a single exit leading out.
You have emoted: Just outside the Keep, there's a small entrance, burrowed downwards through the mountain peak. It's to this small opening that Moirean leads you, plodding on through the snow to enter the cave. The interior unfolds as you descend into the den, ending with a stunning, ice-glazed view of the Tareans.
Sigvir glances around the den, taking in the firepit and the broad view from the 'window' of ice.
You have emoted: Moirean ignores the view, for the moment, and sets to work storing the corpses, neck-dragging each body into a corner to pile up for snacking on later. The chilly temperature seems quite ideal for preserving the bodies.
You use Store Carrion.
You toss the corpse of a cautious Xorani guard into a corner of your den, storing it for later.
You use Store Carrion.
You toss the corpse of a cautious Xorani guard into a corner of your den, storing it for later.
You have emoted: Finally, when a large pile threatens to spill out and overtake the den itself, Moirean settles down onto her haunches, letting out a satisfied snort. She peers over at you. Her ears waggle and her long, almost cat-like claws clack on the frozen ground.
You say, in a feral tongue, "Still not a bear."
Sigvir says, "Not at the moment, Ser. Permission to fix that?"
You have emoted: Moirean dips her head in a nod.
Sigvir's face looks just a touch blue in the cool of the den, which perhaps explains his visible relief at the nod he receives.
Sigvir uses Shapeshifting Mutate.
With a feral roar, Sigvir's eyes close as he focuses inwards. His face twists, elongating into a snout. A dense pelt grows to cloak his transforming body, fur covering his frame. Finally, the transformation is complete and Sigvir towers before you in the powerful, hulking form of a werebear.
BearSigvir:
He is a typical Werebear with a striking coat of red-gold, gleaming in the light like beaten copper. On his hind legs, he stands a head taller than most men, which coupled with his massive, wickedly sharp claws and teeth and the powerful muscles which course beneath his hide give him an intimidating presence. His eyes are a rather un-Ursine deep blue, almost black, presenting a reflection of the world which fails to hide the storm-clouds of battle rage within.
(wound comically about his neck) : an extremely long striped scarf
You have emoted: Moirean lets out a long, gaping yawn as she idly watches your transformation.
Sigvir releases a low, relieved 'whumph' at the sudden warmth.
You have emoted: Moirean settles down at the far end of the den, beside the ice-window, her movements rather casual and her demeanor decidedly informal, Keep protocol mostly forgotten for the moment. With a lumbering sort of grace, she flops onto her tummy, head on her paws, and stares out at the mountains.
Sigvir follows, padding to a comfortable-looking hollow near the window and settling down into it. He peers out at the view, seeming particularly interested in the distant cityscape of Spinesreach.
You have emoted: Moirean says nothing for a long span, apparently content to consider the landscape, before she finally draws in a long breath and exhales in a visible huff, steam coalescing in the chill air. "You'll need to kill," she rumbles, words nearly lost in a low growl. "Hunt and kill and prove you're strong."
You have emoted: "All Carnifex have to chase strength," Moirean continues in her feral, ursine voice. "But you more than any, for you will be loyal to me - and me to you - twice over."
Sigvir seems to consider this for several moments, then issues a whuffle of agreement. "Understand. Hunting was plan, anyway. Will prove strength."
You have emoted: Moirean rests her head on her paws, tilting her body sideways to peer over at you. "We debated calling the Pack simply 'Seirath' - Toz and I," she explains. "To be Pack is to be family, in a way. He won't trust you, at first." Her muzzle lifts, jowls pulling back into a feral grin. "*I* don't trust you. Not yet."
Sigvir nods gravely, head swaying. "Understand also. Only ask fair consideration. Can stand or fall by self."
You have emoted: With a remarkable speed at odds with the lazy, furry sprawl she's been laying in, Moirean surges upwards, her small body suddenly barreling towards you. Her claws gouge out chunks of the den's icy floor and her breath comes in short, sharp puffs of steam in the freezing air. There's a challenging rumble in her throat, a resonating growl that fills the cave as she bears down on you in an abrupt display of dominance.
Sigvir scrambles up, claws raking against stone, and assumes a defensive posture, crouching down to present an immovable wall of fur and flesh against the oncoming bear assault. A low growl emerges from his maw, though it's unsure as yet.
You have emoted: Moirean crashes against you, her smaller size reinforced by the momentum of her short charge, with the bulk of her weight aimed at your legs in a clear attempt to bowl you over. Her paws bat at your ears, claws retracted - there may be a bit of pain, but it's obvious this is mostly for show.
Romasco, the village cook yells, "Lunch is ready! Come and get it!"
Surprisingly, Sigvir yields to the assault, swaying and then falling to one side. He doesn't halt, however, but rolls, finding his way back onto his feet some distance away, his expression-- so far as a bear has an expression-- looking disconcerted. From that position, he trundles back into the fray, striving with his large paws to inflict the same indignity.
You have emoted: Moirean's mouth opens in a pant, the expression almost like a wide smile...save for the fangs, top and bottom, revealed by the gesture. She rears up onto her hind legs, staggering and swaying as she's buffeted by your blows, before she lunges forwards to swat at you again. Physically, she's inferior to you, far smaller and weaker, and she almost seems to be attacking in a way to highlight that disparity, avoiding tactical moves to purely pit her own strength against yours. Her beady eyes remain fixed on you, gauging your reaction.
Sigvir seems hesitant. He manages to withstand the blows with his larger bulk, though the sheer number and greater speed of them confounds him somewhat. Where he falters is in returning the blows-- though he manages a few powerful swipes in return, he cannot match the speed of your attacks. At last, with a resounding growl, he shoves forward, aiming to dig his shoulder into your side and overturn you.
You have emoted: Moirean is neatly pitched backwards, her slight weight no match for your shove. As she is flung back, however, an approving rumble emanates from her throat, the sound rising up, louder and stronger, to rebound off the icy walls of the cavern, until it presses at your eardrums in an assaulting throb. Louder, deeper, still, until you feel it in your bones itself, the noise shaking you down to your core to temporarily paralyze you.
You use Vocalizing Bellow (paralyzing) on Sigvir.
You let forth a baying roar toward Sigvir.
Her words woven through the rumbling roar, you say, in a feral tongue, "I am Commander, out there - but in the Pack, if I am weak, you cannot cower."
Sigvir shakes his head slowly, throwing off the numbing effect of the still-echoing roar. As your words make their way through the din, though, he looks up, making eye contact. Though some uncertainty is still evident in his movements, it is fading, and he nods in apparent understanding.
You have emoted: "Am not weak," Moirean clarifies with a dismissive snort, tossing her head as she sinks down onto her haunches. Her eyes focus on you, peering sharply. She backs up the claim with a simple, sharp growl, the noise echoing through the den in a clear, challenging sort of question.
Sigvir sways, suddenly exhausted, and flops down onto his front legs. "No. Not weak," he agrees, baring his teeth in amusement.
You have emoted: Moirean's panting grin returns and she settles down herself, paws reaching forwards in a yawning stretch. After a span, she rolls onto one side and sneezes, and then insists, "But if I become weak - the Pack deserves better."
(The Tarean Iceclaw Clan): Sigvir has joined the pack.
Hecah, the cave hag yells, "In the darkness, I lay my curse upon you all!"
Sigvir rumbles acknowledgment, flicking an ear at the distant hag's shout. "Good. Will prove strength. Also, hunt so naps not necessary."
You have emoted: "Not necessary," Moirean concedes in a low rumble, her own eyes closing lazily as her head settles back down on her paws. "...But still nice..."
Sigvir nods agreement, heaving himself up tiredly onto all four paws. "Won't intrude. Thank you. Won't be mistake." He turns and pads out, clearly bound for a nap of his own.
--------------------
You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
Commander,
I've heard that you lead a fairly powerful pack of Werebears. As a
werebear, I have been in search of a pack to run with. I would like to
speak with you about it, when you have a spare moment.
Thank you for your time,
Cohort Sigvir
Bearmoi:
She is a typical Werebear and is small, soft and rolly-polly, with dark black fur covering her body in a soft pelt. The pure sable coloring is complemented with accents of a rich, tawny-brown around her muzzle, the hue continuing down around her neck, forming an arc that almost looks like a golden pectoral across her chest. Her body is compact and squishy, her size small as a koala, while her paws are tipped with long claws and are almost hand-like, perfect for getting her into more than a good bit of trouble. She walks with the boon of Iosyne. She walks in the favor of Iosyne.
(set at a rakish cant) : a pair of Impish horns
(inked into the skin below the ear) : a black-inked tattoo of a pair of crossed fists
(soulstone grip around the right hand) : a shield of shackled souls
(molded to the left arm) : a steel arm webbed in living soulstone
Straightening into rigid, militant attention, Sigvir squares his shoulders and crisply salutes you.
Sigvir:
He is a typical Human. Tousled red-blond hair gleams about a handsome, youthful face; it hangs to the nape of his neck, shining like beaten copper or red gold. Thick, expressive eyebrows frame stormy dark blue eyes. High cheekbones and a sharp, square jawline give him a sort of blunt masculine charm into which he obviously has not grown; a touch of youthful awkwardness still attends him. Despite that, his clothing does not conceal the swell of powerful muscle beneath lightly tanned skin.
(worn on the legs) : black leather soldier's pants
(over the torso) : a tabard of the Shadow Keep
(covering the body) : a Carnifex's side-buttoning black wool longcoat
(covering the torso) : a Carnifex recruit's black leather shirt
(worn on the feet) : black leather hobnailed jack boots
(hanging from the shoulders) : an extremely long striped scarf
(covering the body) : black Carnifex plate with menacing spikes
(worn on a finger) : an arcane black ring
(covering the eyes) : a pair of diffusal goggles
(worn on the hands) : an iron ylem-binding gauntlet
(worn on a finger) : a mesmerizing rainbow ring
You have emoted: Moirean pads in, snorting once at the salute, a snuffling sort of noise. Apparently you're allowed at ease.
Sigvir releases himself from his tensed posture, lowering his shoulders to a more relaxed position.
You have emoted: Moirean plops herself down on her furry rump, peering at you with beady brown eyes. She sniffs once, suspiciously.
Sigvir's eyes flick to the weaponbelt, and he creases his brow for a moment in a frown before his face clears.
You have emoted: Moirean shifts her weight, lifting a paw to swat at you experimentally. The gesture is soft, perhaps even playful, but - even as a small bear - it carries more than a bit of sheer strength.
The blow is strong, but Sigvir resists it well, swaying back on his feet. He manages to avoid stepping back, though his face betrays the effort involved.
Ecks has chosen to start his journey in Spinesreach.
You have emoted: Moirean lets out a snuffling sort of noise, paw settling back down on the ground with a clacking of claws. There's a rumble deep in her throat, a pensive, primal sound, and then she she speaks. Kinda. It's bearish, and growling, but you can understand it somehow.
You say, in a feral tongue, "You are a bear?"
Sigvir says, "I am. Usually I'm a bear in truth, but I've been testing things for the past few days, Ser."
You have emoted: Moirean looks skeptical. Maybe. It's not very easy to tell with her furry, ursine facial features. She lets out a short rumble and twists down to stand on all fours. She says nothing else, simply padding away, with the choice to follow apparently up to you.
----// He follows, we go clear Xaanhal \\----
A mountainside den. (Tarea Mountains.)
A den has been burrowed out, into the very side of Mount Gallows, dipping down beneath the snowy peak to unfold into a roomy chamber within the rocks. Rugged furs line the floors and a crude firepit - little more than just charred rocks in a ring - warms the center of the area. Large enough to house an entire pack of bears, the cave opens up wide, extending down to the very edge of the mountain, where the walls abruptly sheer off, rock cut away as if by some magically precise force. In their place is a sheet of ice, glassy and translucent, covering the exposed wall like some sort of natural window - through this chilly pane, the magnificent scope of the Tareans unfolds, with the snow-peaked mountains rippling away in dazzling waves, topped, in the very distance, by the dark spires of Spinesreach soaring up above the icy vista. A massive pile of corpses has been built in a corner of the den. You see a single exit leading out.
You have emoted: Just outside the Keep, there's a small entrance, burrowed downwards through the mountain peak. It's to this small opening that Moirean leads you, plodding on through the snow to enter the cave. The interior unfolds as you descend into the den, ending with a stunning, ice-glazed view of the Tareans.
Sigvir glances around the den, taking in the firepit and the broad view from the 'window' of ice.
You have emoted: Moirean ignores the view, for the moment, and sets to work storing the corpses, neck-dragging each body into a corner to pile up for snacking on later. The chilly temperature seems quite ideal for preserving the bodies.
You use Store Carrion.
You toss the corpse of a cautious Xorani guard into a corner of your den, storing it for later.
You use Store Carrion.
You toss the corpse of a cautious Xorani guard into a corner of your den, storing it for later.
You have emoted: Finally, when a large pile threatens to spill out and overtake the den itself, Moirean settles down onto her haunches, letting out a satisfied snort. She peers over at you. Her ears waggle and her long, almost cat-like claws clack on the frozen ground.
You say, in a feral tongue, "Still not a bear."
Sigvir says, "Not at the moment, Ser. Permission to fix that?"
You have emoted: Moirean dips her head in a nod.
Sigvir's face looks just a touch blue in the cool of the den, which perhaps explains his visible relief at the nod he receives.
Sigvir uses Shapeshifting Mutate.
With a feral roar, Sigvir's eyes close as he focuses inwards. His face twists, elongating into a snout. A dense pelt grows to cloak his transforming body, fur covering his frame. Finally, the transformation is complete and Sigvir towers before you in the powerful, hulking form of a werebear.
BearSigvir:
He is a typical Werebear with a striking coat of red-gold, gleaming in the light like beaten copper. On his hind legs, he stands a head taller than most men, which coupled with his massive, wickedly sharp claws and teeth and the powerful muscles which course beneath his hide give him an intimidating presence. His eyes are a rather un-Ursine deep blue, almost black, presenting a reflection of the world which fails to hide the storm-clouds of battle rage within.
(wound comically about his neck) : an extremely long striped scarf
You have emoted: Moirean lets out a long, gaping yawn as she idly watches your transformation.
Sigvir releases a low, relieved 'whumph' at the sudden warmth.
You have emoted: Moirean settles down at the far end of the den, beside the ice-window, her movements rather casual and her demeanor decidedly informal, Keep protocol mostly forgotten for the moment. With a lumbering sort of grace, she flops onto her tummy, head on her paws, and stares out at the mountains.
Sigvir follows, padding to a comfortable-looking hollow near the window and settling down into it. He peers out at the view, seeming particularly interested in the distant cityscape of Spinesreach.
You have emoted: Moirean says nothing for a long span, apparently content to consider the landscape, before she finally draws in a long breath and exhales in a visible huff, steam coalescing in the chill air. "You'll need to kill," she rumbles, words nearly lost in a low growl. "Hunt and kill and prove you're strong."
You have emoted: "All Carnifex have to chase strength," Moirean continues in her feral, ursine voice. "But you more than any, for you will be loyal to me - and me to you - twice over."
Sigvir seems to consider this for several moments, then issues a whuffle of agreement. "Understand. Hunting was plan, anyway. Will prove strength."
You have emoted: Moirean rests her head on her paws, tilting her body sideways to peer over at you. "We debated calling the Pack simply 'Seirath' - Toz and I," she explains. "To be Pack is to be family, in a way. He won't trust you, at first." Her muzzle lifts, jowls pulling back into a feral grin. "*I* don't trust you. Not yet."
Sigvir nods gravely, head swaying. "Understand also. Only ask fair consideration. Can stand or fall by self."
You have emoted: With a remarkable speed at odds with the lazy, furry sprawl she's been laying in, Moirean surges upwards, her small body suddenly barreling towards you. Her claws gouge out chunks of the den's icy floor and her breath comes in short, sharp puffs of steam in the freezing air. There's a challenging rumble in her throat, a resonating growl that fills the cave as she bears down on you in an abrupt display of dominance.
Sigvir scrambles up, claws raking against stone, and assumes a defensive posture, crouching down to present an immovable wall of fur and flesh against the oncoming bear assault. A low growl emerges from his maw, though it's unsure as yet.
You have emoted: Moirean crashes against you, her smaller size reinforced by the momentum of her short charge, with the bulk of her weight aimed at your legs in a clear attempt to bowl you over. Her paws bat at your ears, claws retracted - there may be a bit of pain, but it's obvious this is mostly for show.
Romasco, the village cook yells, "Lunch is ready! Come and get it!"
Surprisingly, Sigvir yields to the assault, swaying and then falling to one side. He doesn't halt, however, but rolls, finding his way back onto his feet some distance away, his expression-- so far as a bear has an expression-- looking disconcerted. From that position, he trundles back into the fray, striving with his large paws to inflict the same indignity.
You have emoted: Moirean's mouth opens in a pant, the expression almost like a wide smile...save for the fangs, top and bottom, revealed by the gesture. She rears up onto her hind legs, staggering and swaying as she's buffeted by your blows, before she lunges forwards to swat at you again. Physically, she's inferior to you, far smaller and weaker, and she almost seems to be attacking in a way to highlight that disparity, avoiding tactical moves to purely pit her own strength against yours. Her beady eyes remain fixed on you, gauging your reaction.
Sigvir seems hesitant. He manages to withstand the blows with his larger bulk, though the sheer number and greater speed of them confounds him somewhat. Where he falters is in returning the blows-- though he manages a few powerful swipes in return, he cannot match the speed of your attacks. At last, with a resounding growl, he shoves forward, aiming to dig his shoulder into your side and overturn you.
You have emoted: Moirean is neatly pitched backwards, her slight weight no match for your shove. As she is flung back, however, an approving rumble emanates from her throat, the sound rising up, louder and stronger, to rebound off the icy walls of the cavern, until it presses at your eardrums in an assaulting throb. Louder, deeper, still, until you feel it in your bones itself, the noise shaking you down to your core to temporarily paralyze you.
You use Vocalizing Bellow (paralyzing) on Sigvir.
You let forth a baying roar toward Sigvir.
Her words woven through the rumbling roar, you say, in a feral tongue, "I am Commander, out there - but in the Pack, if I am weak, you cannot cower."
Sigvir shakes his head slowly, throwing off the numbing effect of the still-echoing roar. As your words make their way through the din, though, he looks up, making eye contact. Though some uncertainty is still evident in his movements, it is fading, and he nods in apparent understanding.
You have emoted: "Am not weak," Moirean clarifies with a dismissive snort, tossing her head as she sinks down onto her haunches. Her eyes focus on you, peering sharply. She backs up the claim with a simple, sharp growl, the noise echoing through the den in a clear, challenging sort of question.
Sigvir sways, suddenly exhausted, and flops down onto his front legs. "No. Not weak," he agrees, baring his teeth in amusement.
You have emoted: Moirean's panting grin returns and she settles down herself, paws reaching forwards in a yawning stretch. After a span, she rolls onto one side and sneezes, and then insists, "But if I become weak - the Pack deserves better."
(The Tarean Iceclaw Clan): Sigvir has joined the pack.
Hecah, the cave hag yells, "In the darkness, I lay my curse upon you all!"
Sigvir rumbles acknowledgment, flicking an ear at the distant hag's shout. "Good. Will prove strength. Also, hunt so naps not necessary."
You have emoted: "Not necessary," Moirean concedes in a low rumble, her own eyes closing lazily as her head settles back down on her paws. "...But still nice..."
Sigvir nods agreement, heaving himself up tiredly onto all four paws. "Won't intrude. Thank you. Won't be mistake." He turns and pads out, clearly bound for a nap of his own.
1