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A Scout's test
Scout Master Angwe gives Scout Amila her interview and test.
[spoiler]
AMILA:
She is a muscular Human roughly half a foot above five feet in height. Tanned to a dark brown colour, her skin has been marked up with the evidence of a wild and unruly childhood spent within the forest. Hands and feet are heavily calloused with long nails that match the lack of care paid to her tangled, brunette hair. Hanging in her face at the best of times, the split ends have been chopped off just above her shoulders. When they can be seen, her large eyes appear to be a dark colour that hinges on being black. Mud serves as her only form of cosmetics enhancement. Along the exposed flesh of her left wrist and lower leg are tribal patterns and exotic animal prints painted in dirty mixtures of blood and red ink. She walks with the blessing of Haern. She walks with the blessing of Haern.
(worn on the back) : a compact black leather pack
(covering her chest) : a midriff-baring top of peach jute
(baring one leg) : a long, peach skirt of jute
(covering the body) : a chainmail hauberk bound with leather
(clinging to her shoulders and back) : a rambunctious Syll cub
ANGWE:
He is a dexterous Yeleni who bears a form similar to the fauns of the Ancient Heartwood. Supple musculature covers a lithe frame bearing long arms covered from the elbow down with a thin pelt of brown fur. He carries his weight upon rear-jointed bovine legs, the flesh beneath hidden by a pelt long and shaggy enough to cover cloven feet; the broad claws that compliment them similarly are spackled with mud. Among a few features shared with the Heartwood fauns are the pronounced ridge running throughout his nasal cavity (which only adds to the gauntness of his face), the goat-like ears that sprout from the sides of his head and the nut-brown skin boasting a hardened and inflexible look as though carved from wood. Small glass objects, pieces of bone and other trophies have been braided through moss-like hair a color stuck somewhere between green and black. The green radiance that shines forth from the oaken ocular caverns where his eyes should be finishes off this otherworldly picture and a pale, featureless bone mask hangs from his belt, worn, pitted and scarred from combat or travel. He walks with the blessing of Haern. He walks with the blessing of Haern.
(prominent among the other baubles) : a crimson Morgun poppy
(tied securely about his hips) : a runed loincloth of rich, brown leather
(tied around the right wrist) : a tri-coloured bracelet of braidedleather
(hanging from his loincloth) : a leather herb pouch
(hanging over his heart) : a cracked hematite medallion of the Pride
(slung over a shoulder) : a soldier's kitbag
(firmly supporting the hands and wrists) : winding, stained hide gloves
(cinched under his weaponbelt's straps) : a hooded cloak of grey fur
(strapped over his cloak) : a polished black bandolier scabbard
(piercing the left ear) : a gold stud earring
(slung about the shoulders) : a water gourd
(worn on the ears) : a sand-hued cigarette
Angwe swings the heavy cloak around his shoulders and secures it by tightening the strap around the leather knot. With a quick flick, he pulls the hood over his head, revealing the lupine ears attached to it.
Angwe tucks a cigarette behind his ear.
"Done," Angwe says to you, acknowledging your request.
"Now," Angwe says, falling in line behind you. "First thing I want you to do is take us to the Pride's den."
[WALK WALK WALK aaaand into the Guildhall]
"Good!" Angwe says with a smile.
Angwe steps past you, beckoning for you to follow.
Amila's fingers wrap around the shaft of her dhurive as she holds the weapon just above the bend of her knees. Wolf and syll cub trailing behind her as an entourage, she watches the area vigilantly. "Yeah! Where next?"
As he leads you through the passage, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "There's a room here that dun see much use... I like it for this sort of thing."
Trailing behind, you say to Angwe, "I use this room after hunting for a while. When my arms are tired."
Swathed in the light of the core.
A pleasant, comforting glow of a faint green seems to emanate from the wood of the Great Oak here, swirling and shifting in what seem like almost tangible whorls. A faint vibration overwhelms the chamber, which is set only with a primitive table of some kind wrought from entwined vines and branches and a large, stony chair. Ceremonial blades, animal furs and other trophies of the hunt have been left here in effigy. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Hackles raised, an adult grey wolf sniffs the air for enemies. Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw is here. The faint light of the core filters through in rays of verdant light, bathing the hollow in its splendor.
Completely ignoring the large stone chair, Angwe squats down beside the table. "The garden ought to be a bit more restful for ye," he tells you. "But to each their own, eh?" With that, he falls backwards onto his rump, his legs splayed about him.
Leaning forward to set his elbows on the table, Angwe tents his claws pensively. "This first part of this exam will be an interview," he says in an even voice.
You have emoted: Amila's eyes skim around the perimeter of the room, her eyes catching on each of the trophies and objects that decorate the walls. "It tells me to keep hunting. Stop being such a lazy thing." Tearing her gaze away from the pelt of a large rojalli that's collected dust over the years, she raises a hand to push her matted bangs away from her face to better focus on Angwe. "Okay."
The fell green light behind Angwe's eyelids (so much like the light that bathes this chamber from the Core) shifts subtly. "You must have your strength to hunt," he advices you. "There is no laziness in resting occasionally. It is a matter of practicality."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "If you are tired, your form will be sloppy. Your thoughts will be sluggish and distracted. Your awareness will suffer and you endanger yourself."
You have emoted: "I rest when I am tired. When I want to sit around eating cake,I do not." Amila responds as she taps against the tip of her nose.
Angwe nods his head in approval.
"Tell me," Angwe says, gesturing with an open palm towards you. "What brought you to the Pride, mm?"
You have emoted: "I made my first dhurive from pine cones and branches when I was twelve years old. Made my first trap when I was ten. Caught rabbits and squirrels when I was hungry and learned to run through the forest from the moment my feet let me." Amila takes to pacing, each step taken carefully with a wary eye cast towards the wolf so as to make certain that she doesn't trip over it. " Papa asked me when I was seventeen what I wanted to do when I grew old enough and there wasn't even a decision that needed to be made. I've always beeof the Pride, just been waiting in the background."
"Then I'm doubly interested in hearing your thoughts on what we stand for." Angwe cups his cheek as he watches you, a small smile on his face. His free clawdips inside a leather herb pouch, fishing around for a cigarette case depicting a dryad's kiss.
Angwe hesitates before setting a slender white cigarette on the table before him.
Angwe removes a sand-hued cigarette.
Angwe carefully lights a sand-hued cigarette.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks you, "You smoke?"
Angwe exhales a pale cloud of smoke, redolent with aniseed scents.
Angwe makes a face briefly as he inhales.
You have emoted: "Defenders of the Heartwood, we are ultimately. Hunters and ra-no, I've never smoked." Amila is cut off, peering sharply at the smoking cigarette.
You laughingly say to Angwe, "Always wanted to but could never sneak one. He'd have my hide and stick me with cleaning for a week!."
You have emoted: Amila grumbles something about mopping under her breath.
"No reason to start," Angwe says, limelit smoke trailing lazily through the eyeless pits in his face. "Disgusting habit." His lips curl up a bit at the sides as he takes another drag, obviously enjoying it despite his words.
Ashing his cigarette as he speaks, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Dunknow why I ever took it up."
Your stomach notifies you that it is beginning to feel hungry. Perhaps you should find yourself some food.
You have emoted: Amila's stomach begins to make a bunch of noise and is responded to with a slight grimace. "It was a matter of -pride- to sneak one. See if I could do it. Never could."
You have emoted: Amila moves closer to the table and sinks down into a kneel, resting both of her arms against the surface and planting her chin atop the two limbs. "What was I saying?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "You were tellin' me what the Pride stands for. Our purpose."
Angwe drinks from a water gourd of spicy mulled wine.
Eyeing the cigarette, you say to Angwe, "Protect the Heartwood and protect the sacred ground of the Great Oak. We're not all formal and everything as long as you can think outside of your own arse so be responsible and have common sense. Destroy that which will not change."
After a moment of silent contemplation of your answer, Angwe nods. "What d'ye hope to become within the Pride, should Griana find your heart worthy?"
You have emoted: "A celebrant." Amila responds, her finger tips stretching out to tap a quick, happy tune against the surface of the table. Tap, tap, tap.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw furrows his brow and says, "Explain."
You have emoted: Amila's syll cub begins to climb up off her back, releasing itshold on her hair and shifting to settle down on the table just by her head. Staring wide-eyed at Angwe, it refuses to move closer and, instead, falls back heavily onto its small rear. "I mean that I want to continue to hunt. I want to keep dancing. I don't want to run anything or rule anything, just to be productive and a member." Her dark eyes trail off of Angwe and his cigarette anddarts over to the indignant cub. "At least, that's what I want right now."
Shadows dissipate from around Angwe's feet, rendering his footfalls audible again.
After a moment, Angwe nods. "Path of the Trailblazer might be in your future," he says taking another quick nip from a water gourd with traces of spicy mulled wine. "Have you a desire to hear the Ancestors and spirits of the Pride?"
You have emoted: "Honest, I didn't entirely settle on a path. They both looked interested but.. the path of the Trailblazer seemed like something I'd better enjoy." Amila purses her lips in contemplation.
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding.
"Last question," Angwe says, flicking his ash onto the table. "And just a point of personal curiosity."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You're a native Duirani, right? Who'reye kin to?"
You have emoted: "Kiyotan is my papa." Amila firmly and quickly responds, rolling her head to rest her cheek against her wrist.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks in surprise, "Kite?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw looks thoughtful and says, "I dinnae know Kite had a daughter... guess that's what he's been up to."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw wryly says, "Well, no wonder."
You smile impishly and say to Angwe, "Just because he's my papa doesn't mean I expect or should get any special treatment."
Angwe stretches up a bit, glancing behind you. Content that he remains unobserved, he rolls a lit sand-hued cigarette towards you with a casual flick of his finger, the movement almost appearing accidental.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Unlikely. We'll prob'ly ride your ass harder now."
Angwe rolls the butt of his own cigarette between his fingers until it's little more than a ball of paper and charred herbs, which he elects to slip inside a leather herb pouch.
You have emoted: "Oh! You wanted to learn to twirl your staff like I do, right?"Amila changes the subject for the moment, her dark eyes catching and observing every small detail of Angwe as if you were a prey before her. Or perhaps a predator of which she should be wary. Gaze darts from fingers to wrist to neck to face and back again before settling on a different fur pelt along the walls. "I expected that."
Angwe's ear twitches subtly. "Ylem," he murmurs, a weary growl on his voice. "We'll need to hurry this up. The daily grind awaits."
You have emoted: "Tired of me already?" Amila's stare resumes its original focuson your face. "I'm joking. Ask me any other questions and I'll answer them, Scout Master."
Angwe sits back on his legs, crossing his arms as he examines you. "I can see that Kite took care of your armor," he says, nodding at the hauberk you wears. "You can tell his work when you see it."
You have emoted: "I bought my own armor with my own gold." Amila points out.
Angwe raises his eyebrows. "That ain't his design?"
p armor
Fine steel, worked in even and resilient links, forms the body of this equally resilient armour. With sleeves wide enough to allow for movement and fit over other garments, this hauberk is long enough to reach the mid-thigh and splits at the hip and front to create quarter-panels. A molded cuirass of boiled leather fits over the underlying chain, the securing straps and buckles each impressed and engraved with angular knotwork. A loop around one of the cuirass' side straps allows small ornaments to be hung safely out of the way, matching a similar detail on the greaves fitted to protect the lower legs.
Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, you say to Angwe, "I bought it from an Enorianite's shop in Delos."
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding. Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "I see you have your vials and pipes...might wanna put that jug of hooch away before your da wakens. We can tell what you're carrying, y'know."
You put a rotund glass pitcher into a plain grey pack.
Angwe's eyes sparkle with amusement.
You have emoted: Amila glances to the side, not even having the decency to look ashamed of her actions. "It was from the Potlatch."
"Got your tattoos," Angwe continues in a murmur, his eyeless gaze narrowing slightly as it continues its sweep over you. "Got sigils on your dhurive?"
You say to Angwe, "Oh. Uh, no. Oops."
You say to Angwe, "I'll buy one quickly before I leave the Heartwood, though."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Ain't a requirement for Scouts, but itIS a good idea to keep a fist or a vine sigil attached. Impact sigil is a good idea, too."
Your need for sustenance is becoming serious. You must find food soon or you will begin to suffer harm.
You have emoted: Amila's bangs fall back into place in front of her eyes, hidingher features. The growl of her stomach grows more noisy, especially with the silence that falls into place as she pauses to think. "Alright, I can do that."
"And you ain't an embarassment to be seen with in public," Angwe concludes with a grin. Placing his hands flat on the table before him, he pushes himself to his hooves. "So that concludes th' equipment check."
You have emoted: "Nope. I got all my bits accounted for." Amila concurs, mirroring your movements and raising up into a standing position. She shakes out her left leg as pins and needles tingle at her lower extremity.
"Dun fall out," Angwe says, tossing a bland ration to you. "Next part of the exam is geography."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw wryly says, "You can grab something a bit more substantial to eat on the way. Take us to the beehive."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw has lost you.
Angwe begins to follow you.
You have emoted: Amila grabs the ration and tears into it with her blunt teeth. Wolf and syll cub both quickly move to follow behind Angwe and herself as she turns on her heels and quickly moves out of the small, well-lit room.
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to the post]
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Now, take us to the treasury."
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to the bank]
Angwe nods his head in approval.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You know the Black Flagon on the Island of Delos?"
You say to Angwe, "Sorta. I try to avoid towns and cities but I've been there when I was hungry after I got my tattos."
Correcting herself, you say, "Tattoooooos."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Take us there a moment."
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to Delos]
--- The Black Flagon Inn ---------- 0:2:0 ---
A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. Hurriedly making her way between patrons, Rispina busies herself nearby. A small wooden table is here, 4 simple oaken chairs have been placed at it. A square oaken table is here, 4 simple wooden chairs have been placed at it. A circular oaken table is here, 4 oaken chairs have been placed at it. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A simple oaken bin that reads 'Empty Glasses Here' is here. Parchment beginning to fade to the elements, a scroll has been left here. Coiledup like a scroll, an emerald letter lies here. A large, circular bar of unfinished oak dominates the center of the room here. There are 4 leather-covered stools here. Emelle is leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, talking to Carson. Brother Carson S. Madison is here. He wields a classic leather-bound book in his left hand. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see exits leading east, south, west, and up.
Tendrils of shadow creep toward Angwe's feet and legs, softening his footsteps.
You smile at Emelle.
Emelle nods her head at you.
Angwe greets Emelle with a wide smile as he enters the tavern, his hooves clopping loudly against the floor until shadows flow down to muffle his steps.
Turning her head, Emelle lifts her glass to Angwe, though she doesn't appear to be celebrating.
The man at the bar clutching a leather-bound book to his chest stares at you for just a bit too long to be nonchalant.
You have emoted: Amila is followed by an entourage of Angwe, a wolf, and a small syll cub as she enters the inn's common room. Immediately, the scout turns towards the bar and begins to point out different food items to the person behind.
You pay 200 gold sovereign and receive a bowl of thick tomato basil soup.
You pay 200 gold sovereign and receive a bowl of thick tomato basil soup.
You carefully cool the bowl of soup before proceeding to consume it in its entirety.
You carefully cool the bowl of soup before proceeding to consume it in its entirety.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw utters a melodic, chiming phrase.
Emelle nods slightly at Angwe, demonstrating her understanding.
Angwe inclines his head politely to Carson.
"'Lo there, telepath," Angwe greets Carson in the common tongue.
Carson gives Angwe a lift of his free hand, the other clutching a leather-bound book to his chest. "Wolf," he greets in response.
Emelle's brow furrows lightly and she resumes drinking.
Angwe bares his teeth in a feral grin.
To you, Angwe says, "Go 'head and get your fill while we're here. Rest up as needed. Next stop will be 'Norian."
Amila receives a third bowl of soup before she ceases her pointing for the man behind the counter, raising the vessel to her lips and slurping at it noisily. Eyeing the room around her, she moves to stand by the doorway with one foot already set outdoors. "Done." She comments back to Angwe with a single brisk syllable.
Angwe spins around, surprised to find you already finished. "You gonna give yourself a stomach ache eatting like that," he scolds you. "You even taste any of that?" Muttering goatishly, he moves to follow the Scout.
You have emoted: "Yes." Amila takes another slurp of the soup. The ring around the inside of the bowl hasn't even had a chance to cool and marks the soup as being halfway gone. On the counter top, two bowls of similar make have been emptied and left for the employees of the inn to deal with. "Tasted like soup."
Angwe clicks his tongue and shakes his head slightly, following after you.
You clench your right fist and pound your chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.
[WALK WALK WALK to enorian]
You have emoted: Amila looks reluctant to set foot into the city, her actions slowing as if the scout had suddenly been doused in molasses. She looks equally as uncomfortable.
Angwe makes no effort to approach the gates, his steps falling to a stop as your begin to slow. "Alright," he says, coming up beside you. "That's good 'nough."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You know where Spinesreach is?"
Amila appears relieved, dancing back a few steps until she's several feet away from the gates. "I do. I don't want to go there, though. I canget there if I have to but I'll only walk nearby and point the rest of the way, Scout Master. That place.." Hidden behind the curtain of her hair, her expression is partially unreadable but what is exposed speaks of great reluctance.
"Bringing me to Spineless would likely bring 'bout your immediate death," Angwe says, his tone dry. "I'm a wanted criminal there."
You have emoted: "Twice a good reason to not go!" Amila claps her hands togetherloudly.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "Ditto for that pit in the desert, but you still gotta know where it is. Can you find Bloodleech?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Bloodloch."
You say to Angwe, "If I wanted to piddle on a city entrance, I do know where to find a good spot. I can find Bloodloch."
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding.
Angwe sucks thoughtfully on his teeth.
Abruptly, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "Can you rub your stomach while you pat your head?"
You look surprised and say to Angwe, "I- I don't know."
Angwe gestures for you to make with, bringing a water gourd with traces of spicymulled wine to his lips for a nip.
You have emoted: Amila attempts the task. Her hair is further mussed while her stomach is patted with repeated pauses as she has to remind herself to not pat the body part.
"Sloppy!" Angwe barks. "You're patting the wrong body part!"
"Your head, girl!" Angwe enthuses. "Pat your head and RUB your stomach!"
You have emoted: "You show me how it's done, Scout master." Amila snaps back, holding her hands away from herself. Dark eyes bore holes into Angwe with a sharp stare.
Angwe maintains a deadly serious expression, even as he raises a water gourd with traces of spicy mulled wine to his lips for another swig.
Angwe scoffs. "Impudence! And you failed the task I set'cha." He crosses his arms, turning away from you to hide his face. "Ought to fail... you... -snrk- right here."
You will now be known as Tracker Amila dur Naya, by order of Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw.
You have emoted: Amila takes a step forward, her finger pointing outward as if it was a weapon unto itself. "You couldn't do it, could you?"
Angwe bestows his guildfavour on you.
2013/05/12 22:11:02 - Angwe guildfavoured Amila for: Passing her examination satisfactorily, despite a failure to display full manual dexterity.
Angwe turns back to you, broad canines bared in a grin. "Had you goin' for awhile though," he snickers. "You got any questions for me, Tracker?"
You have emoted: "Yes." Amila settles back with both feet flat against the constructed gateway of the city of Enorian. Freed toes dig into what rubbish that has been gathered there as she leans forward. "Can you?"
Angwe's grin fades. Without another word, he sets his right claw atop his head and his left on his bare stomach. A slow motion begins things, his claws scrapping against the barklike skin of his stomach with an audible sound.
You have emoted: Amila waves her hands at Angwe, the gesture speaking of great, unhappy dismissal of his person. "Useless. Can't even pick up speed." With a grin suddenly appearing on her face, she kicks up dirt as she begins to dash off.
[/spoiler]
[spoiler]
AMILA:
She is a muscular Human roughly half a foot above five feet in height. Tanned to a dark brown colour, her skin has been marked up with the evidence of a wild and unruly childhood spent within the forest. Hands and feet are heavily calloused with long nails that match the lack of care paid to her tangled, brunette hair. Hanging in her face at the best of times, the split ends have been chopped off just above her shoulders. When they can be seen, her large eyes appear to be a dark colour that hinges on being black. Mud serves as her only form of cosmetics enhancement. Along the exposed flesh of her left wrist and lower leg are tribal patterns and exotic animal prints painted in dirty mixtures of blood and red ink. She walks with the blessing of Haern. She walks with the blessing of Haern.
(worn on the back) : a compact black leather pack
(covering her chest) : a midriff-baring top of peach jute
(baring one leg) : a long, peach skirt of jute
(covering the body) : a chainmail hauberk bound with leather
(clinging to her shoulders and back) : a rambunctious Syll cub
ANGWE:
He is a dexterous Yeleni who bears a form similar to the fauns of the Ancient Heartwood. Supple musculature covers a lithe frame bearing long arms covered from the elbow down with a thin pelt of brown fur. He carries his weight upon rear-jointed bovine legs, the flesh beneath hidden by a pelt long and shaggy enough to cover cloven feet; the broad claws that compliment them similarly are spackled with mud. Among a few features shared with the Heartwood fauns are the pronounced ridge running throughout his nasal cavity (which only adds to the gauntness of his face), the goat-like ears that sprout from the sides of his head and the nut-brown skin boasting a hardened and inflexible look as though carved from wood. Small glass objects, pieces of bone and other trophies have been braided through moss-like hair a color stuck somewhere between green and black. The green radiance that shines forth from the oaken ocular caverns where his eyes should be finishes off this otherworldly picture and a pale, featureless bone mask hangs from his belt, worn, pitted and scarred from combat or travel. He walks with the blessing of Haern. He walks with the blessing of Haern.
(prominent among the other baubles) : a crimson Morgun poppy
(tied securely about his hips) : a runed loincloth of rich, brown leather
(tied around the right wrist) : a tri-coloured bracelet of braidedleather
(hanging from his loincloth) : a leather herb pouch
(hanging over his heart) : a cracked hematite medallion of the Pride
(slung over a shoulder) : a soldier's kitbag
(firmly supporting the hands and wrists) : winding, stained hide gloves
(cinched under his weaponbelt's straps) : a hooded cloak of grey fur
(strapped over his cloak) : a polished black bandolier scabbard
(piercing the left ear) : a gold stud earring
(slung about the shoulders) : a water gourd
(worn on the ears) : a sand-hued cigarette
Angwe swings the heavy cloak around his shoulders and secures it by tightening the strap around the leather knot. With a quick flick, he pulls the hood over his head, revealing the lupine ears attached to it.
Angwe tucks a cigarette behind his ear.
"Done," Angwe says to you, acknowledging your request.
"Now," Angwe says, falling in line behind you. "First thing I want you to do is take us to the Pride's den."
[WALK WALK WALK aaaand into the Guildhall]
"Good!" Angwe says with a smile.
Angwe steps past you, beckoning for you to follow.
Amila's fingers wrap around the shaft of her dhurive as she holds the weapon just above the bend of her knees. Wolf and syll cub trailing behind her as an entourage, she watches the area vigilantly. "Yeah! Where next?"
As he leads you through the passage, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "There's a room here that dun see much use... I like it for this sort of thing."
Trailing behind, you say to Angwe, "I use this room after hunting for a while. When my arms are tired."
Swathed in the light of the core.
A pleasant, comforting glow of a faint green seems to emanate from the wood of the Great Oak here, swirling and shifting in what seem like almost tangible whorls. A faint vibration overwhelms the chamber, which is set only with a primitive table of some kind wrought from entwined vines and branches and a large, stony chair. Ceremonial blades, animal furs and other trophies of the hunt have been left here in effigy. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Hackles raised, an adult grey wolf sniffs the air for enemies. Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw is here. The faint light of the core filters through in rays of verdant light, bathing the hollow in its splendor.
Completely ignoring the large stone chair, Angwe squats down beside the table. "The garden ought to be a bit more restful for ye," he tells you. "But to each their own, eh?" With that, he falls backwards onto his rump, his legs splayed about him.
Leaning forward to set his elbows on the table, Angwe tents his claws pensively. "This first part of this exam will be an interview," he says in an even voice.
You have emoted: Amila's eyes skim around the perimeter of the room, her eyes catching on each of the trophies and objects that decorate the walls. "It tells me to keep hunting. Stop being such a lazy thing." Tearing her gaze away from the pelt of a large rojalli that's collected dust over the years, she raises a hand to push her matted bangs away from her face to better focus on Angwe. "Okay."
The fell green light behind Angwe's eyelids (so much like the light that bathes this chamber from the Core) shifts subtly. "You must have your strength to hunt," he advices you. "There is no laziness in resting occasionally. It is a matter of practicality."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "If you are tired, your form will be sloppy. Your thoughts will be sluggish and distracted. Your awareness will suffer and you endanger yourself."
You have emoted: "I rest when I am tired. When I want to sit around eating cake,I do not." Amila responds as she taps against the tip of her nose.
Angwe nods his head in approval.
"Tell me," Angwe says, gesturing with an open palm towards you. "What brought you to the Pride, mm?"
You have emoted: "I made my first dhurive from pine cones and branches when I was twelve years old. Made my first trap when I was ten. Caught rabbits and squirrels when I was hungry and learned to run through the forest from the moment my feet let me." Amila takes to pacing, each step taken carefully with a wary eye cast towards the wolf so as to make certain that she doesn't trip over it. " Papa asked me when I was seventeen what I wanted to do when I grew old enough and there wasn't even a decision that needed to be made. I've always beeof the Pride, just been waiting in the background."
"Then I'm doubly interested in hearing your thoughts on what we stand for." Angwe cups his cheek as he watches you, a small smile on his face. His free clawdips inside a leather herb pouch, fishing around for a cigarette case depicting a dryad's kiss.
Angwe hesitates before setting a slender white cigarette on the table before him.
Angwe removes a sand-hued cigarette.
Angwe carefully lights a sand-hued cigarette.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks you, "You smoke?"
Angwe exhales a pale cloud of smoke, redolent with aniseed scents.
Angwe makes a face briefly as he inhales.
You have emoted: "Defenders of the Heartwood, we are ultimately. Hunters and ra-no, I've never smoked." Amila is cut off, peering sharply at the smoking cigarette.
You laughingly say to Angwe, "Always wanted to but could never sneak one. He'd have my hide and stick me with cleaning for a week!."
You have emoted: Amila grumbles something about mopping under her breath.
"No reason to start," Angwe says, limelit smoke trailing lazily through the eyeless pits in his face. "Disgusting habit." His lips curl up a bit at the sides as he takes another drag, obviously enjoying it despite his words.
Ashing his cigarette as he speaks, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Dunknow why I ever took it up."
Your stomach notifies you that it is beginning to feel hungry. Perhaps you should find yourself some food.
You have emoted: Amila's stomach begins to make a bunch of noise and is responded to with a slight grimace. "It was a matter of -pride- to sneak one. See if I could do it. Never could."
You have emoted: Amila moves closer to the table and sinks down into a kneel, resting both of her arms against the surface and planting her chin atop the two limbs. "What was I saying?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "You were tellin' me what the Pride stands for. Our purpose."
Angwe drinks from a water gourd of spicy mulled wine.
Eyeing the cigarette, you say to Angwe, "Protect the Heartwood and protect the sacred ground of the Great Oak. We're not all formal and everything as long as you can think outside of your own arse so be responsible and have common sense. Destroy that which will not change."
After a moment of silent contemplation of your answer, Angwe nods. "What d'ye hope to become within the Pride, should Griana find your heart worthy?"
You have emoted: "A celebrant." Amila responds, her finger tips stretching out to tap a quick, happy tune against the surface of the table. Tap, tap, tap.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw furrows his brow and says, "Explain."
You have emoted: Amila's syll cub begins to climb up off her back, releasing itshold on her hair and shifting to settle down on the table just by her head. Staring wide-eyed at Angwe, it refuses to move closer and, instead, falls back heavily onto its small rear. "I mean that I want to continue to hunt. I want to keep dancing. I don't want to run anything or rule anything, just to be productive and a member." Her dark eyes trail off of Angwe and his cigarette anddarts over to the indignant cub. "At least, that's what I want right now."
Shadows dissipate from around Angwe's feet, rendering his footfalls audible again.
After a moment, Angwe nods. "Path of the Trailblazer might be in your future," he says taking another quick nip from a water gourd with traces of spicy mulled wine. "Have you a desire to hear the Ancestors and spirits of the Pride?"
You have emoted: "Honest, I didn't entirely settle on a path. They both looked interested but.. the path of the Trailblazer seemed like something I'd better enjoy." Amila purses her lips in contemplation.
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding.
"Last question," Angwe says, flicking his ash onto the table. "And just a point of personal curiosity."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You're a native Duirani, right? Who'reye kin to?"
You have emoted: "Kiyotan is my papa." Amila firmly and quickly responds, rolling her head to rest her cheek against her wrist.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks in surprise, "Kite?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw looks thoughtful and says, "I dinnae know Kite had a daughter... guess that's what he's been up to."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw wryly says, "Well, no wonder."
You smile impishly and say to Angwe, "Just because he's my papa doesn't mean I expect or should get any special treatment."
Angwe stretches up a bit, glancing behind you. Content that he remains unobserved, he rolls a lit sand-hued cigarette towards you with a casual flick of his finger, the movement almost appearing accidental.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Unlikely. We'll prob'ly ride your ass harder now."
Angwe rolls the butt of his own cigarette between his fingers until it's little more than a ball of paper and charred herbs, which he elects to slip inside a leather herb pouch.
You have emoted: "Oh! You wanted to learn to twirl your staff like I do, right?"Amila changes the subject for the moment, her dark eyes catching and observing every small detail of Angwe as if you were a prey before her. Or perhaps a predator of which she should be wary. Gaze darts from fingers to wrist to neck to face and back again before settling on a different fur pelt along the walls. "I expected that."
Angwe's ear twitches subtly. "Ylem," he murmurs, a weary growl on his voice. "We'll need to hurry this up. The daily grind awaits."
You have emoted: "Tired of me already?" Amila's stare resumes its original focuson your face. "I'm joking. Ask me any other questions and I'll answer them, Scout Master."
Angwe sits back on his legs, crossing his arms as he examines you. "I can see that Kite took care of your armor," he says, nodding at the hauberk you wears. "You can tell his work when you see it."
You have emoted: "I bought my own armor with my own gold." Amila points out.
Angwe raises his eyebrows. "That ain't his design?"
p armor
Fine steel, worked in even and resilient links, forms the body of this equally resilient armour. With sleeves wide enough to allow for movement and fit over other garments, this hauberk is long enough to reach the mid-thigh and splits at the hip and front to create quarter-panels. A molded cuirass of boiled leather fits over the underlying chain, the securing straps and buckles each impressed and engraved with angular knotwork. A loop around one of the cuirass' side straps allows small ornaments to be hung safely out of the way, matching a similar detail on the greaves fitted to protect the lower legs.
Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, you say to Angwe, "I bought it from an Enorianite's shop in Delos."
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding. Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "I see you have your vials and pipes...might wanna put that jug of hooch away before your da wakens. We can tell what you're carrying, y'know."
You put a rotund glass pitcher into a plain grey pack.
Angwe's eyes sparkle with amusement.
You have emoted: Amila glances to the side, not even having the decency to look ashamed of her actions. "It was from the Potlatch."
"Got your tattoos," Angwe continues in a murmur, his eyeless gaze narrowing slightly as it continues its sweep over you. "Got sigils on your dhurive?"
You say to Angwe, "Oh. Uh, no. Oops."
You say to Angwe, "I'll buy one quickly before I leave the Heartwood, though."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Ain't a requirement for Scouts, but itIS a good idea to keep a fist or a vine sigil attached. Impact sigil is a good idea, too."
Your need for sustenance is becoming serious. You must find food soon or you will begin to suffer harm.
You have emoted: Amila's bangs fall back into place in front of her eyes, hidingher features. The growl of her stomach grows more noisy, especially with the silence that falls into place as she pauses to think. "Alright, I can do that."
"And you ain't an embarassment to be seen with in public," Angwe concludes with a grin. Placing his hands flat on the table before him, he pushes himself to his hooves. "So that concludes th' equipment check."
You have emoted: "Nope. I got all my bits accounted for." Amila concurs, mirroring your movements and raising up into a standing position. She shakes out her left leg as pins and needles tingle at her lower extremity.
"Dun fall out," Angwe says, tossing a bland ration to you. "Next part of the exam is geography."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw wryly says, "You can grab something a bit more substantial to eat on the way. Take us to the beehive."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw has lost you.
Angwe begins to follow you.
You have emoted: Amila grabs the ration and tears into it with her blunt teeth. Wolf and syll cub both quickly move to follow behind Angwe and herself as she turns on her heels and quickly moves out of the small, well-lit room.
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to the post]
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Now, take us to the treasury."
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to the bank]
Angwe nods his head in approval.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You know the Black Flagon on the Island of Delos?"
You say to Angwe, "Sorta. I try to avoid towns and cities but I've been there when I was hungry after I got my tattos."
Correcting herself, you say, "Tattoooooos."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Take us there a moment."
[WALK WALK WALK WALK to Delos]
--- The Black Flagon Inn ---------- 0:2:0 ---
A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. Hurriedly making her way between patrons, Rispina busies herself nearby. A small wooden table is here, 4 simple oaken chairs have been placed at it. A square oaken table is here, 4 simple wooden chairs have been placed at it. A circular oaken table is here, 4 oaken chairs have been placed at it. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A simple oaken bin that reads 'Empty Glasses Here' is here. Parchment beginning to fade to the elements, a scroll has been left here. Coiledup like a scroll, an emerald letter lies here. A large, circular bar of unfinished oak dominates the center of the room here. There are 4 leather-covered stools here. Emelle is leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, talking to Carson. Brother Carson S. Madison is here. He wields a classic leather-bound book in his left hand. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see exits leading east, south, west, and up.
Tendrils of shadow creep toward Angwe's feet and legs, softening his footsteps.
You smile at Emelle.
Emelle nods her head at you.
Angwe greets Emelle with a wide smile as he enters the tavern, his hooves clopping loudly against the floor until shadows flow down to muffle his steps.
Turning her head, Emelle lifts her glass to Angwe, though she doesn't appear to be celebrating.
The man at the bar clutching a leather-bound book to his chest stares at you for just a bit too long to be nonchalant.
You have emoted: Amila is followed by an entourage of Angwe, a wolf, and a small syll cub as she enters the inn's common room. Immediately, the scout turns towards the bar and begins to point out different food items to the person behind.
You pay 200 gold sovereign and receive a bowl of thick tomato basil soup.
You pay 200 gold sovereign and receive a bowl of thick tomato basil soup.
You carefully cool the bowl of soup before proceeding to consume it in its entirety.
You carefully cool the bowl of soup before proceeding to consume it in its entirety.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw utters a melodic, chiming phrase.
Emelle nods slightly at Angwe, demonstrating her understanding.
Angwe inclines his head politely to Carson.
"'Lo there, telepath," Angwe greets Carson in the common tongue.
Carson gives Angwe a lift of his free hand, the other clutching a leather-bound book to his chest. "Wolf," he greets in response.
Emelle's brow furrows lightly and she resumes drinking.
Angwe bares his teeth in a feral grin.
To you, Angwe says, "Go 'head and get your fill while we're here. Rest up as needed. Next stop will be 'Norian."
Amila receives a third bowl of soup before she ceases her pointing for the man behind the counter, raising the vessel to her lips and slurping at it noisily. Eyeing the room around her, she moves to stand by the doorway with one foot already set outdoors. "Done." She comments back to Angwe with a single brisk syllable.
Angwe spins around, surprised to find you already finished. "You gonna give yourself a stomach ache eatting like that," he scolds you. "You even taste any of that?" Muttering goatishly, he moves to follow the Scout.
You have emoted: "Yes." Amila takes another slurp of the soup. The ring around the inside of the bowl hasn't even had a chance to cool and marks the soup as being halfway gone. On the counter top, two bowls of similar make have been emptied and left for the employees of the inn to deal with. "Tasted like soup."
Angwe clicks his tongue and shakes his head slightly, following after you.
You clench your right fist and pound your chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.
[WALK WALK WALK to enorian]
You have emoted: Amila looks reluctant to set foot into the city, her actions slowing as if the scout had suddenly been doused in molasses. She looks equally as uncomfortable.
Angwe makes no effort to approach the gates, his steps falling to a stop as your begin to slow. "Alright," he says, coming up beside you. "That's good 'nough."
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "You know where Spinesreach is?"
Amila appears relieved, dancing back a few steps until she's several feet away from the gates. "I do. I don't want to go there, though. I canget there if I have to but I'll only walk nearby and point the rest of the way, Scout Master. That place.." Hidden behind the curtain of her hair, her expression is partially unreadable but what is exposed speaks of great reluctance.
"Bringing me to Spineless would likely bring 'bout your immediate death," Angwe says, his tone dry. "I'm a wanted criminal there."
You have emoted: "Twice a good reason to not go!" Amila claps her hands togetherloudly.
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "Ditto for that pit in the desert, but you still gotta know where it is. Can you find Bloodleech?"
Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw says, "Bloodloch."
You say to Angwe, "If I wanted to piddle on a city entrance, I do know where to find a good spot. I can find Bloodloch."
With a slight nod, Angwe demonstrates his understanding.
Angwe sucks thoughtfully on his teeth.
Abruptly, Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw asks, "Can you rub your stomach while you pat your head?"
You look surprised and say to Angwe, "I- I don't know."
Angwe gestures for you to make with, bringing a water gourd with traces of spicymulled wine to his lips for a nip.
You have emoted: Amila attempts the task. Her hair is further mussed while her stomach is patted with repeated pauses as she has to remind herself to not pat the body part.
"Sloppy!" Angwe barks. "You're patting the wrong body part!"
"Your head, girl!" Angwe enthuses. "Pat your head and RUB your stomach!"
You have emoted: "You show me how it's done, Scout master." Amila snaps back, holding her hands away from herself. Dark eyes bore holes into Angwe with a sharp stare.
Angwe maintains a deadly serious expression, even as he raises a water gourd with traces of spicy mulled wine to his lips for another swig.
Angwe scoffs. "Impudence! And you failed the task I set'cha." He crosses his arms, turning away from you to hide his face. "Ought to fail... you... -snrk- right here."
You will now be known as Tracker Amila dur Naya, by order of Scout Master Angwe Arcan, the Claw.
You have emoted: Amila takes a step forward, her finger pointing outward as if it was a weapon unto itself. "You couldn't do it, could you?"
Angwe bestows his guildfavour on you.
2013/05/12 22:11:02 - Angwe guildfavoured Amila for: Passing her examination satisfactorily, despite a failure to display full manual dexterity.
Angwe turns back to you, broad canines bared in a grin. "Had you goin' for awhile though," he snickers. "You got any questions for me, Tracker?"
You have emoted: "Yes." Amila settles back with both feet flat against the constructed gateway of the city of Enorian. Freed toes dig into what rubbish that has been gathered there as she leans forward. "Can you?"
Angwe's grin fades. Without another word, he sets his right claw atop his head and his left on his bare stomach. A slow motion begins things, his claws scrapping against the barklike skin of his stomach with an audible sound.
You have emoted: Amila waves her hands at Angwe, the gesture speaking of great, unhappy dismissal of his person. "Useless. Can't even pick up speed." With a grin suddenly appearing on her face, she kicks up dirt as she begins to dash off.
[/spoiler]
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