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Post by Vicorva on Oct 17, 2008 20:40:08 GMT
OOC: *sigh* She learned how to deal with werecreatures? Defeats the purpose of this RP, and it is uber. Hell, how are the other characters supposed to interact with yours if she 'knows how to deal with them'? Please avoid ubering. You're a good RPer, Scow, but you uber like its the only way.
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Post by scow2 on Oct 20, 2008 19:40:25 GMT
OOC: I hate the miniature post boxes. They make a line look like 3 and kill my post by making it hard for me to type as I write. I hated my post too, but I blame the forum mechanics! Reposting better, feel free to delete previous two posts.
I'm currently waiting for myself to get around to trying to approve Dar'shandi, though I think I may not be able to handle Sarth and Dar'shandi meeting. Sarth is an amoral, hedonistic wildcat who sees others in terms of hatred and lust, and Dar'shandi is a back-alley tomcat, who would most likely have at least one bottle of Telvanni bug musk if he had been in Morrowind for any amount of time. No way he'd pass up the #1 way to convince a girl to sleep with him. Having those two meet is starting to look like a really bad idea.
IC: Sarth heard a shouting in the distance, one that echoed of the most challenging prey in Skyrim, that of the Thu'um. She would have to find the source, so to judge whether the prey was worth her effort, or if it would be better just to try to test herself against the local werecreatures. She was under the impression that the strain here was superior to the few in Valenwood.
Despite her hunting skill, she knew that she was in no condition to actually kill anything tonight, as she did not know the land yet to set appropriate traps and snares. She also lacked the knowledge of local toxins to create the virulent poisons she needed to take out the tougher and stronger werebeasts, as her superior speed and agility would not be enough against Hircine's second-best hunters. Her javelin would also have to be repaired, as it was still nothing but a blade of elven steel at the moment. The Jaguar-cathay reminded herself to prepare tomorrow, since now that night had fallen, she would have to survive the lycanthropes that wandered the wilderness, and she lacked the time to prepare for real battle.
Catching the sound of battle, Sarth locked onto the general angle and distance. The preparations for the hunt could wait. Her urge to find this new challenge was too great for her to ignore, and she always loved the new experiences she gained in her travels.
Upon reaching the site of the carnage, Sarth spotted the blood-stained snow and butchered wolf, as well as a linear set of deep tracks leading in almost a straight line through the corpse. She knew the direction her quarry was headed, but she wanted to know more. Sarth leaned over the corpse, sniffing it gently. Within minutes, she was on the trail of a savage Nord, one who wielded a weapon coated in the distinct metallic scent of silver.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 21, 2008 0:29:06 GMT
Will scowled bitterly as he took another heary swig of mead from his wineskin, the thick, fermented liquor burning in his mouth and then his throat as it slid down into his stomach. He was beginning to feel the misty, alcohol induced haze taking hold of his mind, but as of yet it did little to take the edge off the shitty feeling that had come over him, so he continued to drink deeply.
As he continued to mercilessly abuse his liver, what seemed like a deep rumbling shook through the cave, causing what few items he had braced against the walls to tremble slightly. More than that, it irked his already frayed nerves, and began a dull ache in the centre of his head. Already in a rather irritable, piss poor mood, Will threw his wineskin to the floor of his cave, and marched back towards the entrance.
Will pushed his way back out into the blizzard, not bothering to put on his cloak. He angrily glared out into the distance of the island, and began screaming at the top of his lungs in rage.
"Gods damned assholes!" he screamed, at the source of the noise, at the werecreatures...all of it. Wasn't it enough that he was alone, stranded on this forsaken waste? Did he really have to put up with all the bullshit, now? With his rage only perpetuating further rage, his voice continued to trail off into the night, nowhere near as loud as that of the booming voice from earlier, but impressive in its own right nonetheless. "Just shut the hell up!"
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 25, 2008 22:02:31 GMT
The werefox yelped in pain as the snow bear smacked her on the head... hard His magical claws could not draw blood from her, but their frosty magic did freeze her and cloud her mind. She staggered off, leaving him behind, bloodied but very much alive.
As she escaped, she picked up speed, soon a blur across the snow oncemore as she headed, half-blind, back to what she considered safety. And thus it was that she blundered right into the back of the redguard Will Ross, hitting him and then tumbling away in a spinning ball of russet-red fur.
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The Berserker continued his aimless wanderings, waving his axe and occassionally yelling, although without the insane force that had killed the wolf before.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 26, 2008 1:06:47 GMT
Islin stumbled through the blizzard that had arisen, clutching his cloak close to his body and muttering curses faster than a sailor facing his death. The wind whipped his cloak around him and forced him to stop, shivering like mad in one place. Thirsk was in this general direction. At least... Islin thought it was. With the wind whipping around him he couldn't tell north from south or his own foot from a rock in a snowbank. Grudgingly he blundered on in the direction he HOPED was to Thirsk. Gods damn this cold! Just as he cursed the gods, the gods cursed him, as a low growl came from his left. Islin turned on the spot, his left hand holding his cloak around his neck while his right drew the saber. Beneath the cloak collar, he audibly screamed like a child, then turned with a swish of coat and ran just like one. A form twice that of a man lumbered on all fours after him. OOC: If NPC werewolves aren't allowed, do tell me. And if you care to, Will (being close to Thirsk) would reasonably manage to hear Islin's scream
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 26, 2008 4:33:27 GMT
Will was just in the process of catching his breath, readying himself for another long bout of rage induced ranting, when he felt something, something big, slam into his back. As the Redguard stumbled forward clumsily, being both taken by surprise and still somewhat fuzzy from the mead he'd already consumed, he immediately believed himself to be under attack. He quickly regained his footing, spinning about to face his attacker, hand reaching for his claymore.
But his attacker was the last thing...person...whatever, that he had expected to see. He quickly recognized the lithe red shape that had once been Mercury, tumbling back away from him. But why had she come back? If she'd wanted to attack him, it would have been a simple matter to bite him while his back had been exposed...so what was she doing?
Whether it was a sense of hope that the creature retained some residue of the woman he had met earlier, or the alcohol clouding his mind, Will left his claymore at his back, his hands open in front of him as he approached the creature. "I'm not going to hurt you, alright?" he said calmly, taking note that she seemed to be wounded. "Everything is alright..."
Whether he was on to something with his suspicion, or he was an ignorant fool about to be bitten by a werecreature, was something he was about to discover. And so focused was he, on the situation, that he neglected to hear the screaming of a young Dunmer bounty hunter in the distance...
OOC: Decided to let Will handle his little werefox problem first, rather than try to rush it. You know how messy that can get. But I'm sure Islin will be fine regardless. *Thumbs up*
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 27, 2008 12:57:18 GMT
The werefox, still dizzy, rolled onto its feet, facing Will on all fours. Like this, she was barely bigger than a normal wolf. The great redguard, silver at his back, approached the werefox, who gave a warning yip as she backed away slightly, arching her back like a cat in an attempt to make herself look bigger. Human men were her predators, regardless of whether or not she would eat their young if she could get them. Such was the way of a scavenger-predator: most of the predatory instincts of foxes were purely defensive. They were opportunistic rather than fierce.
But as the man approached, he put his hands out calmly, outstretching them towards her. The werefox panicked: he wasn't backing down! He wasn't frightened of her. That placed him as higher than her in the hierarchy, and he was being calm, which meant he meant her no harm.
Was this man a friend. Cautiously, the werefox stretched out her neck to sniff the man's hands, but then she recoiled slightly from the scent of silver that lingered there. The part of her that had urged her to run back here for safety, that instinct in the back of her mind, said that she should be cautious, but this man was safe, though she struggled against her own instincts to hide since she was wounded.
But then there was a girlish scream, causing the werefox to leap back in shock. She gave Will a look that was very close to a human equivalent of unnerved, before racing off in the direction of the scream.
Perhaps there would be food this night... a trail of blood followed the path the werefox took.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 27, 2008 18:38:53 GMT
It took every ounce of willpower he could muster for Will to remain calm, passive, as the werefox let out a warning cry, before taking up a defensive stance very much like that of a cat. He knew that a single bite, even a mere scratch could infect him, and he'd wind up in the same situation as Mercury. But through sheer will and determination, he managed to keep his hands outstretched, rather than send them racing for his weapon.
The creature seemed to calm down some, however, as it pensively craned its neck forward to smell his hands, though it recoiled quickly. Can the damn things actually smell silver? he asked himself silently. Though, on a survival level it made sense...silver was one of the only things that actually hurt the bloodthirsty things.
Just as the situation seemed to calm down, however, a frantic, undignified scream hit Will's ears, and he looked up, away from the werefox for just a moment. "What the hell?" he asked, before just managing to catch his furry friend glancing back at him, and then bolting off in the direction of the scream.
What was more concerning, though, was the trail of blood that followed the werefox's path. Which meant that she had been injured...and might be again, if she got into another fight. Not only that, but if any other nearby werecreatures picked up the scent, who knew how they'd react. Against his better judgement, Will grabbed hold of his claymore, before charging madly after Mercury's alter ego, the crimson trail guiding his path.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 27, 2008 18:55:41 GMT
"Com'on man, give me a break!" Islin cried out as he leaped off a rock into the snow, running as he landed and barely managing to maintain enough balance to keep running. Arms flailing, he ended up twisting his thumb just so, and the sleeve of the cloak was already flailing, so luckily didn't catch on the arms of the crossbow as they snapped forward. Islin kept running as he heard the click of the weapon, mind racing.
The snarling behind him accompanied with the constant thrash of snow in his face made it hard to concentrate, though, and he knew in his gut that thing was gaining on him. Instinctively he reached out as he came at a tree, jumping up and grabbing the branch, his forward momentum causing him to spin around the branch.
Considering he prided himself in being an acrobat, the way with which he wrapped his legs to that branch and clung to it seemed insulting unprofessional; but when you were being chased by a werewolf and so cold your thumb might as well not exist, finesse was one of the first things to go. His left arm extended and he flicked his wrist down, the bolt firing just as the wolf was turning in the snow and preparing to leap at the prey.
Islin wasn't sure where he intended to hit the thing, but the bolt tore open its shoulder, and the wolf reacted like a fatal wound had been inflicted, howling and snarling in pain. Islin frowned, bringing his left arm back up to hold him to the branch better. Great... made a hit... but now I can't frigging reload! This is NOT my day.
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 27, 2008 19:57:01 GMT
The wolf's footfalls were remarkably silent, the sound of them muffled by the snow that only made a slight crunching sound underfoot. Had this been a normal forest, the creature's footfalls would have been much heavier, but as it was, he was perfectly formed for a hunt through this frozen wasteland.
Blinking through the show that now decorated his usually black fur in splotches of white, that liked to melt and drip down into his eyes annoyingly enough, the werewolf's yellowed gaze slowly turned to one side, as a rather unique smell invaded his nose. Blood... Blood, other hunters, and humans all. The sheer size of the group that was somewhere around here intrigued the wolf, attracted it. If there were many there, it meant that there would be a lot of prey for him to take. If there were other hunters, well that meant that he could race in, and possibly steal one of the wounded or the stragglers. Humans... Well, his Alpha had commanded him to hunt the humans.
So, after a small pause, the wolf began to advance, only to have a streak of red rush past him, in the form of a small fox. Startled, the werewolf took a rapid step back, watching with a half-surprised, half-quizzical gaze as the little hunter went zipping past. What in the world? He had smelled other hunters, other werecreatures, but that fox had the scent of a predator... Of one of the changed. There were other creatures besides wolves?
Then... Human. The smell filled the werewolf's nose again, his gaze snapping away from the werefox's retreat, to instead lock on the forest from whence it had came. There was prey coming...
The werewolf stepped back once more, fading into the shadows as it laid its ambush carefully. All it had to do... was wait...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 27, 2008 22:51:26 GMT
The werefox slowed as it came to where the 'wolf was hunting a man... a man who smelled of ash and air. She was panting heavily, and her wounds were bleeding sluggishly. Had her human mind been in gear, she might have noted that she also had a concussion.
But as it was, she crouched in a bush, watching as the much greater werecreature- a True Werecreature, not some abominable imitation like she- attacked the man. It was a harsh fight, and the werefox thought the 'wolf was stupid for attacking anyone wielding silver (but then, it was more capably of dealing with it than she...). She hoped for him to win. Then she could perhaps scavenge some of the body.
She was unaware of the other wolf, as she had zipped past it in her rush to get to Islin, and she was at less than best form. She panted as she waited to see how the battle panned out: though, momentarily, Will had won her submission with his display of dominance, this man had done no such thing.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 28, 2008 0:03:29 GMT
Will continued his forward trek, chasing the elusive werefox as best he could through the seemingly perpetual blizzard of Solstheim. The the bright red furball had disappeared into the snowy haze ahead of him, the trail of blood remained clear, and he continued to follow along behind it, unsure of what he might find at its end.
What would he do, even if he could manage to find Mercury in this mess? Whether she willed it or not, every night she'd transform again, becoming that damned thing he was now chasing. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop it, short of killing her.
But when Will heard what sounded like the howling of another werecreature up ahead, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. I'll deal with that when I'm not in the middle of a killing ground, he thought bitterly. The Redguard tightened his grip on his silver claymore, the metal ice cold to the touch, and continued after the blood trail, unaware of the creature who was undoubtedly watching him...
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Post by FC4 on Oct 28, 2008 0:23:07 GMT
Islin watched as the Wolf snarled, cradling its shoulder, before it glared back up at him and began to circle around the tree, slowly. It was looking for some way to get up there, to reach its prey. The pit in Islin's stomach failed to fill, and something in the back of his mind told him it had to do with his attacking the beast.
Islin had no conceptual knowledge if Kynareth controlled plants as well as animals, but he chanced the idea that the crack he heard was a punishment for his deed. Looking over to his feet, his eyes widened in horror as he saw the splinters. He gripped the wood tighter in vain hope it would prevent the inevitable, and closed his eyes. I'm going to die! I'm gonna di-i-i-ie!
The branch cracked again, and the werewolf looked up at the nose, ears perked, before grinning toothily. It prowled towards the ground where Islin was destined to fall, looking up and awaiting its meal. Islin looked down, gave a long cry, and shut his eyes again.
Alright babe, I hear ya! I get it! Don't hurt 'em! I won't do it again, I swear! Just... let me do that flying thing again. PLEEEEASE! Another crack sent him bobbing up and down, and the motion caused the branch to completely break and fall. Islin rushed towards the ground in a blizzard of snow, and the wolf pounced.
The jaws snapped on thin air as a slim tail covered in small green feathers slipped over its snout, and a spiked tip tapped the beast on the nose before it passed. The wolf, startled, looked to its side to see a cliff racer flapping its wings frantically in the blizzard, steadily but slowly gaining altitude and crying out as it went.
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Post by Vicorva on Nov 3, 2008 18:33:18 GMT
OOC: Oi! Webster! Post! IC:
The werefox looked on, confused, as the elf disappeared to be replaced by a cliffracer... but the scent... was the same.
Much cleverer than any werewolf, the werefox knew well of magic, and easily put it together that this was more of the 'strangeness' that made things out of nothing, and things into other things.
And a cliffracer, silverless, she could kill.
Leaping up high into the air, above the cliffracer, the werefox angled downwards with skill, claws reaching, aiming to land on the cliffracer's back.
Today she would bring down the prey.
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Post by webster52402 on Nov 8, 2008 5:54:42 GMT
OOC: Grr, this one in particular is giving me problems... Thanks to Vantustius' nature, I'm having a hard time even thinking of how to corrupt the poor guy. Even this post seems rather weak by my standards.
IC: The wolf remained perfectly still as the Redguard came stalking up towards him, following the path of the fox from earlier. Usually, the werewolf would have jumped out and immediately ripped the man apart, but when he got closer, he could feel something that made him very, very wary indeed: The cold burn of the hated metal, silver. It seemed like everyone up here had some form of silver on their persons, and this one in particular seemed to have a rather large amount of it. A full claymore, as a matter of fact, as he could see when he finally came into view. He would have to time this well...
So, he waited until the Redguard was pulling just even with him, before slamming through the bushes on his side, throwing himself low and fast. He had to move quickly, and surprise him with the least amount of distance needed to travel, lest he get that sword into play. So, he couldn't afford to wait until the man's back was completely turned, as he would have to emerge, turn, and then attack, rather than just slam forward. And the hunter was not stupid...
A furious snarl emerged from the werewolf's snout, as his dark furred body streaked towards his prey. He would taste blood tonight...
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