(Note: I did not participate in the game. This is solely for the roleplay requirement on the path to Legendary.)
As Never Idle surveys the collection laid out at the feet of participating kin, his eyes narrowed, his expression is unreadable. At this point, he's looking to see what you brought, and what makes it special.
A flock of feathers -- or perhaps birds -- seem to mingle on the end of a long green stem. It is only because the miniature cranes, herons -- stork maybe -- do not move at all, save for the ruffling from the breeze, that it becomes clear it is not animal but indeed plant.
Never Idle nods as he looks over the goodies, his eyes narrowed and expression thoughtful. He makes eye contact with all the kin, and those whose offerings he thinks are good enough remain. The others are sent home, tails between their legs.
Now, though, he wants more information. His mouth shifts as he considers. "Alright, then. Tell me where this came from. The plains? the swamp? Trees, mud, water? What is its source?"
"I-it was in the swamp, where the water has washed away soil until it is sand. It was hiding in the shade of the mangroves," his voice stumbles at first but grows more steady as his words continue. Still when the words dry up he swallows thickly.
They are all interesting items, and they all catch his eye in different ways -- each from a different place, with a different story, with a different home. They are all unique, at least in one way, so no one is sent home. They all make him humm.
"How did you get it, then? And how did you bring it here?"
"My turtle," he starts -- as if to punctuate to the statement, a blue tortoise walks into the back of the buck's left leg -- showing only resignation when the reptile interrupts him. "My turtle cut it down after I pulled it from the ground. I carried it on my back most of the way." The stem has now become draped over his neck and the flowers seem to bloom from his chest.
"It sounds like that took some work…" his eyes narrowed as he said it, head tipped to the side and expression thoughtful. It took thought and, yes, a bit of daring. Or trouble. Or strength. They show difference.
"So, answer me this. If your plant were a kin, which species would it be? Acha? Totoma? Kimeti? Why?"
"An acha; they seem delicate," he seems embarrassed by the answer but he remembers dancing acha. They were so like birds.
"That was a really stupid question." It comes with a snicker, with his eyes narrowed and his tail swishing -- and as he says it, the Stag shape of Never Idle melts down into a more nimble mongoose, hopping in closer to touch the plant.
"I can't believe you answered it. Try this one instead -- if I were to make an accessory or talisman out of this, what would you ask for? What would you suggest?"
He flushes -- if his fur was not so vivid, the reddened skin was be easy to see. (As he is red, he likely seems eternally flustered.) "Ah, oh, a neck--um." The snicker has brought back the stutter and stumble. "I don't know." He deflates a little at that.
It's down to five of them, now. Five plants remain. Five he looks over.
"I might just do that. With the winner. If they're lucky." A mongoose grinning is an intimidating sight, but at least it melts away quickly. He circles the objects that remain, mouth pressed into a line instead, and thinks about what he'd make.
"If you could give this plant to someone, who would it be? A friend, an enemy? Why?"
A hammer in his chest makes him smile. "Wolf Parade; she's..." The doe is many things, including the mother of the only children he has fathered (ever might, he thinks). "Everything." And of that, he has no shame.
"Well. It is down to you, now. Just those who remain. So tell me: why do you deserve to win? What sets you, personally, apart from the others?"
He avoids the question. "I found a flower that resembles cranes and that is the Motherfather's favored form, isn't it?" He sounds hopeful, if meek. He has no want to say that what sets him personally apart is that he's a coward. (He's trying to change but it's a long road.)
"Uh huh. Except, there's still many of you here -- and so, it's not just about you winning, but them LOSING. Why do you think the kin around you deserve to LOSE?"
He doesn't know how to answer that question. He really doesn't. "They don't. But, maybe I don't more." If that makes any sense.
"Yeah, fine, calm down." He gestures with one paw as he says it, in a way that's comical and not at all dignified or legendary, and then eases back into his Stag form -- looking down at them and tilting his head.
"In truth, these are all offerings to Matope. What would you ask for, with yours?"
It's the easy question and yet it's hardest to say. "C-cour-" he swallows and then puffs out his chest, straightens his shoulders, holds his head eye. "Courage. I would ask for courage."
A flock of feathers -- or perhaps birds -- seem to mingle on the end of a long green stem. It is only because the miniature cranes, herons -- stork maybe -- do not move at all, save for the ruffling from the breeze, that it becomes clear it is not animal but indeed plant.
Never Idle nods as he looks over the goodies, his eyes narrowed and expression thoughtful. He makes eye contact with all the kin, and those whose offerings he thinks are good enough remain. The others are sent home, tails between their legs.
Now, though, he wants more information. His mouth shifts as he considers. "Alright, then. Tell me where this came from. The plains? the swamp? Trees, mud, water? What is its source?"
"I-it was in the swamp, where the water has washed away soil until it is sand. It was hiding in the shade of the mangroves," his voice stumbles at first but grows more steady as his words continue. Still when the words dry up he swallows thickly.
They are all interesting items, and they all catch his eye in different ways -- each from a different place, with a different story, with a different home. They are all unique, at least in one way, so no one is sent home. They all make him humm.
"How did you get it, then? And how did you bring it here?"
"My turtle," he starts -- as if to punctuate to the statement, a blue tortoise walks into the back of the buck's left leg -- showing only resignation when the reptile interrupts him. "My turtle cut it down after I pulled it from the ground. I carried it on my back most of the way." The stem has now become draped over his neck and the flowers seem to bloom from his chest.
"It sounds like that took some work…" his eyes narrowed as he said it, head tipped to the side and expression thoughtful. It took thought and, yes, a bit of daring. Or trouble. Or strength. They show difference.
"So, answer me this. If your plant were a kin, which species would it be? Acha? Totoma? Kimeti? Why?"
"An acha; they seem delicate," he seems embarrassed by the answer but he remembers dancing acha. They were so like birds.
"That was a really stupid question." It comes with a snicker, with his eyes narrowed and his tail swishing -- and as he says it, the Stag shape of Never Idle melts down into a more nimble mongoose, hopping in closer to touch the plant.
"I can't believe you answered it. Try this one instead -- if I were to make an accessory or talisman out of this, what would you ask for? What would you suggest?"
He flushes -- if his fur was not so vivid, the reddened skin was be easy to see. (As he is red, he likely seems eternally flustered.) "Ah, oh, a neck--um." The snicker has brought back the stutter and stumble. "I don't know." He deflates a little at that.
It's down to five of them, now. Five plants remain. Five he looks over.
"I might just do that. With the winner. If they're lucky." A mongoose grinning is an intimidating sight, but at least it melts away quickly. He circles the objects that remain, mouth pressed into a line instead, and thinks about what he'd make.
"If you could give this plant to someone, who would it be? A friend, an enemy? Why?"
A hammer in his chest makes him smile. "Wolf Parade; she's..." The doe is many things, including the mother of the only children he has fathered (ever might, he thinks). "Everything." And of that, he has no shame.
"Well. It is down to you, now. Just those who remain. So tell me: why do you deserve to win? What sets you, personally, apart from the others?"
He avoids the question. "I found a flower that resembles cranes and that is the Motherfather's favored form, isn't it?" He sounds hopeful, if meek. He has no want to say that what sets him personally apart is that he's a coward. (He's trying to change but it's a long road.)
"Uh huh. Except, there's still many of you here -- and so, it's not just about you winning, but them LOSING. Why do you think the kin around you deserve to LOSE?"
He doesn't know how to answer that question. He really doesn't. "They don't. But, maybe I don't more." If that makes any sense.
"Yeah, fine, calm down." He gestures with one paw as he says it, in a way that's comical and not at all dignified or legendary, and then eases back into his Stag form -- looking down at them and tilting his head.
"In truth, these are all offerings to Matope. What would you ask for, with yours?"
It's the easy question and yet it's hardest to say. "C-cour-" he swallows and then puffs out his chest, straightens his shoulders, holds his head eye. "Courage. I would ask for courage."
