|
|
|
|
|
DraconicFeline rolled 2 100-sided dice:
97, 4
Total: 101 (2-200)
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 9:17 am
Character || Biroki
Stage || Sage
Battling || Spitorog x 2
Battle Stat || 25
Defense || 5
Roll Needed || 50-100
Rolled || 97, 4
Outcome || win x 1, Loss x 1
Experience earned ||
( 4 x 6 ) / 3 = 8
+
( 4 x 2 ) / 3 = 3
= 11 exp
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 11:38 am
Biroki tried to work alongside the spitorogs and ignore them, but somehow they always hopped into the exact wrong place for doing his inventory.
He was, trying, though, but the bad day slipped to worse as the patients got sicker and sicker, to the frustration of the healers. He could hear it, and - though he knew better - he couldn't help thinking that it was somehow his fault.
Finally, he could ignore the little annoyances no longer. He glared right back at them, to no avail, of course. He poked one, only to have it ribbit and continue staring at him.
Biroki sighed. "Well. Lets try again." he mumbled, picking up the unresisting spitorogs under each armpit and carrying them off. The settlement was quiet now, most people either gone, scouting, or out on the battlefield.
Quiet, of course, save for the occasional croaking of his two companions. Their dull spikes dug into his skin uncomfortably, and he had to adjust them several times along the way.
In all honesty, Biroki did not hate spitorogs. They didn't do any real harm to anybody - they just sat there, ribbited, and stared. The only harm they could do was if you stepped on one, and with their bright colors that was more your fault than theirs. In fact, he kind of liked them. They were as awkward and ridiculous as he had been not so many years ago.
He plunked them down in a wetland - a different wetland, this time, from the one before - and made sure they were both comfortable and well situated. He hoped that, with the change in wetlands, they would be happy to stay here, away from his shelves. Or, alternatively, that they wouldn't be able to find their way back. he checked to make sure they were there, before he left, dashing away quickly before slowing to a steady walk.
That should work he thought to himself, pleased, as he returned to the tent. He kept an ear out for the distinctive grunts of the small creature following, and was met with blessed silence. Well, not silence - this was Jahuar after all. His small ears were met with the usual Southern Jahuar win of chirping and shrieks, and wind through the peaks, and the uncanny sound of fog condensing and dripping from the leaves. He heard the thunder of the late afternoon rains approaching - they would soon be upon them, and the shuffling of the capramel, brought from Sauti, in a nearby pen, yet to be moved to safer places. But no grunts or ribbits. He smiled in satisfaction and, relieved, returned to his duties.
He had finished going through the supplies that they could allow to be sent away with the caravans that were leaving, and had just set them out under a tarp when the rains broke, a typical Jahuar deluge that made every leaf and branch and mushroom and crystal into a amphora, carrying the water down to the damp, thirsting depths of the jungle. He liked the rains, but he also liked being dry, and, after checking to make sure the tarp would hold, he returned to his healer tent and did a few chores.
Suddenly, to his great dread, he heard... a ribbit, followed by a wet plopping sound. He turned to the entrance and found, there, a single spitorog, wet and dirty and not particularly caring. As he watched, it hopped back onto the shelf and sat there, looking at him.
"Wonderful..." Biroki grumbled.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
