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DraconicFeline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
63
Total: 63 (1-100)
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 Posted: Mon Dec 09, 2013 7:48 am
Character || Ruelash
Stage || Swordsman
Battling || Nehredile
Battle Stat || 17
Defense || 12
Roll Needed || 80-100
Rolled || 63
Outcome || Loss
Experience earned || 13
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Posted: Sat Dec 14, 2013 2:28 pm
He was still after the Nehredile he called Khashib, after a character in a story. Khashib the nehredile (and the character) were many things: a nehredile, a fat b*****d, a trickster, and doomed. Ruelash swore foully as he tried to get warm and dry off from his latest misadventure. He had been on the ice, waiting by a Gorgorum hole as he did. There had already been a nehredile herd on the ice, but none of them were HIS. They didn't have the jagged marks, or the distinctive glitter in their eyes. He'd have happily killed them all the same, but they had fled at his approach. He had decided, instead, to sit and wait. He had waited and waited, but nothing came forth from the hole. In irritation, he had snuck over and peered down into the icy waters more than a foot below the surface. He thought he knew why nothing was coming up- the hole was closing, ice and snow beginning to choke it and heal the breech. He began to clear it out with a pole. It was rough work, but necessary, unless he wanted to find another hole, which he didn't feel like doing. Finally, he finished, proud of his handiwork, but he didn't have very long to enjoy the newly opened hole, before he was shoved in. Fortunately, he had his pitons and only splashed into the freezing water once before he grappled his way out, fast enough to see a familiar shape sliding away.
Khashib!
With a roar, he charged at the creature. He had been catching up- he had caught up- but his blade swipe had missed- barely nicking the trickster's tail before the nehredile slipped into another hole and vanished into the waters. He hadn't been able to stop fast enough to avoid another icy splashing, but had made it out and had went, immediately, back to his camp in the cave. He warmed his frigid hands and took a gulp of the soup that warmed his chilled chest. His eyes, though, blazed with rage.
He would get that nehredile. He would take them down one of these days, and show it why the original Khashib's story had an ending.
((Note: Khashib, in my head, is a trickster character sort of like Brer Rabbit or any other trickster character. I might write a folk story about him for a story contest...))
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