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DraconicFeline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
99
Total: 99 (1-100)
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 Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 12:42 pm
Character || Biroki
Stage || Sage
Battling || Spitorog
Battle Stat || 25
Defense || 5
Roll Needed || 50-100
Rolled || 99
Outcome || Win
Experience earned ||
( 4x 6 ) / 3 + 15 = 23 exp
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DraconicFeline rolled 2 100-sided dice:
91, 54
Total: 145 (2-200)
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 12:46 pm
Taming || Spitorog
Attack Stat || 25+ 4 = 28
Speed Stat || 19 + 3 = 21
Intelligence || 4
Roll 1 Needed || 70-100
Roll 2 Needed || 75-100
Rolled || 91, 54
Outcome || Not
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 1:14 pm
As the heavy rains soaked the ground outside, Biroki tried to ignore the Spitorog. He went about his business as if it wasn't staring at him, but he was just too on edge now, and every time he tried not to notice the bug-eyed thing, he noticed it. Clearly. Plainly. Annoyingly. He could feel its innocently stupid gaze boring at least one metaphorical hole into him, and, as he touched up the beds, he finally snapped. He'd had enough. With a growl of frustration, he grabbed the spitorog and hauled it off across the settlement yet again, this time heading northward into the more dense part of the Neued region of the jungle. It did not resist, just let him handle it limply, croaking occasionally when his movements squeezed it.
It was still quiet, though the skirmishers were starting to return from their battlefield excursions, along with the goods they had managed to salvage.
And, of course, the bodies. Biroki was thankful that the dead would find a quieter - comparatively speaking - place to rest, and that they had been retrieved sucessfully. After his run in with the lady's spirit several years ago, he'd been acutely aware of how dangerous the supernatural could be. It was always good to give the dead less reasons to stick around.
He walked along the path for a ways and, finding a suitable spot, plunked the spitorog down and walked away, hoping that it wouldn't follow and, conversely, that if it did follow it would tire before following the whole way.
He returned to the tent and, finding little for him to do there, he set to cleaning the mud off of his feet and the floor. Suddenly, from behind him, a dreaded croaking. He looked back, then down, his spine tingling with a eerie chill. It was the Spitorog, sitting at his feet, looking - he assumed - at him with one of its bulbous eyes, its mouth producing the soft, white, bubbly foam that the hopping creatures were known for. It bubbled up at him as he stared at it, his face becoming a mask of silent frustration.
"Augh!" he exclaimed. Why wouldn't it go away?! What did he have to do to get rid of it?! One of the healers in the tent looked at him sympathetically - they knew him and how he could get and they understood - they were all under a lot of stress here.
They suggested that, instead of carrying the spitorog away again, that Biroki pick it up and put it in a box. That way, he would know where it was, it would be out of the way, and he could move it at will. Biroki thought that was a great idea. He found an empty wooden crate, formerly filled with bandages, its contents long used. It was an easy matter to locate the Spitorog and pick it up, its soft flesh giving under his hands. It didn't struggle or even puff up as the creatures sometimes did. It just hung there, limply breathing, as he carried it to the crate and plopped it in, closing it with a lid.
Satisfied with this solution, he went back to sweeping. Suddenly, he was alerted by a muffled clatter and a wet, splatting sound. He turned to investigate. The crate's lid was on the floor, its occupant nowhere to be seen. At first, he was relieved - he thought it was gone.
But then, there was a ribbit from behind him and he stifled a groan as he turned again to see, perched again on the shelf, the spitorog, staring at him yet again.
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