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Character: Detraeus
Stage: Expert
Level: 105
Exp: 25/105

Life Points: 1070
Energy: 870

INT: 60
ATK: 147
DEF: 146
LUK: 107
LUK EXP: 0/3

Inventory

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- Ysali Dragon Orb x 9

- Ayrala Dragon Orb x 2

- Kiandri Dragon Orb x 3

- Firani Dragon Orb x 6

- Peisio Dragon Orb x 9

- Aiskala Dragon Orb x 3

- Gaili Dragon Orb x 3

- Aedaun Dragon Orb x 2

- Diabi Dragon Orb x 19

- Royal Venom x 9

- Health Potion x 11

- Shield of the Ancients x 1



Ingredients

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- Copper Bars x 10

- Cah Shell Piece x 8

- Borlarn Hide x 2

- Toxic Groda Mushroom x 3

- Moonstone x 6

- Plain Cloth x 99




Equipped

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Head slot:
Chest slot: Gold Gilt Iron Breast-Plate +11 DEF
Back slot:
Hand slot:
Arm slot:
Waist slot:
Leg slot:
Foot slot:



Unequipped

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none



Tomes and Recipes

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Enchantment Recipes


Vampiric Weapon
Enables your weapon to steal another's life force to heal yourself.
Ingredients: x1 Blood Ink, x3 Dunkel Wings, x2 Tiny Tooth
Produces: For a successful hit that deals damage, gain 20 LP back. If their defense is higher than your damage and absorbs all damage, they do not take damage and you don't gain health back.

STAGE: Orakovan
BREED: Gaili Khehora
PATH: Feral Battler
LVL: 15
EXP: 8/15

LP: 240
ENG: 240

INT: 11
ATK: 28
DEF: 23
LUK: 10
LUK EXP: 0/3
Final Word Count: -

((Capture rolls for Naar then Carrion))

"I think it's time for you to consider letting that poor thing go- Ack! Naarhiji, stop squishing it like that," Loric exclaimed as a muted squeak! cut off his words. With a grimace, he swatted at the younger boy's hands.

Naar ripped himself out of range of attack and turned narrowed, accusing eyes on his old man as his lip jutted out in a pout. "I'm not letting him go! He's finally better-ish. Mostly," he informed his father definitively. The bouken poked its head from between the young Oblivionite's clasped hands, making Naar giggle delightedly as short, stubbly fur tickled his palms. It wriggled between his hands before finally settling down in what Naar assumed must have been a comfortable position. The smaller boy beamed in delight as a large glassy eye turned up toward him. In all honesty, the bouken had been a really ugly little thing once Avridi was done with it; missing an eye and its tail, it's left ear shredded down to a sad little nub, and its fur disgustingly patchy and diseased-looking. Under most circumstances, Naar never would've taken it home, let alone actually kept it.

But somehow, the days had transformed it from a hideous, mangled creature into an adorable little squirt of a beast. It would never recover it's missing extremities, and it would never grow fur where it had scarred. That made it different from all the other boukens, and so even more special in turn. Plus it had one thick patch of fur right on its forehead. Naar hummed in delight and squished it again, earning a muffled squeak as the bouken curled up tightly in the space between his palms.

Loric grimaced. "Here," he grunted, shoving a little cardboard box with a plastic lid at Naar; the bouken's makeshift nest for the time being. "This thing has caused enough trouble, and I don't want to see it again. Take it out to the woods and let it go. It'll be happier that way."

~~~

"So unfair..." Naar grumbled as he sat at the forest's edge, knees pulled up to his chest while he stared down into the little box. The bouken stared back, perching itself on its back legs and stretching up to sniff the box's lid inquisitively. The Oblivionite swished his lips. It didn't seem unhappy, and it would just be eaten by a predator if he let it go... Father was pretty upset, though... Unfortunately, the bouken was a good target for Loric to blame for Naarhiji's suspension. He only had the little beast because he'd punched one of his classmates, anyway. Sure, the poor thing hadn't purposefully been caught and tortured, but it was easier to be angry at the creature, than it was to be at his own son.

It was even more annoying that Naar understood the reasoning.

With a sigh, he tipped the box on it's side and peeled away the lid. A nose peeked out, then a head, then a body, taking slow steps out of its confines and onto the grass.

Detraeus disliked deadlines on principle. They imposed strict provisions on when, precisely, a task had to be performed, when a standard needed to be met, or when some event needed to occur. He preferred to assume that as a general rule of fate and the goddess’ will in regards to time, the natural order of things stated that events happened precisely when they happened, not a moment before or later. Deadlines, in that light, were a false attempt by his fellow mortals to impose rules on things beyond control.

Irregardless, he understood their purpose in the context of daily life and tended to abide by them when it served his purposes to do so. In this case, it did. He had traveled to Soudul — as he was oft to do these days — as hired arms, paid to guard a traveling merchant and, in the words of his employer: ‘Shoot anything ‘at comes w‘thin a mile’s sweep o’ me if it’s lookin’ t’ have teeth, claws, ‘r a bad attitude…’

It was a job Detraeus considered himself fairly adept at performing. While his services were not needed, however, he saw no additional requirement or obligation — moral or contractual — to linger any longer than absolutely necessary for the sole purpose of ‘enjoying the company’ of his fellow sellswords while they told poorly organized jokes, drank, carried on, and generally tormented the locals with their presence. Their collective employer would not need their services again for the remainder of the evening, and Detraeus happily took the opportunity to alleviate himself of their presence.

What he found instead, upon traveling just outside the city limits, was entirely unexpected, but — he supposed — as good an excuse for distraction as any. Malta’s large form was difficult to miss under most circumstances, even when she was making an admirable effort to become one with the surrounding forestry. Here, though, on the outer edge of the main city, was the last place he would have expected to find her. Curious, and with little better to do, Detraeus let his path shift to follow her.

Jijikko’s attention darted everywhere at once, indecisive as a dragon trying to decide which of the wide array of plump sheron and Magescians before it that it ought to consume first. In this case, however, his intentions were much more innocent and peaceable. For all that he vouched of his various adventures and classified himself a ‘great explorer,’ he simply had not travelled to a great portion of Magesc’s continents, let alone all the locations possible of being explored therein. Soudul was one of them.

So, the expansive, bulbous and efflorescent fungal forests that stretched out beneath him drew his attention like a magnet: broad, oddly glowing mushroom tops, strange grasses, obscure creatures, and the scents. His snout identified dozens, hundreds — perhaps thousands — of new scents, all complex and intermingled into one another, and he wanted desperately to dive down, immerse himself in the landscape, explore, and taste. Surely something here was edible.

What, though, he didn’t suppose he could be sure, and the unnatural (to his eyes), typically poisonously vibrant blues and purples were not necessarily comforting. Of course, his stomach cared little for ‘logical’ concerns, and it rumbled impatiently at simply the passing thought of sustenance, so Jijikko considered that perhaps hunting something live would be safer than taking his chances with the plants. He preferred meat anyway. Not to mention…

He eyed the khehora in front of him, and for a moment, became entirely distracted by the pleasant swish of Carrion’s tail and the back-end view in general. Easy to appreciate, he thought, despite being quite small as a whole. That, perhaps, was a positive in the end anyway.

Then, he remembered why he’d turned his attention to Carrion in the first place and opened his mouth. Unfortunately, just before he voiced his question, Carrion answered his question for him by asking about Soudul. He’d hoped that Carrion knew enough himself to give good advice on what he could put in his mouth that wouldn’t kill him. Then again, perhaps Carrion did know, and was only asking out of curiosity’s sake?

“I—” Before he could even begin his answer, Carrion took a swerve and dive for the fungal forests below, and Jijikko snorted, miffed, but dove all but immediately after anyway. He landed — not quite so gracefully as Carrion, but suitably enough, anyway — beside his companion with minimal crashing of branches and shook himself off as he trotted up beside him. “Never!” he answered, grinning as though Carrion hadn’t just left him in the sky immediately after asking a question. “But it looks fascinating. I don’t suppose you know where to look for—”

He froze mid-sentence, tail stiffening and snout rising as he caught a scent — miraculously familiar — amidst the multitude of new and unidentifiable ones. After a fraction of a second, his stomach rumbled happily, and his eyes gleamed.

“Bouken.”

Without wasting a spare second to ascertain if Carrion had divulged even a whit of sense from his single-word outburst, Jijikko dashed off in the direction of the scent. He bounded through the trees, crashing heedlessly through fungi and brush, and eventually pounced, talons creating a makeshift cage over and snout nose to nose with…

…quite possibly the most pathetic looking bouken he had ever laid eyes on.

Jijikko frowned at it. Barely half a mouthful. And it wasn’t even struggling properly! Was it sick? Perhaps he oughtn’t eat it if it was sick. Diseased creatures could pass their diseases that way, and one swallow wasn't worth that, no matter how hungry he was. Besides, if—

His thought process trailed off as he noticed the Magescian — and another khehora — and then another Magescian, in retrospect, and tilted his head at them.

“Er.” His tail flicked. “Sorry, were you…‘hunting’ this?”

Naar tipped his head at the curious female khehora, though was no less suspicious of her motives. She was just so... strange. It was as if she was too innocent. It was sickening enough to make Naar grimace at her, despite her cheery, carefree words. Especially when she caused embittered feelings about freeing the only creature that brought him joy to resurface "No," he bit out with a scowl, glaring at the tiny form as it huddled on the ground. "My father is making me get rid of it, so-"

He cut off as the very earth rumbled beneath his feet. Sounds of something crashing along through the forest reached his ears. The bouken squeaked in alarm and had only an instant to back-peddle toward its human caretaker before it was trapped in the talons of a large, sharp-toothed khehora. Anything Naar feared of Malta was instantly forgotten in the face of what looked and acted like a real predator. Where he at least had the courage to screech at Malta, with this new beast, every muscle in his body tightened, steeling him to the ground and holding him there like a pair of claws were clasped around him.

It spoke.

Seconds ticked by as Naarhiji's mind, in its befuddled state, tried to decipher what the creature had said. It might have been speaking full-blown dragon for all he understood.

In the meantime, a second khehora leapt from the path the first had taken. Carrion's tail swished as he pounced over to Jijiko's side, flopping to the ground on his belly and scratching his claws against Jiji's, encouraging him to move to the side if he was going to hesitate. "You're so rude," he scoffed as he attempted to nudge his snout beneath his companion's talons. "You're supposed to offer food to your friends before allowing yourself to eat." Never mind that the Gaili could probably devour more than Carrion's body weight in any given day.

When another set of claws joined in, Carrion bristled, whirling to glare at the female Ysali who'd interrupted him. He opened his maw to snap at her to leave them alone, but a high-pitched, squeaky voice beat him to it.

"Stop touching him," Naar shouted, his voice wavering, even as his feet further cemented themselves to the ground.