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DraconicFeline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
27
Total: 27 (1-100)
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 Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 3:31 pm
 Malta Ysali Orakovan
Location: Soldul
Taming Records:Assists:
Bouken: 1
Completely Failed Attempts:
Uruu: 3
Drouil: 2
Hastar: 1
Successful Captures:
Uruu: 1
Successful Tames:
Hastar: 1
Successful Trains:
Uruu: 1
Bouken: 1
Attempting:Relevant Bonuses:Base: 50-100 +5 Mara Hunter + 30 capture, +10 all other steps (Khehora) (15-100 Capture 35-100 Taming and training)
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Posted: Sun Nov 09, 2014 3:11 pm
“All right, Malta.” said Reegel, watching her. It was strange to see him in the filtered light of Soldul's day – his dark, brown-specked scales seemed dulled in it, less imposing. He was not usually up in the day, so his presence was, specifically, to train her... because, as the elder had told her to, she had said yes.
It was a year and change since the mara, a few months since her return from the city, and two days after a magescian had tried to kill her for her blood and hide. The elder had told her to learn to fight, and she had thought about it, and thought about it, and in the end – as always – the elder was right. She had to learn.
“Today, we teach you to hunt properly. Not little pittances like bouken, or someone else's kill, or...” he made a face, revealing his striking, ivory white teeth. “Plants.”
Malta listened reluctantly, sitting on her meaty haunches. “I like plants...” she mumbled in protest, slumping.
“I know you do, but they are not fit meat for a khehora, and you don't hunt them – you simply find them.”
Malta wanted to argue that a good plant was as much of a hunt as any animal, but since she'd never hunted anything bigger than a bouken – and rarely even those on purpose – she didn't think she could judge.
“No. This time, we are hunting Ghargon. They are big, meaty, and not too much of a challenge...” he huffed, “But more than a bouken. Definitely.” He stood over a track in the murk of the forest floor. “This is a Ghargon track. We follow it, and it will lead us to the herd...” he moved back. “Come and smell.”
Malta did as she was told. Mud and spores mixed with the smell of animal, leading out and away into the shaded depths of the forest.
“Now follow it. I will be just behind you.”
Again, Malta did as she was told. She jogged alongside the tracks, trying to follow them as her chubby legs smacked against her sides. She was leaner than she had been before, and there was muscle beneath the fat, but she was still – undeniably – pudgy.
The tracks were soon joined by others, and then by fresh spoor. She sniffed it, detecting notes of contentment and well fed. Her stomach rumbled subtly. “Are we close?” she asked, turning to the Diabi, spying his eyes and shadowy form lurking in the darkness.
“You tell me.” he said neutrally, watching her.
“I think we are. I think theres a herd of them, and they're just a ways ahead...”
“Mmm.” he said, “Well, we shall see if you're right.”
Malta looked at him for a moment, trying to read his features, but he kept them carefully masked. “All right.” she said finally, starting ahead again.
The trail was not hard to follow, becoming rut-like and wet, the mud recently churned by many stomping feet. Malta began to feel excitement – the nervous kind – build up in her breast. This was, in truth, her first real hunt, and it was bizzarely exciting. She had hunted herbs before, tracking their scents through thicket and wood, but nothing like this, nothing so mobile and large.
Of course, there was the question of what she would do when she found the Ghargon – she had no idea, and the thought of killing one of the beasts upset her on a deep level - but she hoped that Reegel would have advice for that. She didn't want to disappoint him.
The smell became stronger, fresher, and mustier, and she trotted along, dutifully, beside it until another scent hit her nose – one not of the living.
Blood.
She looked questioningly at Reegel, and then out along the churned path. Beyond, in the trees, she could see movement and hear the groans of large animals – the Ghargon, presumably – but what drew her luminous blue eyes was a shape on the path ahead. It was small, feline, and battered, its dark fur matted and wet.
“Ah!” she said, approaching it cautiously.
“That's interesting...” murmured Reegel, “It looks like a Giogimar.”
The limp, barely breathing, feline form lifted it's head feebly, struggling to open it's slitted eyes. It's small, useless wings were folded to its sides and its paws were stretched in front of it, as if it had fallen in the middle of a strained step, one of many. Malta could see the brush where it had come from, slathered red with it's blood. “Khe...hora...” it managed, blinking blearily, “Help... me...”
“Ah!” Malta yelped again, “It needs help!” It was injured and speaking and cute, and Malta's healer instincts kicked in. She rushed to it's side.
“Malta, be careful...” warned Reegel, resigned and curious.
The feline looked up at her, resting it's head. “My br-brothers... please... I beg of you... disgraced... bury...” it gasped, and Malta laid a claw on it's side.
“Shh.” she said, “Let me help you.” she said, as she began to work her magic.
Instantly, she was, through her magical inspection, aware of two things: a great slash across it's chest, and a distinct lack of blood. She felt the creature's body strain to work with what it had, it's life force rapidly depleting.
Her first step was to close the wound, forcing it to grow together as fast as she could. It sealed, a weak, fibrous barrier forming between it and the outside world, yet to scab but no longer leaking. With the leak stemmed, Malta replenished the beast's drained life force and set to work repairing the other damages: the loss of blood, the dirt and air that was in places it shouldn't be, the damage and bruising to the organs and wings, the scratches and scrapes from it's journey.
It was easier to pull away from the Giogimar's body than it had been when she had healed Detraeus all that time ago, but she still felt the dizziness, the sense of connection to another living thing with all of it's activity. As she disengaged, she staggered for a moment, her thoughts confused and spinning. Finally, she looked down at the creature, winded.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Tired...” murmured the feline, curling it's splayed legs into a more appropriate resting position, “But... alive.” it looked up at her, it's feline eyes, Malta imagined, full of gratitude. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome!” Malta purred, pleased.
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DraconicFeline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
75
Total: 75 (1-100)
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Posted: Sun Nov 09, 2014 3:12 pm
(Successful Taming)
Reegel stirred. “That was fascinating, Malta, but can we get back to the hunting?” he said, impatient but amused.
“Just a moment, Reegel...” Malta said, tilting her head at the resting feline. “Ser Giogi...” she glanced at Reegel, “Giogimar. You said something before... about help and brothers and... what did you mean?” She saw, here, a potential opportunity to delay the inevitable killing she would have to do. Yes, Ghargon were meat, and she was hungry, but she preferred, ultimately, healing to killing.
The Giogimar rested its head on it's paws. “It is... it is nothing. Please, think nothing of it. You have done enough by healing me. I am grateful...” it's eyes began to close, “Eternally... grateful.”
“No, no no.” Malta said, nudging him, “I want to help you more.” she swallowed guiltily as she caught Reegel's incredulous glare. “What did you mean?” she gave the beast a little jolt of magic. It was one of those rare cases where an herbal tonic would be more efficient, but at the very least it would be awake enough to tell her what it was 'begging of her'.
It blinked, rejuvenated. “Truly?” it said, looking up at her, “Surely... you have better things to do...” it looked groggily at Reegel, “It is nothing, I shall do it myself...”
“No, no.” she said. Reegel bared a single tooth at her and she looked at him pleadingly, “We would love to help.”
Reegel stared her down, and then relented, shaking his head. “All right,” he said, “I'll bite, what would you want...” he squinted at Malta, “If we decide to help.”
Almost reluctantly, the Giogimar licked its lips. “Very well. My brothers are dead, killed by the filthy twolegs that guard the town at the coast, not far from here. We worshipped a dragon, and he demanded a sacrifice to prove our loyalty, so we tried to steal away one of the twolegs, as our patron finds... found... their flesh delectable. But this twoleg slew my brothers, and wounded me. I survived and escaped, but my brothers...” he hissed weakly, “They will be defiled and disgraced. They are my littermates and I owe them very little but an honorable death. Their pelts shall not grace the bosom of a twolegger, nor shall their claws or teeth. I must retrieve their bodies and leave them in the woods or buried... but I had not the strength to retrieve them...”
“We'll do it!” said Malta, cheerily, “We'll get them back.”
“Really, Malta?” said Reegel, “You want to go into a Magescian town and ask for two Giogimar carcasses.”
“Sure!” Malta said, “It's the least I can do!”
“Why?” asked Reegel, “You don't owe the creature anything.”
“No.” agreed the Giogimar, “You do not. I said I would do this myself. You need not involve yourself.”
“You need rest.” insisted Malta. She pawed out some leaf litter under a mushroom, “Stay here and we'll help you!”
“I...” the Giogimar stared at her and then, with reluctance but obvious exhaustion, staggered over onto the sheltered bed and curled up... “Would be grateful,” it murmured, “though I do not know how I can repay you...”
“We can think about that later!” Malta laughed, “Come on Reegel!” she said, curiously merry, “Lets go?”
He stared at her, “Now Malta... Hold on. I didn't agree to any of this. Besides, how will you find this town? Come on, Malta, lets hunt...”
“We follow the trail!” she said, sniffing at the Giogimar's blood from where it had dragged itself through the bushes, “It'll lead us right to where he was attacked!” she pranced forward, into the woods, “See?”
Reegel sighed. “Malta...”
“C'mon1” she said, and Reegel had no choice but to catch up to his cousin...
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Posted: Sun Nov 09, 2014 9:08 pm
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Posted: Mon Nov 10, 2014 9:05 pm
Ever since she had run into the giogimar, Malta had been feeling giddy. A hyperactive energy coursed through her, inspiring her to activity and driving her to contemplate the craziest things.
And what she had done was crazy, and, as she returned to where she had left the injured giogimar, the two carcasses in her mouth, she realized it. The good, energized feeling that had borne her into the magescian town and beneath the Oblivionite's blade was fading, leaving behind a painfully sane horror at what she had just done.
Her wound was already healing, her body drawing on what remained of her native reserves of magic to heal it. By the time she returned to the familiar site, it had healed, but the memory of how close she had come to the blade's edge stood out stark and clear.
Abronaxus's scales, she'd almost been killed. What had she been thinking? She'd been foolish, that was what she had been, and she wasn't sure why she'd done it at all. To help? Perhaps. To delay? Perhaps too. She did want to help, and she did want to delay killing things, but there had to be something else, some other reason why she had acted that way...
She'd been daring. She'd been reckless. She had taken on a task without thinking and just charged into it, braving all odds to get it done, to retrieve the dead giogimar. It was not like her at all. It was downright stupid.
Malta did not like to think of herself as stupid. She knew she wasn't stupid. She was an alchemist, a crafter: she was smart. That much, even the Shadows Maw tribe acknowledged about her. She could list off every herb native to Endeldarth, it's typical use, it's interactions with other herbs, and her own experiences with it in her cauldron. She knew poisons by name, by type, by subtype and could describe how every – or almost every – one worked in the body, be it magescian, khehora, or beast. She was smart.
So why did she feel so stupid? Why had she been so stupid? Malta couldn't understand it, though she tried to as she trudged through the forest.
Reegel was quiet, very quiet, a hulking brown shadow beside her. He was often quiet, but not like this. This quiet was thoughtful and unnerving, not at all what Malta was used to. Usually, he at least said something.
But Malta's mouth was full of dead, not-edible animal, and so she couldn't speak to him, or start anything. She could only feel his eyes on her and sense his appraisal, and she wondered what it meant.
Finally, they returned to where they had come. The scent and sounds of the ghargon were still ahead, and the giogimar was in the shade of the mushroom, where they had left him. Malta hesitated for a moment.
Should she have done what she had? Should she have gone at all? Would it have been better to just heal the creature and be done with it? She thought so. She should have smiled, murred sympathetically, and let the giogimar deal with it's problems itself. It was it's problems, not hers – it's business, not hers.
But it was done. Malta opened her mouth and let the carcasses fall, nudging them into some semblance of dignity. “I brought them.” she said neutrally, feeling like a fool.
The giogimar raised it's head sleepily from it's paws – clearly it had not moved from that spot since they had left. It studied her face with it's luminous gaze, which drifted to the ground and the giogimar that lay, dead, there. Those, too, it studied for a moment, solemnly, before flicking an ear and resting its head, again, on its paws.
“Good.” it said.
“What do you want to do with them?” asked Malta. She had no options to offer.
“Leave them in the brush there, perhaps.” the giogimar moved it's wings in an exhausted mental shrug, “It is enough that they are no longer...” it shuddered at the word, “Commodities. Now they return to the forest and the primal energy that suffuses all of Magesc. No more needs to be done.” It looked up at her, “Was it... difficult to retrieve them, khehora?” it asked.
“Oh, um...” Malta considered his question. She'd foolishly snuck into a town full of magescians, and had somehow managed to not be killed by one, an effort that had been more luck than anything. “A little.” she admitted.
“Mmm.” the giogimar murmured, slumping to it's side, “I... see. I owe you, indeed...” it looked at her thoughtfully, but it's eyes soon closed as its body insistently returned it to its healing sleep.
Reegel looked at it for a moment, and shrugged his wings, his expression – formerly neutral – now decidedly amused. “We can talk about owing or not owing later.” he said amiably, rounding on Malta, “For now, you hunt.” he grinned toothily as she cringed back, “Oh no.” he said, before she could protest, “You are not getting out of that so easily, cousin. I am going to teach you to hunt, and clearly you can track and sneak and move when you want to... so, let me see it. Take down a ghargon. With your own claws.” he gestured to the nearby grunting, “Go on, then.”
Malta looked at her cousin, her glowing eyes clouded with misgiving. “Can't we... delay it... maybe?” she looked meaningfully at the giogimar, “And get them somewhere safer?”
“Nope.” said Reegel. He flicked his tongue at her. “You wan't to take him to your lair?” he shrugged, “Suit yourself. But only...” he said, a little bit of ferocity leaking into his otherwise calm voice, “if you catch a ghargon.”
“But...”
“I didn't wake up in the day to babysit you while you run headfirst into magescian camps, cousin. I woke up to teach you how to hunt like a proper khehora. So...” he gave her a soft whap on the rump with a careful forepaw, “Hunt.”
Malta flinched, but she could see no way out of it. Reluctantly, she crouched and, with a look back towards Reegel, began to stalk into the underbrush.
Malta was a bulky khehora, covered in natural padding and heavy on her feet: in other words, not built for stealth. However, her magic did help her, it's power blending her with the natural environment. Detraeus had likened her to a 'mossy boulder', but what her magic really did was make her appear right, more completely normal and unnoticable than usual. It was not a complete chamouflage, but it was enough to escape notice from the simple-minded ghargon for the time being.
They were large, feathered beasts, their muscles powerful under short-cropped fur. They were bunched in a herd, each one placidly eating and calm because it knew it's fellows would any danger and protect it. Malta wished she had a herd of her own to protect her and fight for her. She would be fine surrounded by warriors. Not that she would not pull her weight in such a scenario – she was a healer after all – but to have company, to have someone else bloody their claws, the thought was appealing.
Not this lone hunting. It was too primal for her more 'civilized tastes'. But she had no choice and, besides, Reegel was right. She had asked him to do this for her, and she needed to learn. She knew she did.
But – she stared out of the brush at them – how did she go about taking one down? There were no gaps in the herd and no obvious stragglers to thin out. In fact, as she inspected them over and over again, there was no single one that stood out to her as prey - They were all healthy and strong.
Still, though, she had to kill one. The giogimar was relying on her – or so she felt. The creature would heal so much better in her lair, with her to watch over and baby it, and she did so want to. But she knew that if she failed to take a ghargon, and Reegel wished to punish her for her cowardice, he could prevent her from bringing the giogimar home. He could even – gods forbid – kill it where it lay. So she knew she had to do this – if not for her sake, than for the creature's. Since she could not find away... she clenched her jaw resolutely... she would have to make a way.
She ducked behind the bush and brought forth her magic, sinking it into the ground and into the tangled web of myceum and roots that made up Endeldarth's underground web of life. It was a beautiful thing, this web, carrying nutrients from far away to exactly where they were needed. It had other uses too, of course, which she tapped into as she coaxed it to entangle the thick leg of one of the ghargon in tough thready structures. Soon, despite the natural movement of the herd, the ghargon was forced to remain and, thus, to become vulnerable. Malta knew she had to take the oppurtunity.
“I'm sorry...” murmured Malta just before she pounced onto it amid the sudden, startled bleating of the herd. The feeling of her claws raking into it's thick flesh and her teeth sinking into its neck disgusted her with it's softness and metallic tanginess, and she nearly gagged as she could hear and feel the moment when it's life ended. But soon, it was over. Soon, it lay still in her claws, the herd moving away from her danger.
She unwrapped the roots and was about to drag it away when Reegel stepped out of the shadows, crooning a khehoran applause. “Well.” he said, smiling, “Congratulations. Your first, true, proper kill.”
Malta looked down at the dead ghargon. She felt dirtied, in a way deeper than just the blood that now stained her muzzle and paws.
“Go ahead: it's your kill, you get the first bite. Hope you don't mind if I share it after that, though.” he said. She shook her head: she didn't mind. “And then, when we're full, we bring the rest of it home...” he smiled, “and, yes, your new 'friend' as well.” he sat, watching her. “Good work, Malta.”
Malta didn't feel good at all as she looked at the dead animal, still cooling in the autumn evening, but she knew what she had to do – what was expected of her.
Nervously, with much reluctance, she began to eat.
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DraconicFeline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
49
Total: 49 (1-100)
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Posted: Mon Nov 10, 2014 9:07 pm
Malta took care of the giogimar for several days in her lair, in a bed of soft leaves and discarded feathers that she had made especially for it. It was clear that, as a healer, she was the sort that liked to dote on a patient, mothering it and tending to it.
The giogimar, for his part, was a good patient. He did not complain or demand beyond what was appropriate and respectful, and was pleasant and polite in its speech. He grew stronger every day, watching her as she worked on her potions and greeting her when she came back from intensive training sessions with her cousins.
Soon, he was well enough to stand and move, and Malta fully expected him to leave her care on his own and wander off to fates unknown. He was, after all, independent and sly, just the sort that would do so.
But he remained, long after he could have left, and she found that, when she returned from training exhausted, achy, and miserable, he would be waiting for her with a bowl of water or a snack. As he watched her work, that water was then accompanied by a cup of invigorating tea, and then, later still, by healing balms that eased the aches and pains of her body.
She became fond of the giogimar, especially when it began to ask questions about her potions. She was all too happy to tell someone how they worked, and she regaled the beast with all the fascinating things she knew about potions and poisons. She became used to having him around, his nest in her lair an almost permanent feature as he stayed for weeks, and then months.
One afternoon, she woke up to his yellow-eyed, intense stare. She stared back at him, and they were quiet for a few moments, staring at each other. Finally, he spoke.
“I have decided.” he said. His glossy, mottled-black fur gleamed with health now, the scars of his formerly serious wounds now no more than creases in it's lustrous smoothness.
Malta blinked. “Decided?” she asked, sitting up. Was this it? she wondered, Was he finally leaving, after all this time? Of course, she had wondered why the feline had stayed so long in her lair, but she knew she would miss him if he left: his company and his assistance were welcome.
“Yes.” he said, “Decided...” he was silent for a moment more, enough for Malta's heart to beg him, silently, to just come out with it already so it could know whether to be broken or not. She knew then that it would hurt if the giogimar were to leave, but, if he had already decided, there was nothing he could do.
“Decided what?” she asked finally, almost reluctant to find out.
“I have decided that you are a khehora worthy of my respect.” he said, “You aided me, many times, without regard to convenience or yourself. A foolish series of moves, yes, but a foolishness I appreciate.”
Malta felt her earfins flush, noting the hint of a smile on the creature's predatory face. “Thanks? I guess?”
He yowled, amused. “You are young: foolishness can be fixed in time. Kindness, however, can be encouraged.” he straightened his elegant back, his small wings shifting to rest neatly along his back. “I have decided that, because you are worthy of respect and I owe you more than my life, I shall follow you and aid you, wherever you may go.” he inclined his head in a bow, “I, Siksl'gra, am at your service.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Malta, her eyes widening in surprise, “Oh!” she exclaimed again as she realized what this meant, “You don't... you really don't have to do that!” she said anxiously, babbling, “You don't have to... to serve me!”
Goodness... she thought, I don't deserve anybody's service and... and it seems to mean to have a servant and... and...
But it would keep the giogimar here, and she did not want to lose her new friend, not when she had so few friends here.
“But I will.” he said, his whisker twitching in smugness, “I will serve you whether you wish it or not. You cannot stop me, not without harming or insulting me.” he showed a single, sharp, white canine. “So, do you accept my service?”
“I...” Malta hesitated, “Yes. I do...” it didn't seem as though she had a choice... and suddenly she didn't want to have one.
“Good.” it purred, pleased, “You will teach me your craft, and I will assist you in all ways.”
“Ah... all right.” she said, standing and stretching, feeling self conscious as the giogimar watched. “S-so, your name is Siksl'gra?”
“Yes.” it said, beginning to groom itself with a tongue-wetted paw. “That is the name given to me by my dam, yes.”
“My name is Malta.” she said.
“Mmm.” said the giogimar, “Well met.” he said, “Now, how can I assist you this day?”
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