Completed What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Weekend Challenge - Zavya and Einar stumble across a seemingly abandoned wagon…

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Zavya on February 17th, 2019, 9:04 pm

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30th Day of Winter, 518 AV, 21st Bell, Outside Ravok’s Northern Outpost


Leaf litter crunched softly beneath her paws as Zavya paced the length of the forest, golden gaze piercing through the dusky twilight and narrowing in on her target. There she was—a fat, juicy doe with liquid eyes and a proud white tail. The tigress could feel herself salivating as she beheld the magnificent creature, her stomach rumbling softly. Deer that size could feed us for at least the next few days, she thought, a barbed tongue sweeping over her lips as she crept lower to the ground. As long as I don’t petch it up…

The tigress was careful to remain downwind of her prey, low among the brush as she focused in with a single-minded determination. Careful now, don’t get too close. Slowly, slowly… One step closer… another step… there she is, almost there…

SNAP!

A fallen branch snapped under Zavya’s paw, the Kelvic growling in bitter frustration. The doe’s head jerked up in fear, throwing her gaze back and forth as she sought the noise. Zavya crouched lower, but it was too late; she’d already been spotted. The deer was nothing more than a blur when it bolted, heading off in any direction but the one where the predator waited.

Gods damn it all! she thought with a snarl, leaping into action and chasing after the deer as fast as her legs would carry her. The earth rumbled in her passage, birds and rodents alike fleeing in her wake while she gained on her quarry. There she was! Its tail was within her grasp! Another couple inches and…

Zavya broke past the tree line, stopping dead in her tracks when a sight much stranger than a deer met her eyes. The doe was entirely forgotten, fleeing into the distance as the tiger stepped closer to a wagon taking up most of the sparse path. Slow and cautious, the Kelvic looked around for any signs of people nearby; it was rare they came across others in the woods, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of. Finding no indications of other life nearby, Zavya took a few steps closer and started circling the cart—eyeing it for anything that could be of use to her and Einar.

A flash of sparkling light replaced the tiger with an olive-skinned human, scarred arms pulling her up into the wagon to see what she could find. Once again, she scanned the surrounding area to make sure no strangers were nearby and finding herself alone, she smiled. Maybe good luck does exist, she thought as she leaned down to start rifling through the closest crate. What are the odds of running into something like this?

The box, to her disgust and potentially her companion’s delight, was full of fruit, most of which she didn’t even know the name of. Pulling out a particularly round and sweet-smelling one, she gently squeezed it with a look bordering on horror. How could humans eat this shyke? What was the appeal?

Setting it back down, she lifted two fingers to her lips and let out three short whistles. Her human warder would be lingering somewhere nearby, she knew—even if it wasn’t close enough for him to see her, she knew he would hear. Zavya wasn’t sure if it was a fear of her stupidity or an obligation to her safety that kept him so close whenever she wandered off, but either way, she knew he wasn’t far. She was sure he would want to see this.

WC: 579

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Last edited by Zavya on February 21st, 2019, 11:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Zavya
Hear me roar
 
Posts: 139
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Joined roleplay: October 15th, 2018, 9:58 pm
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Belugnir on February 17th, 2019, 11:58 pm

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It was all Ein could do not to holler horrid indecencies at the top of his lungs when a faint rustle in the shrubbery beside him came through and produced the visage of something live pouncing out... However the doe that startled him so was hardly at a lack for fright, and though nearly ramming into the man where he was stood, it bolted sideways and away instead... Or would have, had Ein's composure been any firmer and his reflex any slower. Though the swing of his poleaxe comfortably missed the animal's torso as he swung it too low, the inside of the axehead's blade ended up hooking afront of the creature's hind thigh, and that alone held it in place long enough for Einar to lunge forward and impale its gut onto the pike of his polearm. The doe collapsed, whilst its painful yelp was practically answered by a whistle he could only have imagined was Zavya's.

Regardless, Ein took a long moment to let his suddenly held breath settle. '''Piss yesself o'er a sodding doe, dumb bastard...
He stepped up to the felled animal, pulling his weapon from it and putting it out of its tortured, contorting misery as he brought the bloodied pike down through its neck. With the still body hung over his shoulder, Ein made for the direction from which Zavya's whistle had come, too annoyed that he was skulking about the woods as dusk turned to night to be properly content over the kill he just made. There was plenty of time in the day to hunt, they might as well have done it before the prime time to encounter one of them nightmare hounds rolled about.

It was about a chime before he made it to the faded path through the wood, to see Zavya bare as a babe atop some cargo cart. No sight of a horse or driver... yet the thing didn't appear to be left there for long. He approached the front of the wagon, dead doe still on his shoulder and brow arranged into a puzzled curve that betrayed an ounce of agitation. ''What the shyke?'', he simply inquired, eyes indecisively altering between the naked woman and the crate of fruit she had opened. Apricots. Sure it was winter, and relatively cold despite the lack of snow, and sure the crate itself had plenty a handful of what seemed belike ice chunks scattered inbetween the fruits, no doubt to keep them fresh, but there was certainly no way in hell this cargo was stood here for long, lest the stuff would be long since rotten... It was most likely a cart meant for whatever wealthy cockbucket had dwelt at the northern outpost, or something sent southward to the city after being shipped to the coast up north from elsewhere... Regardless, it made no sense that a wagon belike this be abandoned in the middle of the woods away from the main road.

''Get down from there, you git. What the hell is this?'', there was an undertone of accusation to be found. Though they'd gone through weeks by each other's side, Ein still hardly knew whether or not he ought to put it past Zavya that she might outright kill another poor sod out here in the woods if given the chance... And though the thought held up shoddily, it was still unnerving. Frankly, though bemused, it appeared as though Ein would rather have naught to do with the wagon. ''How'd that thing end up here?''


WC: 590

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Last edited by Belugnir on February 18th, 2019, 2:25 am, edited 1 time in total.
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Zavya on February 18th, 2019, 2:08 am

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Zavya looked up when Einar approached, tossing the piece of fruit his way with a triumphant smile. The look on her face was one of pride in her discovery, puffing out her chest and radiating smug satisfaction. She quickly deflated, however, when she saw the deer slung over his shoulder. A grimace replaced her smile instead, glaring at the kill that should have been hers. How the hell had he caught the doe when it had managed to evade her?

With a huff, she hopped down off the wagon at his barked demand, frowning at both his tone and the accusing look he cast in her direction. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” she asked, cutting another irritated glare his way. Glancing between him and the cart, her frown deepened. “How the petch am I supposed to know how it got here?! It’s not like I pulled it out from between my tits and threw it in the road!”

Something that could only be described as a pout pulled at her lips, the childish expression sitting very strangely on the Kelvic’s scarred face. Crossing her arms, the look she gave him was just as accusing as his and reproachful besides. “There’s food on it. I thought you’d be excited…” Rolling her eyes, her hands moved to her hips instead. “Asshole,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear before turning around to climb back into the cart and continue rummaging through its contents.

Another of the crates was pried open, Zavya setting the lid to the side and carefully tugging out a pile of animal hides. Wolf, fox, bear, deer… the pelts were beautifully tanned and brushed, obviously meant for sale, if their condition was any indication. Her smile finally returned as her fingers stroked through the bear fur, raising it up to her face and breathing in deeply. “Gods, I know you’re angry all the time, but look at all of this!” Setting the pelt aside, she picked up one of the leather packs nearby and upended its contents. A variety of herbs and spices spilled out, the tigress gathering up a few particularly leafy sprigs and holding them to her nose. Sneezing violently, she nearly stumbled off the cart before catching herself on the side and clearing her throat.

Pretending as if Einar had not seen that particularly clumsy display, Zavya continued on, grabbing another of the boxes and prying it open to see what it held. An even wider smile pulled at her mouth, yanking two glass bottles out of the container and showing them to the mercenary. “Look! Wine! Come on, cheer up already and help me. We can get at least some of this back to the camp, yeah?”

Regardless of whether he stepped up to assist her or not, Zavya tucked the pilfered bottles of wine into the bear pelt, rolling them up in the fur and tying two of the legs together to hold it in place. The tigress put her makeshift pouch and the rest of the pelts on top of the fruit crate and pushed it toward the edge of the wagon before jumping down and reaching to grab her parcel.

Just as she set it on the ground, a sound off to her right caught her attention, golden eyes probing past the tree line to see what may have been rustling in the leaves. It was probably just another animal, but with her luck, it never hurt to be sure. Gently tapping her companion’s shoulder, she held a finger to her lips before gesturing in the direction of the sound. If that was the owner of the wagon, she’d never live it down…

WC: 618

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Zavya
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Belugnir on February 18th, 2019, 9:42 pm

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It seemed particularly difficult a task. To remain brooding and disapproving of a grumpy toddler's attitude radiating from a naked, buxom, grown woman. As she went on so obliviously fiddling through supplies of pelts and spices that her nose apparently did not approve of, Ein merely stood there with a blank stare and a mild shake of his head... then finally, when she cracked a fanged grin, victoriously wiggling a bottle of wine in each had, he gave a lengthy sigh and caved in.

Bringing his head up from a chrotiling hunch, Ein went to lower his kill onto the ground. ''I supposed I've done plenty stupider shyke than steal from an abandoned cart...'', yet as Zavya came down from the wagon, instead of climbing up as well, he too was alerted to the noise that came just off the road. So it was the poleaxe returned to his hand, in the fine company of a frown coming back to his brow. The last rays of sunshine had just been dying out on the obscured horizon at that point, and every rustle might as well have been made under the steps of a murderous fiend that had no place in the world of men... Or worse yet, it was some nordling readying up an entire crusade of protest and nagging... or a whole gang of 'em, probably armed too... Yet soon Ein decided he wasn't waiting about like a startled chicken to have another crossbow bolt lodged into his head, breaking the long, tense pause with one swift lunge of his weapon at the shrubbery, he came to realize that the both of them had gotten all uppity over what appeared to be a single, misfortunate racoon. One that swiftly decided whatever goodies were on that cart weren't worth being run through with a rod of steel, and proceeded to bugger off at admirable speed through the shrubbery. There was a moment of disbelief and exasperation, followed by yet another long pause in which the man remained alert and in stance, ready to skewer anything else that might barrel out of the forest... and his readyness was met with naught but the faint breeze of wind through a quiet wood...

The breath Einar let out might as well have followed in the wake of a proper boulder rolling off his chest.

''Petch all the gods...'', he turned to face Zavya, leaning against his polearm as if he were an old man holding onto his walking stick. ''One more late evening excursion and I'll be stabbing my own sodding shadow... and just what the shyke are you doing?'', exasperation and aimless annoyance quickly turned to relief, and then back to brooding dissapproval as he motioned at the crate she chose to bring down from the wagon, whilst he abandoned his polearm and pulled himself up to grab hold of the wine crate Zavya had previously opened, before hopping down, placing it onto the ground, removing the bundle of pelts from the fruit crate, and placing it on top of of the one with wine. ''An abundance of fancy shyke lands in your hands out the blue and your first instinct is to grab hold of the damn box full'a fruit that neither of us is gonna touch afore it goes rotten... Honestly?'', he was hard pressed to decide whether he was scolding or teasing at that point... and simply went up to the cart again, rummaging through the spice packs Zavya had scattered about, before coming across a finely knitted bag of salt, which he promptly proceeded to lower down along with some other herbs that... looked as if they'd help make the occasional stew he cooked up taste less like dogshyke. Promptly piling the spices into the bundle made of bear hide stacked on top of the wine crate, Ein proceeded to hang the dead doe back over his shoulder and sling his poleaxe awkwardly onto his back through the morbid fiend pelt he'd made a habbit of wearing, before picking up the stack of booze, fur and spices, which was about as much as he figured he could comfortably carry without dreaming up ways of not breaking both his ankles at the faintest bump along the way back to their camp.

''Alright, cat-eyes, here's what we'll do, I'll take this shyke back to camp and grab Fin and bring him back here.''', he motioned towards the direction from which he originally came into the serpentine clearing of this faded path through the forest. ''While you stay around, maybe take cover in the shrubs, and if some buncha petchers does appear to get the wagon, you come back toward the camp and tell me... and if they don't... well, I suppose we'll be getting fat off some dumb nordling's fortune, eh?'', it was uncanny, yet some ounce of a mischevous child that Ein once used to be did shine through with the glimpse of a sheepish smile.

WC:835


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Belugnir
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Zavya on February 18th, 2019, 11:59 pm

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When Einar’s ax rustled amongst the shrubs and revealed the object of their paranoia was nothing more than a miffed raccoon, Zavya’s shoulders slumped in relief and annoyance both—relief that it wasn’t a larger threat and annoyance that she hadn’t smelled or seen it first. Rolling her eyes and hissing at the masked little creature when it fled, she turned back to the wagon and frowned at her companion’s scolding in her choice of crates.

“I thought you might like fruit, I don’t know,” she told him with another irritated huff. “I was trying to be nice…” With that, she trailed off, scrutinizing his face a little further. Was he teasing her? Was that an actual spark of humor in that mismatched gaze? Before she could figure it out, his back was to her, and he was up in the cart himself, grabbing the crate of wine and hauling it down instead. Granted, that was the option she preferred, as well, but he was always carping at her about the need for survival. Food had seemed the more sensible choice.

Zavya watched Einar load himself up, informing her he’d be heading back to camp to fetch the horse and instructing her to remain and keep watch. She thought about reminding him that her tiger shape was nearly the size of a horse herself, but shrugged it off. There was plenty to carry… she certainly wouldn’t mind having another to share the burden. Instead, she just nodded in agreement, climbing up into the cart to start gathering up whatever else they might find useful in the meantime. Before the mercenary stepped back into the wood, however, another quip made her pause—looking on with an inscrutable expression as he actually smiled.

The tigress felt an answering smile creep hesitantly over her own lips, the look on his face striking a strange chord within her chest. Had he smiled at her once since this whole expedition began? If he had, it wasn’t something she could remember. It was amazing how such a simple gesture seemed to transform the man’s scarred mask of a face, turning it from a ruin into something that was almost… not quite attractive, but bearable. It was nearly endearing.

Shaking her head gruffly, shoving such thoughts away, and turning back around, Zavya listened to the sound of his passage fade and disappear while she arranged everything into a neater pile that would make it easier to grab when he came back with Finnard. Jumping back to the ground, she sighed, molten gaze scanning the path to assure herself she remained alone. All seemed well until a soft rustle a few yards away alerted her yet again to a presence beyond her own. Shyke.

Peering closer, Zavya took a hesitant step in the direction of the noise, bare feet silent against the dirt road. A soft growl rumbled in her throat, a not so subtle warning to whatever might linger beyond. She wasn’t one to be trifled with.

Another rustle and a bright blue pair of eyes met her own, an answering growl thundering in response to her own. Narrowing her gaze, Zavya was able to make out a dark muzzle and pointed ears, midnight-colored fur blending seamlessly into the twilit forested background. Just a wolf, she thought with a smirk of relief. I can handle one mangy little wolf.

A bright flash of light sliced through the murky dusk, an enormous, snarling feline standing in the middle of the path while a proud paw stomped the earth in challenge. Come at me, you pathetic cur, she dared it forward with her own molten glare, baring her teeth and striking the earth again.

The wolf hesitated for only a moment, its pale gaze uncertain as it regarded this unknown opponent. He’d never seen a creature like it, and the size of its teeth made him consider presenting his throat and running in the other direction. But at the sight of that bold-faced challenge, his resolve was hardened. He hadn’t gotten to this point in life by being a coward. He wasn’t about to back down now.

With a feral growl that was nearly as frightening as Zavya’s own, the animal pitched forward, lunging straight for the Kelvic’s throat in a motion that it hoped would be too fast for the cat to deflect. This was no quarry to be toyed with; if there was an opening, he would take it and hope the effort was enough.

Unfortunately for the canine, however, the tigress was prepared for such an approach—tucking her head before the wolf’s jaws could tear out her jugular. A massive paw swiped for the wolf’s head, one talon catching the creature’s eye with a keening howl that pierced the wood. His recovery was quicker than Zavya expected, though; blood streaming down his face, the wolf darted to the side and leapt for her back, teeth burying themselves in the scruff of her neck and bearing down for all he was worth.

Zavya’s yowl echoed through the forest around them, thrashing back and forth as she fought to dislodge her opponent. Moving back toward the tree line, she jerked violently sideways and up against the bole of the nearest oak—smashing the wolf repeatedly against the trunk until it was forced to let go and slither to the ground.

Chest heaving, the Kelvic hesitated for not a moment longer. The animal lay prostrate on the ground before her, fighting to catch its breath. With another growl, the tigress snapped her jaws around the wolf’s neck and shook it like a rag doll, not letting up until the light in its eyes was as dark as the night itself. Zavya bit down harder until she felt the crunch of bone between her teeth that assured her the wolf was about as dead as she could make it.

Dropping her adversary to the forest floor, she stood triumphantly over her kill, one paw stomping down until she felt the crack of its ribs. It was about then that the familiar scent of man and horse drifted up from somewhere behind her, Zavya turning to find her companion returned with his pony in tow. A swirl of light replaced the tiger with a woman, the Kelvic swiping her arm over the bloody mess her mouth had become.

“Um, there was a wolf,” she explained, gesturing back to the warm corpse she’d left behind her. The hesitant abashment of her explanation was nearly comical in contrast to the sanguine state of her flesh and the bloodlust that yet lingered in her eyes. “But not any more?”

WC: 1106

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Zavya
Hear me roar
 
Posts: 139
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Joined roleplay: October 15th, 2018, 9:58 pm
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Belugnir on February 19th, 2019, 2:53 am

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It was about fifteen and some chimes of clumsy striding through the last dying breath of faded daylight before Ein made it to their campsite and neatly deposited his cargo beside the saddlebags of supplies that were, as per unspoken custom, left within relative proximity to whatever log or stone Fin happened to be tied to.

Hastily, Ein threw together some firewood he'd collected earlier that afternoon, before dousing it with an ounce of lantern oil, something they had in abundant supply on the offchance of encountering some monstrosity that crawled out of Rhysol's arse on a particularly bad day again. He'd expected to be back in camp sooner than it turned out, and he wasn't too keen on the idea of taking the time to start a fire proper, not with the night practically on them and an errand to finish. So it was, he removed the gauntlet from his left hand, and had his mangled arm begin to contort as Djed came squeezing alongside blood, toward the palm of his hand. A couple of crimson droplets followed out of his ritual scars in the wake of transparent vapor birthed from the backbone of his being, and with one focused thought, the vapor was sparked aflame, and Ein's retreated his hand from the campfire with a brief daze that swiftly turned to an ounce of smugness as he looked upon his amateur reimancy take hold upon oil and deadwood and cast amber light across the campsite. He wasted little time lighting a torch on the freshly lit campfire, hanging a length of rope over his shoulder, tucked with a couple more unlit torches, and setting back on the way he came with Finnard's reins in hand, and the pony close on his trail. With a stride and relieved of the crate of seldom deserved winnings, they would make it back to the wagon within less than ten chimes...

The kelvic's signature flash of light caused brief concern, and Ein held his torch out in its direction, adjusting the end of his course ever so slightly... before being greeted to the sight of Zavya as she nonchallantly wiped away at her chin... a rather vain effort considering just how... *soaked* she was in blood.

Ein hardly gave any response to Fin's sudden, startled attempt to his reins away and bolt in any direction provided, yet the wide eyed trance held the sellsword's hands firm enough, for a brief while he simply stared, completely dumbfounded, at the woman who still held the gleaming trance of murder in her eyes, before finally conjuring up ought to say.

''I'd hate to see the petching wolf...'', he admitted, still visibly bemused and disturbed. He could only imagine the canine had been turned inside out for the woman to be as messy as she was. What the shyke are you gawking at, gods forbid you see yourself after gutting some sodding hound. The childlike lack of concern Zavya placed forward had Ein nearly set aside any worry of his own... yet he kept enough sense about himself to look closer and see blood rather profusely vacating from about the base of her neck. ''Bloody hell, girl... press a hand to your wounds, damn it...'', his utterances were accompanied by him lowering into a crouch to dig the bottom of his torch into the ground and scoop up a sizable handful of dirt. ''Get your shyke together.'', he demanded of the disheartened Finnard as he rose up from the ground and turned from the pony back to Zavya. ''That goes for you too. Get that dumb murder-happy look off your face and turn around. I don't fancy hauling your corpse around.'', the best he could have done at the time was toss dirt into her wounds to stop the bleeding and tie one of the leftover pelts about her chest so it ended up tightening about her torso and pressing into the bite wounds.

Regardless, he knew it'd not be long before Zavya's fight-induced fever began to come down and she began to weaken from the blood loss, so in spite of whatever protests Fin or she might have had, Ein made quick work of tearing away the side fence of the wagon with several neatly placed strikes of his poleaxe, afterward arranging the torn planks into a makeshift sledge onto which he proceeded to tie most of the crates from the cart. The errand took an awful little time, thanks to Zavya's previous effort of arranging everything as she did. Putting Fin by his lonesome to drag the cart through the woods off a beaten path would have been a dimwit's errand, so this would have to do. Zavya would have a freshly lit torch tucked into her hands, another pelt tossed about her shoulders, and be set to walk ever so slightly in front of Einar, albeit as far away from Fin as they could manage at comfortable distance. With just over twenty chimes they would have made it back to camp, and Ein would be rather swift in abandoning the gods-given loot they were presented with, still tied to the pony's saddle, as he sloppily reattached his reins to the log that previously held him in place.

All the exotic booze and fanciful shyke in the world wasn't going to make him any better at treating folk who'd started limping and feverishly tugging their head in in the wake of rapid bloodloss... and with how Zavya fared, he very much had such an occasion on his hands.

WC: 929


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Belugnir
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What's Lost is Often Found (Belugnir)

Postby Zavya on February 25th, 2019, 10:30 pm

Grades!

 
Zavya
Skills Earned:
  • Endurance +1
  • Hunting +1
  • Intimidation +1
  • Larceny +1
  • Observation +3
  • Socialization +1
  • Stealth +1
  • Unarmed Combat +1
Lores:
  • Einar: Has a hidden sense of humor
  • Hunting: Remaining downwind of the target to avoid detection by smell
  • Larceny: Stealing from an abandoned cart
  • Unarmed Combat: Crippling an opponent by throwing them against a tree
Rewards: Crate of various animal pelts (bear, wolf, dire wolf, boar, fox, deer), crate of medium quality wine, crate of apricots, small leather packet of spices (to be shared with Belugnir)

Penalties: A ragged bite wound where the back of the neck meets the spine that will fully heal within two weeks. Wound will scar.
 
Belugnir
Skills Earned:
  • Body Building +1
  • Construction +1
  • Intimidation +1
  • Larceny +1
  • Medicine +1
  • Observation +3
  • Reimancy +1
  • Socialization +1
  • Weapon: Poleaxe +1
Lores:
  • Construction: Making a sled from the side of a wagon
  • Larceny: Stealing from an abandoned cart
  • Medicine: Binding a wound
  • Medicine: Packing a wound with dirt to stop the bleeding
Rewards: Crate of various animal pelts (bear, wolf, dire wolf, boar, fox, deer), crate of medium quality wine, crate of apricots, small leather packet of spices (to be shared with Zavya)

Comments: Thank you for doing this challenge with me! :D I had a lot of fun.


If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!
Zavya
Hear me roar
 
Posts: 139
Words: 151900
Joined roleplay: October 15th, 2018, 9:58 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Kelvic
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