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Post by historybug on Nov 12, 2010 22:24:34 GMT -5
((Ooc: "The otter" mentioned in this thread is Trojan. When he meets someone, I'll put his name in when he introduces himself.))
As the chilly Autumn wind blew in from the North, the Eastern side of Mossflower woods began turning a multitude of rustic colors. The leaves on the trees took different shades of reds, oranges, coppers, yellows, browns, and even a dark green or two. All of them falling to the earth covering it in a thick loam of leaves.Too add to the beautiful colors, most of the fruit bearing (and non-fruit) plants are ready for picking. So the sweet aroma of ripe fruits and nuts wafts through the crisp air.
It was on one of these semi-chilly afternoons that a tall otter was trying to pick some ripe apples. Thankfully enough, the otter had found a small cluster of apple trees in one of the younger parts of the forest. He guess that a long time ago that this was probably farm land and there was an orchard, but it was long abandoned and the forest grew around the apple trees. But why the trees were there was not his main concern. His main focus was getting the apples down to eat.
Just by looking at the otter, one could tell that he needed the apples more than anything. He was well muscled, but that was it. He was a tad bit gaunt, and was tying his black cloth belt tighter and tighter around his waist each passing day. It was also apparent that this otter was getting on in seasons. (even if he didn't like to admit it) His mahogany fur was peppered with silver fur. The otter wore a tan jerkin, wrappings around his paws, and a long dark cloak with a large hood that covered his features.
Standing under one of the smaller apple trees, the otter picked the fruit off the trees, inspecting each one and then placing it carefully on a tattered cloth on the ground. No fruit that was uneatable was being left behind, because every apple he picked was one more day he would be able to eat. The otter was a scavenger. He had no home to go to and cook a fine dinner for himself, nor did he have rations that he could pull from thin air. He had to fine his own food before he starved, and there were some days, he couldn't find food and he went hungry.
So once the otter had completely gleaned the bottom of the tree of it's produce, he started to try and climb the small tree to reach the higher branches.
Essence on the word started....
For just as the otter gripped the branch tight and began to pull himself up like a pull-up, his paws spazed and he dropped to the ground, landing flat on his hindpaws. Snarling a bit to himself the otter rubbed the joints on his paws. Stupid Arthritis! He thought to himself. There was no way he was climbing that tree now.
But he needed to get those apples, or he wouldn't be able to eat....
The otter looked up at the tree through his hood from his kneeling position. He studied the tree, the density of the branches near the best apples and so on. Looking over at his long, sea-washed wood javelin, the otter stood up sharply as if he had idea.
Picking up the javelin, the otter hoisted up one of the points and poked gently at the tip of an apple in the higher branches. With one sharp poke at the stem, the apple fell from the tree and the otter caught it gently in his free paw.
Nodding satisfactorily, the otter rubbed the apple on his jerkin and took a bite. The otter savored the sharp, juicy taste of the fresh apple as he chewed slowly.
Upon finishing the apple and spitting out the seeds, the otter poked down as many apples as he could then began bundling his pick in the tattered cloth. However, before he tied the bundle to his javelin, the otter paused. He heard something. No...Some one... Behind him...
Jumping up keeping the apple tree to his back, the otter snarled, javelin pointed toward the source of the noise. Who ever it was, the otter was ready. He may be getting old, but that doesn't mean he was getting slow....
((Ugh... Personally, not my best...But it's something...))
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Post by Skipper on Nov 27, 2010 15:24:24 GMT -5
It was an average-looking mouse in his early fifties or late forties -- fairly muscled, but by no means threatening. The stranger held up his paws in innocence. "My apologies. . ." he began, surprised and a bit amused at the otter's reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you, though you did a fair job of startling me, I must say," he added with a chuckle.
"But!" he interrupted himself, mid-chuckle, "I ramble." He extended his paw in greeting. "My name is Shordann Crestpaw. Odd, I know. My parents couldn't decide on a name for me, so they just mixed names and words together until they came up with something that sounded good, haha--" His face seemed to twitch as he changed the subject of the conversation. "Now, I would rather like to know what you are called, sir."
At this time, Shordann had not yet withdrawn his paw from the pawshake.
((I know, I haven't made a profile for this one, but I haven't had the time lately. I have, however, had this character in my mind for quite some time, and he's the only beast in the East presently available. So please excuse my lack of bio -- just assume him an NPC 'til I've written one.))
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Post by historybug on Nov 27, 2010 17:09:46 GMT -5
The otter watched as a mouse came into the clearing. He was a fairly average looking mouse, well muscled, mid 40s or 50s, but he didn't look threating. In fact, the mouse held its paws up as a sign of peace. "My apologies. . ." he began, surprised and a bit amused at the otter's reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you, though you did a fair job of startling me, I must say," he added with a chuckle.The otter straightened up, bringing his javelin up to an at ease position. The mouse was not armed. He's threat level had gone down in the otter's mind, that that still did not mean that the mouse was not a threat at all. So the otter kept his javelin out. Just in case. "But!" he interrupted himself, mid-chuckle, "I ramble." He extended his paw in greeting. "My name is Shordann Crestpaw. Odd, I know. My parents couldn't decide on a name for me, so they just mixed names and words together until they came up with something that sounded good, haha--" His face seemed to twitch as he changed the subject of the conversation. "Now, I would rather like to know what you are called, sir."The otter looked down at the paw extended toward him from under his hood. He almost stuck is paw out in response and replied, but... He couldn't.... "T'would be better for us both if ye didn't." The otter said as put aside his javelin. It didn't matter now. The mouse could kill him for all he cared. The otter bent down and picked up his bundle of apples and sighed. Looking over at the mouse he motioned to the trees. "These yours? Cause if they are, I can give these back." The otter handled the dirty bundle toward Shordann. It wouldn't be right for the otter to take the apples if they were Shordann's. Even if he was starving and barely getting by each day. The otter didn't steal. He wouldn't let himself sink that low. He was already at his lowest point he had been ever, but he wouldn't let himself go lower. Even if it meant giving up lunch... (( That's cool. I'm just glad you had time to post!  )) |
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Post by Skipper on Nov 28, 2010 9:35:46 GMT -5
"T'would be better for us both if ye didn't." The otter said as put aside his javelin.
Shordann shrugged. Fair enough. Somebeasts liked their privacy.
The otter bent down and picked up his bundle of apples and sighed. Looking over at the mouse he motioned to the trees. "These yours? Cause if they are, I can give these back." The otter handled the dirty bundle toward Shordann.
Shordann smiled -- almost laughed -- and replied warmly, "No, sir, they are not. You may keep 'em if'n you want, but you might want to consider something less bland. Apples are not, after all, a delicacy, an' the skin part generally gets stuck in yore teeth. Oranges, now, there's a good fruit!" The mouse continued rambling on and on for a good minute or two. Finally, he caught himself. "Oh dear, I'm doing it again," he cried out suddenly. "But what I'm saying is that you can come with me if ye like. I'm actually headed to Strat to deal with some business matters, but my home is not far from here."-- he gestured back with his thumb --"And I do have quite a nice selection of food if you'd like to trade those apples for, say, pies. Or if ye want t'keep 'em, I guess we could take those apples an' turn 'em into pies," he chortled. Face twitching once more, he abruptly picked up his point where he'd left it. "But in all honesty, I do have plenty of food for you -- more than I can eat myself, certainly. I also have a few open rooms, should you wish to lodge for a night or seven, haha-- Now, we'll have to know yore name first, of course, but we'll concern ourselves with that matter in time, now won't we?" Twitch. "Oh! I've not stopped talking y-- haha!" He cleared his throat. "Ahem. What is yore answer, sir?" He finally withdrew his paw, staring at the otter curiously.
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Post by historybug on Nov 28, 2010 15:31:04 GMT -5
"No, sir, they are not. You may keep 'em if'n you want, but you might want to consider something less bland. Apples are not, after all, a delicacy, an' the skin part generally gets stuck in yore teeth. Oranges, now, there's a good fruit!"
The otter almost smiled underneath his dark hood. This mouse never seemed to stop talking. Which was good in a way for the otter as he didn't like to talk much anymore. As Shordann kept rambling about oranges the otter tied the dirty bundle to the tip of his javelin. He really didn't care if apples were a delicacy or not. They were food. Oranges? They would be a feast! But he didn't have oranges. He had apples, no more.
"Oh dear, I'm doing it again," he cried out suddenly. "But what I'm saying is that you can come with me if ye like. I'm actually headed to Strat to deal with some business matters, but my home is not far from here."-- he gestured back with his thumb --"And I do have quite a nice selection of food if you'd like to trade those apples for, say, pies. Or if ye want t'keep 'em, I guess we could take those apples an' turn 'em into pies," he chortled.
The otter froze in his movements and turned his hooded face back to Shordann. Go home? Why would Shordann ever want the otter to come home with him? Well, the otter hadn't told the mouse about...it...yet.
It would be nice though...To be in a warm house. Have some fresh food or a nice pie. He hadn't had one of those in the longest time. Then a soft bed to sleep in or at least a roof over his head....Yes.... That would be lovely....
But what would happen when he told Shordann his name? Or lifted his hood?
The last time the otter had been invited into a home without telling the host who he was hadn't gone over well. When the host had found out who he was...He had forced the otter to leave that very moment. Not able to look him in the face without a look of loathing.
How would Shordann react? Did he know what the symbol meant?
"But in all honesty, I do have plenty of food for you -- more than I can eat myself, certainly. I also have a few open rooms, should you wish to lodge for a night or seven, haha-- Now, we'll have to know yore name first, of course, but we'll concern ourselves with that matter in time, now won't we?" Twitch. "Oh! I've not stopped talking y-- haha!" He cleared his throat. "Ahem. What is yore answer, sir?"
The otter cleared his throat as he hefted his javelin over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "I shall leave that decision up to ye sir. I would love to come and join ye in yer home for a night, though I would not stay for long in fear of over staying my welcome, but not many a creature would openly let a creature of my.....standing....into their homes. And if I am not wanted, I would not want to impress on you unwanted company."
He breathed deeply, then the otter continued. "If ye wish to know who I am first before inviting me into yer home, then I shall tell ye and ye can make the decision of keeping yer invitation open..."
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Post by Skipper on Nov 30, 2010 12:46:49 GMT -5
The otter cleared his throat as he hefted his javelin over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "I shall leave that decision up to ye sir. I would love to come and join ye in yer home for a night, though I would not stay for long in fear of over staying my welcome, but not many a creature would openly let a creature of my.....standing....into their homes. And if I am not wanted, I would not want to impress on you unwanted company."
Shordann laughed inwardly. So many beasts thought that their history or reputation was a decent enough excuse to deny hospitality. Mr. Crestpaw had never been one to withhold his generosity simply because somebeast was a little on the strange side. Mr. Crestpaw, was, himself, after all, a peculiarly eccentric beast.
He breathed deeply, then the otter continued. "If ye wish to know who I am first before inviting me into yer home, then I shall tell ye and ye can make the decision of keeping yer invitation open..."
Shordann's eyes widened. "Yore notta murd'rer, are you?" He waited a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Hahahaha, I'm just kidding, haha." His laughter subsided several moments later. How funny it was to mess with complete strangers. "Haha, hoo. . . Ahem. O' course yore not -- I've, haha, housed murderers before; they're nothing like you," He concluded with a chuckle.
Twitch. "All right, then, what's the name?" he asked as he smiled knowingly.
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Post by historybug on Nov 30, 2010 21:32:23 GMT -5
Shordann's eyes widened. "Yore notta murd'rer, are you?"
The otter's eyes narrowed underneath his hood. "No." He replied coldly. A murderer? Never! He was not a murderer. He was a battle-hardened warrior. The only murder he could be accused of was the murder of his pride and honor. And those weren't living things..or they aren't anymore...
He waited a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Hahahaha, I'm just kidding, haha."
The otter nodded. Joking...Of course....
"Haha, hoo. . . Ahem. O' course yore not -- I've, haha, housed murderers before; they're nothing like you," He concluded with a chuckle.
The otter looked strangely at the mouse. This fellow was getting stranger and stranger by the second. One, he never stopped talking, and when ever he changed topics, he had this odd twitch. Now housing murderers? Shordann was surely an odd fellow. And the otter decided it wouldn't be a bad thing to keep his guard up.....just in case......
"All right, then, what's the name?"
Sighing, the otter knew. It was time....
Digging his javelin into the ground so it stood on it's own. The otter slowly brought a wrapped paw up to his dark hood. For a split second, the paw hesitated. The otter hadn't done this in forever.
But..But...NO! He wouldn't be a coward! So with a quick flick of the wrist, the hood flew back and rested on the otter's back.
The otter's face was stern, a bit gaunt, and harsh. the dark mahogany fur came all the way up his face, except under his chin, where his creamy underbelly fur started. However, gray fur was sprinkled like salt over his darker fur and a bit more than the usual collected around his muzzle. His face was also a bit thin, like he hadn't eaten well in a while.
And his eyes....They were a sharp and intense gray hidden under a stern and heavy brow. The glare they had was so intense that it seemed like they could cut your soul.
But that wasn't all, unlike most otters....
This otter had a burn mark on his right check. A "T" shaped burn mark. It is burned so deep into his check that no fur has grown there since. The Traitor's mark.
"I am Trojan Duncan Wavedog."
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Post by Treaflet & Coppertooth on Dec 10, 2010 19:46:45 GMT -5
A squirrel climbed down the apple tree.
Well hello, Trojan. I'm Treaflet, and this apple tree is my home. Well, at least it is for now. You can have the apples though.
He put out his paw, as if to shake either creatures hand.
Have you seen my brother? His name is Coppertooth, and he lives on the border between Strat and the Wildnes. He has a blacksmith shop there, so if either of you need weapons...
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Post by Skipper on Dec 16, 2010 10:37:05 GMT -5
Shordann rested his chin in his paw thoughtfully. "Hm. . . Trojan, Trojan, Trojan, Trojan. . ." He thought aloud to himself, trying to recognize the familiar name. ". . . You wouldn't happen t'be that Mr. Wavedog from down south, would ye?" Shordann hadn't heard much about this Trojan character, but he seemed an honest otter.
A squirrel popped out of the sky.
"Well hello, Trojan. I'm Treaflet, and this apple tree is my home. Well, at least it is for now. You can have the apples though."
"Random," declared Shordann simply.
"Have you seen my brother? His name is Coppertooth, and he lives on the border between Strat and the Wildnes. He has a blacksmith shop there, so if either of you need weapons..."
The mouse shook his head. "No, 'fraid I haven't, sir. Er, but I do suggest you check Strat. If 'e's got any sort o' job selling things, he'll be there this time o' year." Twitch. "So, Truncan Dojan Dogwave, I'm not sure I remember much about you, an' you seem a good, honest beast. If you would like a place to stay, my house is open to you -- oranges and all." He laughed again, and waited for a reply.
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Post by historybug on Dec 18, 2010 17:38:30 GMT -5
Shordann rested his chin in his paw thoughtfully. "Hm. . . Trojan, Trojan, Trojan, Trojan. . ." He thought aloud to himself, trying to recognize the familiar name. ". . . You wouldn't happen t'be that Mr. Wavedog from down south, would ye?"
A Shiver went down Trojan's spine. His rudder swished over the ground gently, sweeping the fallen leaves. Looking away, he replied. "Yes, I am from the south..." But before he could say much more, a squirrel dropped down from the apple tree from which Trojan was picking.
"Well hello, Trojan. I'm Treaflet, and this apple tree is my home. Well, at least it is for now. You can have the apples though."
"Random,"
Trojan gently cleared his throat, in order to hide his instinct reaction of grabbing his weapon when the squirrel startled him. "Well, thank you Treaflet."
"Have you seen my brother? His name is Coppertooth, and he lives on the border between Strat and the Wildnes. He has a blacksmith shop there, so if either of you need weapons..."
The mouse shook his head. "No, 'fraid I haven't, sir. Er, but I do suggest you check Strat. If 'e's got any sort o' job selling things, he'll be there this time o' year." Twitch. "So, Truncan Dojan Dogwave, I'm not sure I remember much about you, an' you seem a good, honest beast. If you would like a place to stay, my house is open to you -- oranges and all."
He still didn't like that twitch the mouse had, but as Trojan shouldered his javelin, he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to get out of the cold and get the warm food. He wasn't being selfish, Shordann was offering. And Trojan was more than willing to accept, and he knew that if Shordann turned out to be someone that was not trustworthy...Trojan didn't care. He deserved to have bad luck...
"My name is Trojan Duncan Wavedog, and I would be most glad on accepting your invitation sir." He replied as he put his hood back on, letting it fall over his face once more...
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Post by Skipper on Dec 29, 2010 10:43:43 GMT -5
Shordann smiled. "Well, come on, then! The missus'll 'ave dinner on in just a few hours, so we'll have t'hurry afore she eats it all 'erself, haha!" With that, he walked hurriedly away. It was about time he found an interesting guest. The majority of what they housed were simple travelers who didn't much like to talk, and there was nothing more boring than a silent traveler. Weren't such beasts supposed to brag about their adventures?
The mouse stopped for a moment, twitched, and beckoned to the squirrel. "I know yore lookin' for yore Mr. Copperteeth or whatever, but if ye want t'stay the night at my place, there's plenty o' room for the both o' ye." He gestured to the otter and squirrel. "Besides, I have a really nice map that I never get t'use, it's in the study, an' I think unless y'know exactly where to find yore brother, it'd be helpful if we tried to pinpoint right where 'e is. . ." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes darted hither and thither as he raced through his thoughts. "O' course, I still think he's in Strat, but it's up t'you--" He bounced up and down on his footpaws as though he were trying to achieve liftoff. This was Shordann's way of waiting impatiently for a reply.
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Post by historybug on Jan 2, 2011 20:20:25 GMT -5
"Well, come on, then! The missus'll 'ave dinner on in just a few hours, so we'll have t'hurry afore she eats it all 'erself, haha!"
"Then let us go." Trojan nodded from beneath his hood. Picking up his javelin and hoisting it over his shoulder, he followed the mouse, his long strides keeping pace.
The mouse stopped for a moment, twitched, and beckoned to the squirrel. "I know yore lookin' for yore Mr. Copperteeth or whatever, but if ye want t'stay the night at my place, there's plenty o' room for the both o' ye." He gestured to the otter and squirrel. "Besides, I have a really nice map that I never get t'use, it's in the study, an' I think unless y'know exactly where to find yore brother, it'd be helpful if we tried to pinpoint right where 'e is. . ." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes darted hither and thither as he raced through his thoughts. "O' course, I still think he's in Strat, but it's up t'you--"
Trojan looked over at the squirrel and shrugged. It was up to the squirrel. Trojan was going to the house anyways. The twitch this Shordann had was suspicious, but Trojan was curious as to meeting this wife of his, and to see if she was as just as odd as her husband....
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Post by Treaflet & Coppertooth on Jan 7, 2011 13:07:17 GMT -5
Treaflet smiled at the older mouse's antics. For such an old mouse, he had a lot of energy. Sure, I'd love to come. And the map would be very helpful. He turned toward Trojan. I'm not from around here, but I know enough to say that most goodbeasts dont wear hoods. I've killed vermin that did, but I haven't seen an otter like yourself that wears one. If I may ask,Why?
OOC: I need to get a squirrel pic for my avatar. Any ideas?
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Post by Skipper on Jan 9, 2011 16:43:21 GMT -5
As Treaflet began to converse with Trojan, Shordann shrugged and continued walking. He assumed the other two would follow. Meanwhile, as the three made their way to his home, the aging mouse thought to himself concerning this Trojan beast. He had heard little of the southern otter, but what he had heard did not strike any happy chords. It seemed that Trojan was something of an exile, though whether or not he deserved it was another matter. The "T" likely stood for traitor, which might lead to some interesting stories in the future. Certainly, the otter would not keep silent throughout his stay? That would be impolite... ((I can think of nothing, Treaf, but if I find something, I'll let you know.  )) |
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Post by historybug on Jan 9, 2011 20:31:32 GMT -5
"Sure, I'd love to come. And the map would be very helpful."
Trojan stepped carefully over a protruding root as Treaflet responded to Shorrdann's offer. He hoped that staying quiet, he might avoid the obvious questions, but it was not to be so as Trojan and Treaflet followed the energetic old mouse.
I'm not from around here, but I know enough to say that most goodbeasts dont wear hoods. I've killed vermin that did, but I haven't seen an otter like yourself that wears one. If I may ask,Why?
Looking over at the squirrel through his hood, Trojan thought about what to say. How could he tell this squirrel what happened? Later, maybe later when they were at the house, but not now...Not now...
Because what he did was not a common occurrence that you could easily talk about during a walk, nor was the punishment he received for the deed.
"I wear this hood, because...the mark I have often offends creatures and I don't mean to cause trouble that isn't necessary."Trojan sighed. "Also...It's not the best thing in the land to be proud of..."
Shutting his mouth, Trojan ducked a branch, trying to keep up with Shordann ahead. He really wished to get to the house soon. Because when they got there, maybe, just maybe the small talk would stop...
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