[IC] Terra

[World of Terra]

cross a sulfur-yellow skyline, a lightning bolt strikes a black, bubbling pools. It is nearly out of sight, just
below
the horizon.

A few yards from the pools, there grew a short, irradiated shrub, and though it seemed to be living in the otherwise toxic environment, nothing else did. These were the Badlands, were even Greens dared not tread. The air was a miasma of burning fumes that seemed to grip one's throat from the inside, seeping out of sable pools of nuclear waste that dotted the Earth like tiny wounds. One of the pools of toxic waste, the darker and farther of the two, began to bubble with an aggressive vigor, as if something thrashed about under the surface. The ground shook for a moment. A tiny red arm peeked out of a hole in the ground some fifty yards away, closing a hatch that had been hidden by debris. Whatever was attached to that arm realized something horrible had happened. Thunder boomed, and the sulfur yellow sky began to slowly change to a darker copper color. Before long, a shower of acid rain had picked up, hitting the ground and evaporating instantaneously into steam. The pool bubbled once again, thrashing worse than it had before. Without warning, an oily black creature erupted from the pool. It twisted about in the air like a fish pulled out of the water, thrashing against the irradiated muck it found itself in, and shrieking a most horrible shriek. It pulled itself to the edge of its toxic pool and lifted itself out with two great, long arms that reached out of the blackness like a spider.

The Badlands were otherwise quiet, with a soft backdrop of acid rain against the poisoned desert. The creature's pained shrieking pierced through this -- It did not sound like any animal. It did not sound like a beastfolk, or a green, or any thing. It was an otherworldly sound, only half-comparable to a hundred rusty hinges swinging at once, or perhaps a troupe of howler monkeys dropped into boiling water. It was truly the worst noise anyone could have ever heard, if anybody had dared venture out onto such an irradiated surface. The creature's screeching began to subside, fading lower and lower into a growl. It shook itself for a moment, flinging toxic waste off of itself, standing still for the acid rain to wash away the remnants of its recent birth from Terra. It opened two yellow eyes and surveyed the landscape.

"Excellent."

---

The Badlands

It is currently halfway through the wet months, though it has not been an especially fruitful season. Usable rain has been overshadowed by the year's strong prevalence of acid rain showers, the shelter they necessitate, the crops they destroy, and the water they pollute. Needless to say, things have been bad in the Badlands. The tensions caused by the acid rainfall has brought a rise in the number of bandits, be they water thieves on the highway, legions of well-armed fighters taking over isolated towns, or simple spree killers. With this rise in crime, there have been many well-intentioned Goodlanders poking about, seeking adventure and a chance to make the planet -- though, the parts they do not see -- a little better.

The Goodlands

Autumn is ending, and with it comes the Great Harvest Festival within the human city Edenhold. Because this year's harvest has been especially bountiful, the city's mayor has extended invitations to peaceable Goodlanders by way of a message on the tailfeathers of his Dire-Eagle, displayed in the sky. Aside from the usual festive activities you're skimming through to look for -- vendors, games, and music -- there is a warrior's tourney with a sizable, mysterious prize being offered.

[Spiritzer]

Back in Humanity, there's a saying about the world beyond our walls: "Make sure everything is dead.".

While I strongly disagree with the notion's callousness, that our hunters often tend to take too literally, I can see why it has endured as a traditional truth. Till this day, I can't count the number of times that I had plucked what look like ripe fruit, only to find myself being given chase by the tree or bush that bore it. It has tortured me into a habit of poking anything gently with my stave before I walk, sit, sleep or do anything ...to anything. A paranoia without bounds is rather torturous.

Now as I sit here on this rocky outcrop, chewing on my last rations from Susan Goodhouse's cellar -the only safe food I have as I write this, I feel the sting of yearning plucking at the hinds of my every thoughts. ~Yearning of a comfortable bed I can sleep in without wearing this suit of sweltering armour, a warm fireplace that does not risk setting everything around me ablaze, and food that doesn't leave me wondering if I'm eating someone's child by mistake. ...Rue be the day I find the last meal I had was the dutiful spouse of a now widowed wife.

...Perhaps.

Perhaps it is time.

I've wondered many a times if I should forgo my morals and live vicariously, it'd be much easier, most certainly, surely the native denizens of this land are not as picky as me with regards to the marvel of life come sating of one's appetite? When with orcs, do as orcs do. Right?

Considering that possibility. Barring the stupendous amounts of wild magic out here which I must be careful of, it tempts me everyday to just lash out at everything and whatever remains to become my food shall be consumed without ceremony. At which point I would probably be prowling on all fours and frothing at the mouth...

...
...
...

But I shall digress another day, my seat is rumbling in a fashion my bodily exhaust does not, for a while now, and I astutely conclude that my pressence on something's back is starting to toll on my welcom---

riggs closed his journal and quickly rappeled down the vine he had used to climb up in the first place. The small hill shook again. This time he heard a screeching far off into a distance ...from somewhere along the amber-gray horizon, his ears perked inside his helmet and craned his neck to look over his shoulder while a cold feeling slowly clasped around his gut. ...Maybe the staled jerky didn't agree with him.

Upon touching the cave floor, he picked up a clear bottle that had been sitting in the sulphurous rain all this while, only to spy a curious sliver of flesh retreat hastily back under the hill,

"Pardon me for the intru-"

STOP talking to snails!

"..."

The voice in his head seemed more agitated than usual - he mused.

It was curious how these molluscs that were usually brave, too well aware that their size and stinging mucus were more than enough to deter any who might try to hurt them as they grazed undetered on the sour moss that grew abundant in this withered biome. ....But something had this one spooked ...enough so that now even the slow movements of Briggs' relatively small hands now scared it into hiding.

Once more he stood up, looking over out at the dimming landscape - whatever that was out there, would have to wait. His supplies will only last him a night more if he did not find a way to restock and he wasn't about to waste this rare relief from the forsaken rain by turning back.

Not when he was this close to rumoured civillization.

But Briggs would remember this and come back one day, one day, the eerie sound etched into memory already haunting him with prospects of new discoveries ...and something worse, even as he now continues his journey past the border of the badlands. His grip strangely unwilling to leave the sword by his side...

-----------------------

Mentioned

@World of Terra

[Genni]

CS Link

Bernie couldn't help but squeal with delight as she rounded the corner on the path and saw the large heap of ancient debris resting on the side of the hill. Whatever it had once been, the metallic mass had obviously been buried for an age or more, only to be uncovered by the unnaturally heavy acid rainfall the country had been experiencing over the last few weeks. What was more exciting for the little greenskin however was the tell-tale glow she could see emanating from inside the pile of scrap.

Reaching up she adjusted the lenses on her father's goggles, a gift in her parting from him. Shifting the various pieces of tinted glass she quickly focused in on the glow, determining that it must be a sparky rather than a glowy that lay hidden. With a heavy grunt Bernie reached over her shoulder for her Precision Percussion Applicator^TM, swinging it in the air a few times to get used to the heft and weight as she stepped closer to the pile.

With a mighty roar the greenskin brought the club down on the metal mass, letting of a loud clank which seemed to echo around the valley, barely dying down before her second blow struck home. After three more bashings, the acid-worn casing finally began to break free. Leaning in closer Bernie stowed away her PPA, pulling out her padded gloves instead. Reaching inside the metal shell Bernie carefully worked her arm around the various melted, cracked and twisted pieces of scrap before finally her fingers closed around something which felt solid and intact.

Deftly twisting her wrist, the young goblin wrenched the component free, and flicking her goggles back down stared at her new find anxiously. The small cylinder glowed brightly as she examined it through her special lenses, and Bernie could tell that it still held the potential for quite a sting for anyone not knowing how to properly handle it.

Dropping her prize in her satchel, Bernie gripped the sides of the cracked metal shell with both gloved hands and began to pull them apart as best she could. After a few seconds the opening seemed wide enough to fir her head inside, and so Bernie did just that, her goggles letting her examine the inner workings of the shattered machine as she hunted for any more valuable finds.

[HokumPocus]

“So you guarantee that my wife’ll love this?” Asked a man in commoner’s clothing, not sure what to make of the cold and beautiful vial held carefully in his hands. Uervia took his uncertainty as a cue to continue her persuasion tactics.

“It is true that I am a woman of refined tastes, sire, and many would consider me an inappropriate match for my job. Fortunately, my travels around the world have blessed me with the opportunity to meet many, and it is undeniably certain that such an austere and hardworking woman such as your wife would enjoy it like no other.” Uervia’s talons were tessellated and frozen in a ladylike fashion as she continued to speak. The man in front of her was like a shaky boulder that was ready to tumble in any way, and all she needed to do was blow the right words and send him rolling. She inhaled with the confidence typical in haughty merchants and continued to speak. She couldn’t lose this opportunity, not when the Great Harvest Festival and all of its boutiques sparkled around her like diamonds.

“Shawl of the Seventh Year is one of my most enjoyed oils for working women, containing a small amount of charred wood, that, when combined with the scents of plum wine and rainwater, paint the picture of feminine maturity and grace.” The crow uncocked her head as a cue that her speech was over. Her description wrapped around the man’s ears softly and quietly as he struggled to process what she just revealed to him. He was desperate for a gift and had little experience with handling higher amounts of coin, two weaknesses that Uervia intended to exploit as much as possible. She was excited to relieve him of his burden and finalize the sale, as she had other events planned. The man let out a sigh now that his head was filled with the fantasy that Uervia had suffocated the air with and handed over a small coin pouch. She lovingly accepted it and began to pack up her store not too long after.

The oils were wrapped in decorative swaths of silk with as much care as someone with talons could give, their mysterious silhouettes blanketed by the pelts of various common fauna native to Terra. All of Uervia's wares were housed in a worn and spacious bag that went against her aesthetic standards but had managed to remain as part of her wardrobe through hardy usefulness alone.

---

Waltzing down the crowded streets was less difficult for Uervia than the average person, as her height and regal aura tended to intimidate anybody not accustomed to her charms. It was a lie when she claimed to have traveled the world, as well as when she claimed to truly know what that man’s wife wished for. For the past several years Uervia had worked tirelessly as both a huntress and merchant of animal pelts and furs. For special events like these, however, she would don her most elegant dresses and begin selling scented oils with the sweetest birdsong she could muster. After gliding through gaggles of children and couples, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness now that she was far away from her usual trade partners. Her black eyes darted from game to game as she pondered over which one would be the most entertaining to play.

[MissCapnCrunch]

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🅶🆁🅴🅴🅽 🆀🆄🅴🅴🅽

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"Well, how does it taste?"

"I haven't tasted it yet!"

"Hurry up little sister! I don't have all damn day."

Torc rolled her eyes as she threw her head back in dramatics. Her brother had her trying tons of his made up recipes, some better than others. Today was roasted bog rat. The secret was that you used the wet muddy ground water that the creature bred in to also cook it. Torc took a hearty bite of the meaty side of the rodent as she chewed. The small bones were melting in her mouth as she savored the taste. Her lips pulled to the side as she thought. Her eyes glistened as she began to spoke, "It's not terrible." a heavy laugh bellowed from her tummy as she took another bite. It was delicious, Forc had truly mastered his craft.

"I hate you Torc, you joke around too much."

He pushed her as the two began pushing, pinching, and kicking one another around the open flame.

"What are you two doing?"

A stern and heavy voice that was clearly their father's brought Forc to an instant stop as Torc laid one more heavy punch on her brother before turning to her father. His heavy brow was even heavier on his eyelids as he crossed his arms against his chest. "I repeat myself, once more. What are you two doing?" Torc began to speak to tell their father that the two were just messing around but Forc spoke loudly, his tone changing completely. That of a warrior and not as a playful older brother with a love for cooking. "It is my fault father. I was having Torc try my new creation, it's something I think you will enjoy Fath-" Quickly the leader of the family interrupted, his large green hand up out in front of him. Signaling for them both to remain absolutely quiet.

"We have been having outsiders come and kill your brothers in arms, and you have been wasting your time prancing around the kitchen like a cockroach? I can expect this from your sister, as it is her duty to keep us fed, but you? You are my son. This is not for you. You are a warrior!" He slammed his hand down, sending the cooked food into the dirt below them. The two siblings remained silent, staring up at their father in a mixture of respect and fear. He turned and walked away, there was nothing more to be said about the situation.

When their father was out of ear reach, Torc turned to her brother, "I'm sorry, I didn't me-" Forc grunted in an outburt, "Yeah you didn't mean anything! You never do, You'll never even understand what it's like. You're lucky you were born a girl, you have it so easy. You just lay on your back and get on your knees when you're told." Forc stopped, his demeanor changing as he looked to his youngest sibling and only sister. "I'm the one who is sorry now my lovely sister, I didn't mean what I said. It is just frustrating." Torc nodded, she felt like crying but kept her upper lip stiff as she was embraced by her older brother.

"Make it up to me, and go to the bog and get me some more of those rats, and I'll make it up to you by cooking them."

Torc rolled her eyes once again, "That doesn't sound like a great deal to me." Torc admitted as her brother looked at her. "Go." he said, stern in his tone but gentle in his smile. She shrugged it off and turned, leaving away from her small village and traveling to a small bog that was about a half hour away. Reaching the mud hole she walked in, it felt lovely on her bare feet as she wiggled her toes. She walked a bit further in, so that the mud was not quite half way up to her shins. Squatting down she felt around in the bog with her bare hands for signs of any life within the ecosystem.

[Heat]

Krik

The trees were now barren, the tall wooden giants which littered the festival grounds within Edenhold no longer bared the rainbow assortment of leaves that clung to their branches earlier in the season. Children danced and chased each other around the plants, kicking up the dying bundles of leaf which covered the green ground. Smiles were on their faces, and laughter echoed in their voices. Krik regarded them with a glance, and a smile. The reptilian walked barefooted along the dirt road towards the festival. The temperature was still at a pleasant level, and the lizardfolk was happy. But soon winter would come, snow would cover the hills and forests, and Krik would need to continue his journeys into warmer land.

For a cold blooded being such as him, winter did not sit well with his physiology. He had always found an ironic beauty in winter despite this, though having seen snow in person less times then he could count on his four clawed hand. The cloud white snow covering trees, blanketing them as if it was putting them into a long slumber until spring arrived. Sleeping silently until spring arrived, they awoke and bloomed beautifully. He would need to migrate soon, but at least he'd be able to enjoy the festival before then. As he strolled through the city, he caught some odd glances from the citizens. They were of curiosity and surprise, typical ones he received in his travels.

Krik had arrived just before the tournament was set to begin. Fighting and brawling was something he'd never do, or understand the entertainment in. But there were bound to be injuries and that's a reason for his arrival the festival. He wondered how well the city treated its less fortunate denizens, in his wandering he often encountered impoverished folk with injuries they could not afford to treat. He was here for those people too. In the area dedicated to various vendors from across Terra he had reserved a small stand for himself. A medical clinic, not flashy or elaborate but all that he needed when considering his magical abilities.

As the lizard shaman moved through the festival grounds, his eyes continuously moved to the other vendors, noticing beastfolk from all across the land. Along with curious locals purchasing and browsing wares. Krik shifted to his own stand, moving behind it as he took his position to await any patients. Above him a sign hung which read his name, and his status as a doctor. Behind him was a small tent, in case any people in need of medical aid desired private care. He carefully leaned his wooden walking stick against one side of his stand, the small bundle of leaves from his homeland stirring gently in the breeze as he set it there. Then he waited, gently as always.