[OOC] Lochpine Preserve

In our world, there are preserves that hold all the mythical creatures of lore. They are extensive, acres and acres of land. Some have areas changed into impossible biomes to allow these creatures to live comfortably. These places are guarded against human eyes and technologies by extreme and powerful magic. The preserves and all its inhabitants are cared for by Rangers, a title and jobs passed down through a family. These people have some small magical ability and resistance to much of the mind magic that the creatures might force against them. This is the story of Lochpine Preserve.

There is a parking lot located at the edge of a highway in Wisconsin. Across the way is a field of cows. The parking lot leads to a novelty store which sells beautiful, handcrafted items. These items are created by the residents of Lochpine. Some do have a small amount of magical ability, nothing harmful to the human world. Most are just intricate artworks made by the Fair Folk. This shop is tended by outsiders, people who are hired and work if they don’t get too close to the truth. The store is called “Goldie Loch”

Behind the shop is a thick forest. The path is only large enough to allow a four-wheeler through. Some ways ahead is a small house where the Ranger of Lochpine lives. This house and yard are a safe place. The Fair Folk cannot enter either without express permission. Some benign fairies live in the yard and preserve the garden. Except on solstice nights, when they may enter the yard but never the home.

Beyond the home are beautiful forests. Thriving, decaying swamps. Tall mountains. Dry deserts. Pristine lakes. All throughout the nearly endless preserve are areas where the Fair Folk may find their homes. Many, in fact, most places, are extremely dangerous. In some areas, a human may find an ally. However, only the Ranger and his kin may gain control over those in the preserve and has explicit safety.

The preserve is currently controlled by Ranger Rick. She has not married, and her family has passed away, allowing her to gain the official title of Ranger. She takes care of all the beings in this place and she is a very busy lady.

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ROLES/EXAMPLES

1 shopkeep who discovers the secret of Lochpine due to some family heritage (of your choice, within reason)

The Fair Folk – I will accept nearly anything. Please be reasonable. I am willing to work things out with you but please consider what might be too far. It does not have to be listed to be accepted. Below are just some ideas.

Dragons: They can live in any biome and their appearance and abilities will depend on that biome. They are also hoarders who will take exclusively that which they view as exemplary artwork. A dragon may choose to hoard gold and treasures. One artwork. And another, butterflies. Their collections vary but they desire to collect only one thing. They may take human form. (I will only accept one dragon) [Dragons from other parts of the world (example: Eastern or South American) will also be accepted!]

Unicorn: They are beautiful creatures varying in colour. Their abilities include things like healing powers, purity which only allow those with good intentions to meet or touch them, and the growth of plant life. They also may take human form. (Max of two in character unicorns though there may be a herd of NPCs)

Fairy: Small and sassy little creatures. They are genderless, though may take on a gender should they choose for procreation purposes. Their magic is light – creating bubbles, rejuvenating plant life, making music, and general merry things. Rarely they may fall in love with a human at which time they can grow to the same size at the loss of an abundance of their power.

Clarification on Fairy Abilities and the Loss there of

Fairy ability will be up to the player for the most part. A lot of the time it may have to do with the specific biome they choose. Example of fey ability would be things like rejuvenating plants/talking to plants, speaking with animals, making sparks or perhaps their bodies light up like fireflies. If they were to choose human life the fairy who could rejuvenate plants would perhaps have an exceptionally green thumb. Or the firefly fairy would have a more dewy skin that caught and reflected light giving them a somewhat glowy appearance. The fairies may have multiple powers.

Satyrs: They are troublemakers and partiers. They are not malicious by nature but can sometimes get themselves into or create negative situations. They are “fair weather friends” only around when things are well. Will take off when things get hinky – though some have been known to perform acts of magnanimity and bravery.

Dryads, nymphs, and naiads: they are always women and do not differ much from legend. They are not particularly fond of humankind and will try to harm them if allowed. Some have been known to be kind to those they favour though and will give them a blessing to force others of this clan (all the above, and related cousins are so) to not harm them. This is given by way of a deep kiss.

Trolls: For the most part they are exceedingly intelligent. They collect works of knowledge. Books detailing history or instructional manuals. They will also collect treasure as a way of bribing others to collect knowledge from them. They are clever, ruthless, and known to cheat on a deal if able. Their magical ability and appearance depend on their preferred biome. (not a required character) [I should also note this is an example of a troll and other sorts will be accepted!]

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RULES/What will NOT be accepted:

Overpowered/overly fantastical creatures (OF COURSE)

Witches, warlocks and the like

The shopkeep does not have magical powers beyond an immunity to charms/mind control/diversion magic. They may gain and use magical items in the future though.

Evil creatures – Good to Neutral only

Most non-humanoid creatures should be able to have a human form. Some have lived outside of the preserves for a lengthy amount of time so they should be able to blend as intelligent life forms. A human form is not required unless specified above, but can be fun should we need to leave the preserve for any reason.

Made up creatures - If it is not something I recognize I will ask for proof of its tale. Please do not be offended. I would like this to run more off mythology and I want you to get creative with the source material. (source material being Fablehaven or just your run of the mill mythos.) You may make some edits to current beasts, I am willing to consider and discuss this.

~@~------------~@~

Character Sheet

CS

[u][b]Name:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Age:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Sex:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Race[/b][/u]
[u][b]Biome:[/b][/u] (shop keep, just put store)
[u][b]Sexuality:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Relationship Status:[/b][/u]
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[u][b]Height:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Weight:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Hair:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Eyes:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Skin Tone:[/b][/u]
[u][b]Appearance:[/b][/u] (some words of description accompanied by a drawing of some sort)
[u][b]Skills:[/b][/u] (Magic, crafting, wordplay, etc.)
----
[u][b]Likes:[/b][/u] (Max of 7 things)
[u][b]Dislikes: [/b][/u](Max of 7 things)
[u][b]Brief History: [/b][/u](Min of 5, Max of 10 sentences)
[u][b]Your Story: [/b][/u] (Write a post. Instead of relying on personality through traits or a history though mere sentences, give me you character as you would write them. Don’t write their past. Write them now. Establish them. The MOST important part of your CS.)

~@~------------~@~

Beginning: Characters establish themselves and some relationships. Perhaps work this out beforehand. You have lived on this preserve for a number of years. It makes sense to have numerous friends.

First Arc: A magical artifact has been stolen which endangers the preserves. We must seek it out and bring it back to be hidden before it exposes the preserves to a population who will never be ready.

[eclecticwitch]

Discord: discord.gg/F2CuWUC



Goldie Lochs


In the country, away from the prying eyes of humans, there is a gravel parking lot where the store Goldie Lochs lives. Behind the store is a wall of trees and across the way a field of cows. It is clearly visible from the highway with an old, but well-painted sign swinging out front. The building is old but obviously well taken care of. When the door is opened a bell will ring alerting the shop owner that someone has entered the store. Upon entrance, a calm and comfortable feeling inexplicably falls over all who step over the threshold. The windows let in a wonderful amount of light, the rays occasionally glittering over floating dust particles. Most things are wood - the floor, the counter, and the shelving. The walls are painted a warm taupe and the trim light daffodil yellow.

An assortment of knick-knacks, baked goods, and jewellery can be found in the store. All who enter seem to find exactly what it is they need. The cash register is an antique with big clunky buttons and a large handle. Somehow, patrons of the store always manage to have the exact right amount of money to purchase the things they find.

The only thing is that you will never find it on google maps. There are no yelp reviews. You can only find the store when you need it. Or if you wrote the directions down on paper.

The Farm House



If you take the dirt path behind Goldie Lochs, you will wind through the forest before coming to a wrought iron gate. There is no lock but you cannot open it unless you have permission. Through the gate, you can see the elegant, lavender coloured victorian style house. The rest of the view is obscured by hedges kept high and trimmed beside the fencing.

There are three floors and a basement. The basement is strictly off limits to anyone besides the Ranger. The first floor consists of a comfortable living room, kitchen, dining room and study. The stairs lead up to the second floor with five bedrooms and two bathrooms - one of which is connected to the master bedroom. One last set of stairs leads to the attic. It is dusty and filled with boxes of junk from past Rangers that no one has thrown out.

The Gardens











The gardens lay to the back of the house. Where the forest begins marks the end of the safe area for humans. Some fairies visit or live in the gardens. To the average human eye, they may appear as different sorts of insects and arachnids. However, if one was to look closely and for long enough they would see their true form.

[eclecticwitch]

Extra space just in case!
---
Feel free to post here~

[ShwiggityShwah]

Do I need to change anything for my shop keep.

And the shopkeeper, does he get a room at the house or is that just the ranger?

[eclecticwitch]

@ShwiggityShwah He's perfect! Go ahead and put him in the character tab! Also, he does indeed get a room in the house! And is allowed around the gardens

[ShwiggityShwah]

@eclecticwitch

A few more lines of the story and I'll toss him in. Thanks

[Snagglepuss89]

I'll be tossing my character up within the next couple days.

Also, @Lasrever is probably joining although she's currently faffing about in the shadows.

[eclecticwitch]

Lovely! She is more than welcome!

[BurningCold]

@eclecticwitch Are we all to be limited to one character? Or is it possible to submit multiple?

[eclecticwitch]

@BurningCold I will give all a max of two at the beginning, but if you prove to me you are in it to win it, so to speak, I will allow more. That is to say, further down the line in the RP.

[BurningCold]

Malcolm

Name: Malcolm
Age: 27
Sex: Male
Race: Fairy (Humanized)
Biome: All
Sexuality: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single

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Height: 5’6’’
Weight: 139 lbs.
Hair: Charcoal shoulder-length mop
Eyes: Pale green
Skin Tone: Pale

---

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Appearance:

From the tip of his head down to the tips of his feet, Malcolm is disheveled. His charcoal hair, though tangibly soft and visibly clean, bows to no comb. The mess of hair flurries like ruffled feathers in the wind, and sticks out at odd angles at all times. Despite this, he manages to maintain some level of decorum. “Organized chaos”, if you would. His clothes, too, -usually some combination of darkly colored sweater and blue jeans- show clear signs of wear and tear; small holes in shirts and jackets, fraying edges around the cuffs of sleeves, the material of jeans pale and worn where the joints bend; and all of it wrinkled and crumpled.

Surrounding his light green eyes (though a better descriptor for them might be sickly) are dark circles of purplish black that betray a myriad of sleepless nights. His face is altogether fairly well put together, even if, like the rest of his body, it finds itself a bit soft around the edges. To the majority of onlookers, however, any conventional attractiveness is offset by the vacant, faraway look in his eyes. A gaze that is, while not utterly unpleasant, more akin to eerie than dreamy.

Three human years of overindulgence in food and underindulgence in exercise have left him in a state of flux between slim and chubby. He maintains this state through periodic bouts of underfeeding while simultaneously overworking his human body; episodes brought on by frequent bursts of energy and enthusiasm amidst a sea of ennui.

---

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Skills:

• Minor magical suggestion
• Cooking
• Cleaning
• Lying
• Pretending to be more intimidating than he actually is

Likes:

• Peace and quiet
• Reading
• Sweet things
• Tending to the house

Dislikes:

• Crowds Complex tasks (without clear instructions)
• Children
• Inquisitive strangers
• Brownies

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Brief History:

Malcolm grew up within the confines of the Ranger’s garden, rarely straying from within its boundaries. He watched in timid angst from afar as the Ranger couple disappeared, leaving a young Angela Rick to piece together what her parents had left behind. One day, a then mature Malcolm would find himself venturing out beyond the garden and into the wider world. A chance encounter with a charming young woman would leave him enchanted. For days and weeks and eventually months he would return to where he first saw her, watching her with curiosity and admiration. So the day would eventually come where Malcolm would find himself approaching this young lady. Their romance was a passionate thing, burning twice as bright and burning out twice as fast. Roughly six months after his final departure from the preserve, Malcolm, now in human form, found himself standing uncertainly on Ranger Rick’s doorstep. She took him in, then, and for over two years now Malcolm has been her right-hand fai- er, man.

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Your Story:

B-beep

B-beep

B-beep

B-beep

Swaddled in a tangled mess of blankets and bedsheets, a slumbering form rolled over in mild irritation.

Beep beep

Beep beep

Beep beep

The alarm clock, however, only grew more insistent with each heavy breath drawn in by the resting individual. Emerging from the drab cocoon of darkly colored covering came a clumsy hand, searching for a nightstand that the hand’s owner, eyes still sealed by the remnants of sleep, could not see.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

The form reached out towards the source of the incessant beeping to no avail. A loud groan emanated from within the cocoon of blankets, before a sleep-addled figure slinked out of the bed, coming to stand upon the cluttered floor. The figure picked his way towards the endless annoyance carefully; blocking his path were piles of clothes, stacks of well-worn books, and clusters of strange memorabalia; carvings of wood and stone, faintly glowing orbs and crystals, and all other manner of paraphernalia.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

A very tired and very irritated Malcolm was slowly closing in on the source of the noise, taking great care to avoid tripping over any of the various hazards. Fucking brownies must have not only changed the setting on his alarm clock, but also moved the damn thing halfway across the room.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbee-

Malcolm heaved a weighty sigh. Solace at last. His crusted eyes peered cautiously at the neon green digits of the clock. Three? As in three A to the fucking M? His first proper rest in days and the little bastards decide to wake him up at three in the morning? At least with midnight there would have been enough time for him to sink back into the elusive embrace of dreamland. This was just sick. Had he forgotten to salt his door? There certainly wasn’t any other explanation. Another sigh escaped from Malcolm’s lungs, though this one was a slower, sadder sort. It sneaked out from between his lips and through his nostrils quietly, his whole body caving in on itself, just a little. Like a deflated balloon. Malcolm snorted at the thought. He certainly felt deflated. No use standing around though, there was work to be done. There was always something to do.

So the fairy turned human quickly bustled off to the nearby bathroom to clean himself up and prepare for the coming day. The sudden energy that propelled him so was one part anxious, one part manic, and three parts hatred for the very concept of a brownie meddling with his housekeeping affairs. Still, it got him through the day. And night.

Brownies couldn’t work if someone was awake to witness them doing so.

---

Malcolm was dancing. Why? Because it was only half past five, he was on his fifth cup of coffee with far more milk and sugar than was necessary and far less actual coffee than was typical, and the house was nearly immaculate. He’d already washed and re-washed every plate, pot, spoon, and glass to perfection, set and reset every article of furniture to ensure that each piece was in its proper place, and dusted and scrubbed every exposed surface of the house thrice over. Angela’s laundry, too, he’d sorted out. Rested out in front of her bedroom door in neat piles: pants, shirts, socks and unmentionables all carefully arranged for her convenience. So yes, he was dancing. If spinning around in a circle, staring up at the gentle twilight sky, while giggling uncontrollably could be counted as dancing, that is. The popped blood vessels in his eyes married with the pale green irides and the white background of the sclerae to form a sort of twisted holiday festival.

Life was awful, that much Malcolm knew. The brownies fucked him out of his sleep. The nymphs and the dryads made fun of him constantly. The woman that he changed his life for had broken his heart. He might have children over a year old at this point, somewhere out there. He couldn’t fly, he didn’t live inside of a hollowed out magic toadstool, and on the best of days he could barely use his magic. Life was awful. And yet, there he was, laughing and spinning in a circle without a care in the world. It was moments like this where Malcolm felt like he really could fly, if only he could jump from somewhere high enough. Magic and gravity would sort out the rest. There were plenty of places across the preserve that would do the trick, if he ever sought them out.

There was always a part of him that held him back from trying something like that, though. When Malcolm’s head wasn’t soaring in the clouds, he knew exactly what that part of him was. The cynical, logical, bitter piece of him that told him all of the things a happy, high Malcolm never wanted to hear. He would die if he jumped. He couldn’t fly anymore, he would never fly again.

Just like that, the smile faded from Malcolm’s face as the spinning slowly came to a stop. Dizzy and stumbling, his countenance caught somewhere between a frown and a grimace, Malcolm made his way back inside. He poured himself another cup of too-sweet coffee before dumping himself unceremoniously into a chair. He stared dubiously at the mug cupped in his hands. There were several ways to make this drink more exciting and none of them had to do with the copious amounts of sugar already present in the brew. Ah well. So Malcolm raised the steamy liquid to his lips and took a nice long gulp, before setting the mug, now half empty, on the table before him. He began to pour a soft, powdery substance into the mug, stirring the concoction with a small silvery spoon.

It was still too bitter.

---

Warm rays of sun beamed down upon Malcolm’s bundled form. Despite the uncomfortable humidity of the Wisconsin summer, he was clad in more clothing than was probably necessary. Baggy jeans hung around his hips, loose enough that Malcolm had to hook his fingers around the belt loops and hoist them up often, but not so loose that they would fall down to his ankles all of their own volition. A pair of black, ratty, tightly laced hiking boots peeked out from beneath the cuffs of each pant leg. Atop his torso a gray cotton sweater was pulled over a simple white undershirt. Both the sweater and undershirt were privy to a number of faded pink splotches; battle scars of being washed by a vengeful brownie. Worn over the whole lot was a loose-fitting leather jacket that doubtlessly saw frequent use.

To most, the whole getup would be utterly stifling in the current weather. Malcolm found it all to be quite comfortable. Leaning against the wall of the establishment known as ‘Goldie Lochs’, he watched warily as a pickup truck rolled into the lot, before coming to a stop. Malcolm fished around in his right pocket before slowly raising a small purplish orb to his mouth. A two-way scrying device. “I think he’s here, Angela. He’s getting out now. Be here, or don’t, but I’ve got to go.” Hurriedly, the orb was stashed away once more.

Driving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, Malcolm watched impassively as a tall, well-built fellow approached the shop. Nearly a head taller than him.

“Hi,” He called out, his voice unaccented but creeping out slowly. Every pore on Malcolm’s body exuded something akin to either boredom or resignation. The tone of his voice was no different. “Welcome to Lochpine Preserve. At least until you snoop around and the wildlife eats you for lunch.” To the stranger, it would doubtless seem a joke, even if one that was deadpanned and poorly delivered. Malcolm knew better.

Well, there he is! Just to clear up some confusion for onlookers, anything that might not seem quite right was cleared with @eclecticwitch ahead of time. I'm sure she'll kindly let me know if there's been an untended discrepancy.

Also, the post at the end details events in Malcolm's day leading up to his first encounter with @ShwiggityShwah's William Graham, for the sake of clarity.

[eclecticwitch]

perfect, go ahead and put him in the characters page!

[Spiritzer]

How 'bout a non-internet troll? I can probably play one that is a bit of a "Human culture enthusiast", a changeling that is an otaku of the homosapien species if you will.

I feel it courteous to mention that the shopkeep WILL BE HARASSED by such a character, and YOU WILL sell your wares to him at a discounted price. >:).

[eclecticwitch]

Sure, that is just fine! But the fey make the products in the store.

[Spiritzer]

They sell it to Humans? Hmm! I think I have an idea based on that concept.

[Spiritzer]

(I posted in the wrong place.)

[Lasrever]

I'm pretty sure Snag said I was putting a sheet together, so here we go! Hopefully that should be alright.

Leah

Name: Leah McDowell
Age: 32 as a human/uncursed, at least several centuries as a spirit - her memory isn't any better than most, so she gets a little hazy on the specifics.
Sex: Female
Race Glaistig: a half-woman, half-goat spirit from Scottish mythology, who generally acts as a protective spirit - albeit with occasional vampiric tendencies, filled by luring travellers through song or dance.
Biome: Lakeside
Sexuality: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single
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Height: 5'6"
Weight: 145 lbs
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Hazel
Skin Tone: Unnaturally pale, with a slight grey tinge
Appearance:

Hider

At first glance, Leah appears to simply be an entirely average woman, if a rather pretty one - it's only once you get a little closer that the strangeness about her becomes apparent. Her teeth, pristine white, are just a little too sharp, her skin a little too pale to be normal, and her gait strange and awkward. Someone who didn't know her would perhaps liken it to a trot; someone who did know her would realise just how accurate that choice of words would be. For underneath the long green skirt she wears with her tunic, the girl has a pair of brown-furred goat legs that she usually prefers to keep hidden from others, even when simply wandering the preserve itself.

Skills: Enchanting song and dance, deception, cattle-tending, historical knowledge, sure-footedness
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Likes: Cattle, forests, children, music, sunsets, rainy days
Dislikes: Modern technology, disrespect, vampire fiction, faeries of all kinds, iron and salt (they both burn her, a side-effect of the faerie magic that fuels her curse)
Brief History: Once the Lady of an ancient castle that has long since crumbled, Leah's initial life was one of high-class pampering, and it showed. She was, on reflection, rather unpleasant to deal with, and held in her heart arrogance beyond bounds; arrogance that lead her to ignore her servants' warnings and order the sacred oak outside her window chopped to the ground. Needless to say, the local faeries took offence, and enraged by the young woman's self-centred attitude, cursed her in two parts; the first, to be burdened with her goat-like lower half, and second, the unfortunate state of undeath which she found herself occupying after her untimely demise.

Several centuries later, she still can't help feeling the curse was just a little gratuitous.

Your Story: How long had it been now? Centuries, no doubt. Leah had decided to stop keeping count a long time ago; once you started keeping track, living after death grew unbearably depressing. Besides, it wasn't as though she slept anymore, which left the days and nights blending into each other at times. The ones that could sleep and lose themselves in dreams really didn't know how good they had it. A luxury whose value she'd never fully appreciated until it was cruelly snatched away.

Damned faeries. Their curses did tend to go overboard, at least for her tastes. Frankly, the whole blood-drinking business was unpleasant enough as it was - especially grating after she started paying attention to the humans' unbearable obsession with vampires. Not that she was one of those, strictly. They had far more perks.

Enhanced strength, speed, resistance to wounds, endurance, regeneration, durability--

And what did she get? Dancing, bloodsucking, and goddamned goat legs. It was enough to make a girl feel unappreciated. Though, she supposed, at least she could still sit outside in the sun. The more unsavoury parts of her predicament had become tolerated, albeit grudgingly, by the rangers - on condition that she never bleed any creature dry. It suited her well enough, as for all the things the long-dead Lady McDowell was, remorseless killer wasn't one of them.

Though, she noted, people hadn't shown her quite the same courtesy.

That was all long ago, though; the culprits long dead or far across the sea, the intricacies of her unfortunate predicament known to her and her alone. She'd been bitter for a while, but you could only spend so many decades terrorising the barely-responsible before it started feeling petty. Even if being murdered did tend to smart a bit. It was one of those things that you tended to take rather personally, at least if you asked those few that ended up sticking around afterwards.

As for her, she'd lived an interesting life, though she couldn't be certain what exactly had driven her to cross the sea. Only that she'd been incredibly affronted by it, and trusting in her past self's good judgement, she had no doubt it had been incredibly offensive. Rather inconvenient how so many people had stopped believing in ghosts over the years. It lent itself to a certain level of disrespect that she'd never grown completely accustomed to. Using her title, she'd quickly discovered after finally trying to rejoin the human world, was met with an equal level of disdain.

So she'd decided to start going by Leah, discarding Lady McDowell to the past. It was unpleasant to think how far she'd fallen from an old life of servants and finery.

For here she was nobody at all, sitting by a mountain trail, a song just a little too sweet escaping her throat and her eyes firmly fixed upon the path ahead. There was a human on its way, his blood-scent both sweet and salt in the air, a small smile of anticipation on her face as he appeared over the ridge. There was a sort of dazed look in his eyes as she approached, expression a perfect mask of concern as she grabbed his hand.

"Are you alright?" Entering into a dance, a simple and free-flowing thing, his feet moving though he himself barely seemed aware of it. The question wasn't said for much reason, simply to gauge his reaction. And sure enough, he barely responded, too far under her spell - so she drew his wrist upwards, teeth sinking into the skin. It was a difficult thing, but necessary, her grip released quickly as she looked to him with concern. Pale now, of course. But she hadn't taken enough for serious harm. She'd learned how to judge a person's limit long ago, after a few unfortunate mistakes in her younger years.

All in all, killing travellers was incredibly inconvenient; people tended to kick up a fuss, and that was before you even got into the moral issues surrounding the whole thing. Plus, frankly, she'd had a difficult enough time making her case as a resident on the reserve to begin with. Breaking the only real condition she'd been set would be horrendously unappreciative of her.

She could hardly blame them for being a little on edge around the bloodsucker, anyway. As it was, she was almost completely certain that her unfortunate victim would be perfectly fine. She tended to err on the side of caution, as much as you ever could with these things.

She couldn't stick around to make sure, however. Inconvenient, but the spell of her performances tended to wear off quickly, and it would hardly be effective once he realised something was wrong. Thankfully, she was well-equipped to make her way down the mountainside, picking her way from ledge to ledge with a faintly affronted expression. As useful as they were in this specific hunting ground...

Gods, but she couldn't stand the bloody hooves.

[eclecticwitch]

Very interesting!! I like it! Accepted.

[Spiritzer]

Redland Huntsmoor, the Troll

Name: Redland Huntsmoor
Age: ??, 27 Human years
Sex: Male
Race: Troll, Changeling
Biome: Undetermined
Sexuality: No time for that!
Relationship Status: Single

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Height: 7' 3"
Weight: 190.37 kilograms
Hair: Dark, the colour of burnt wood mostly.
Eyes: Dark, with a thin yellow outline.
Skin Tone: Extremely pale beneath the extremely hairy exterior.
Appearance:

The only Troll that wears pants around here.

Red or Hunts, as he is called, is a large, fur covered behemoth of a cryptid. Sometimes even larger than some of the other trolls in the reserve, owing to his lifestyle and plentiful welfare when he was Human that translated very well over when the enchantment broke. But this might not be for long as indicated by his dry, brittle fur and yellowing tusks from malnourishment. Human ways just don't go well with troll physiology.

Learning to walk with this shape was a challenge and he had recently conquered using his hefty arms to bear half the weight of his broad upper body, not unlike a gorilla. It was awkward at first but not as awkward as watching the other trolls prance around au naturale, nothing ruins your day more than seeing a herd of trolls commune with their dongles swaying in the breeze.

In terms of expression, Hunts has a leathery triangular nose to scrunch up when he is displeased. Two tusks jutting out from his lower jaw that frame his mirth, large and long pointy ears that twitch with caution at any sound and a set of determined eyes that shine reflectively in the dark. All on a fur laden face that started the whole 'werewolf in the woods' fiasco that landed him here in the first place.

Skills:

Quick Study: Hunts picks up skills he is interested in relatively quickly, perhaps it is inherited from his obsessively studious ancestors somewhere or a trait of simply having been raised in human society all this while.

Technologist: No, he's not something as fancy as a Technomancer or what of the sorts. Hunts is just naturally savvy with machines because they are logical devices and even despite his amnesia about his human past, he still seems to get gadgets to work eventually when he spends enough time with them.

Brute strength: This is just part and parcel of being a troll (and having a boulder as a door to his cave house). If you need something towed, lifted ...or choked. Hunts' the man-troll you're looking for.

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Likes: Cats (not as cuisine!), Herbs, devices from the Human world, experimenting, Human food, Rick, Malcolm (this one is questionable)
Dislikes: dogs, loud noises, nature, cruelty, pranks, idiocy

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Brief History: Rick's parents brought Redland Huntsmoor to the reserve for rehabilitation, you see, the young man had only recently found out he was a troll. A Changeling, to be precise. These are troll or fey children who were left or stolen away to the Human world to safeguard them from the many conflicts of the fey realm, enchanted with a Human form till these children touched another of their own kind. But every act, even magical, has a price. Hunts lost much of his memory about the Human world after he made such a contact and was found by the ranger couple at the source of many 'werewolf sightings' that sparked a panic in a shanty town.

He still has some of his past belongings, mainly a wallet filled with cards of the verifying sort. But without Rick's parents around to help him make sense of ...well, everything, he's kind of lost on how to go from here.

Your Story: "Maybe I can do the I---"

"I-In ..." Infirmary? Inside? In ...

"You know, the one where they stack boxes in a certain way!" The 7 foot tall, hairy mound of muscles gestured frantically as he clung unto imaginary crates with his dirt encrusted hands.

"In---" Insanity was about to touch him if he did not get the proper word off the tip of his tongue.

Rick rolled her eyes, sipping her tea ever so slightly. "Inventory."

"YES!! THAT!" Redland exclaimed with joy, almost leaping into the air as he pointed at her. "Inventory!" He sighed a breath of relief. It was almost comical how Hunts the troll, in no way matched his appearance when it came to behaviour, instead of moping around his cave like a proper grumpy monster should - he spent much of his time hanging out in the Lochpine's porch afterhours (the only place where he did not hit the ceiling) chatting the ranger and the fey that come by till his pressence became intolerable.

"No. Everyone would see you." Rick shook her head, how many times must she tell him that he could not work in the store for such obvious reasons? Oh right. This was the eighth time today. She gave him a narrow eyed stare.

"Well, I'll be real quiet. Or you could tell that shopkeep I'm like wearing a costume. None will be the wiser!" He realized how dumb these ideas were but it did not stop him from trying, they were still better than being jobless or worse, living with other trolls.

He turned to Rick once more after pondering at the empty lawn for a moment. "If your parents were here, they'd know what to do."

Hunts did not mean to be blunt but it was ineluctable given his solitary existence here at the reserve, conversation was such a rare indulgence to him that he would forget the tact surrounding it's proccess sometimes, by the time he realized what he had done it might have been too late.

"I-I didn't mean to."

"Forget it."

"They are out there, somewhere, I'm sure. Safe and sound!"

Hunts' toothy expression sobered to a frown in the silence that ensued, planting his knuckles to the floor as he prepared to leave. He had overstayed his welcome once again. Dangit!

"But ...if you, just in case, ever want to go looking for them. I'll come with you or help anyway I can. Just so you know."

He glanced at her one last time before carefully squeezing his way out the fence, disappearing into the cold misty night.

[BurningCold]

Likes: Cats (not as cuisine!), Herbs, devices from the Human world, experimenting, Human food, Rick, Malcolm (this one is questionable)

@Spiritzer

you wot m8?

[Spiritzer]

<Snipped quote by Spiritzer>

you wot m8?

@BurningCold

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A gaze that is, while not utterly unpleasant, more akin to eerie than dreamy.

u high m8? @_@.