Astarael42

Rites of Passage

am back home now. Post coming tomorrow. I got a call from Serra, her computer is down atm too so Ill be taking dictation and putting up a post for her too. sorry once again for the delay.

Rites of Passage

Hey I'm in a technology dead zone. No cell for my phone even. Up 6am. Drove 20 mi to McDonald's to get cell service to use phone. Will be back Saturday. Will post then. Sorry.

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

" I don't want to burn" said Percival from just outside the front door. "Can I come too?" He asked as a matter of habit--for some reason people didn't often appreciate goblins tagging along with them. That didn't stop Percival. No indeed. He just needed to know if he should hide from the speaker. He could be a stowaway. A stowaway on a G.O.A.T. Wouldn't that make the grand story to tell all the ladies. Maybe he would hide anyway.

He looked down at the flagon of beer in his hand and frowned. He couldn't remember why he had it do he did the natural thing and downed it in one gulp.

"BRAAAAP" he belched in the face of another goblin who was racing out the front door. Goblins were used to farts and belches and nasty smells of all sorts. Nevertheless Percival's belch floored the other goblin. Percival stared at the felled goblin, raided his pockets, then looked around. Where was that funny goat?

He spotted the goat weaving through the panicked masses and quickly ran to catch up, nimbly dodging bodies, weapons, rampaging goblins, and the occasional flying piece of banana bread. When he caught up to the goat he realized he had no place to hide. He needed to hide to be a stowaway.

Spotting the kobold he attempted to hide in the kobolds shadow. He creeped along silently as he could hoping the kobold or the goat would not turn around.

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

Everything erupted far to fast for Percival’s liking. He was going to tell the goat he wanted to go with him…the goat would have many shiny things he was certain…however suddenly and without warning chaos descended on the whole room.

“Get him goblins” a cry echoed through the tavern. Percival didn’t see the shouter but he didn’t care. “Get Him” was not a thing he particularly enjoyed. That command never ended well. Instead he grabbed his full mug of ale and raced towards the back door.

“Thankyouverymuchbuticantstaygethimnotagoodthingneverendswellandgoodluckmistergoat.” He shouted his response at lightning speed over his shoulder as he ran. Goggles. Good to know. If he remembered he would find a pair for himself. They made your eyes shiny. The girls would love his eyes shiny. He briefly got distracted by the thought of hordes of goblin females fawning on him and his shiny new eyes. So much so that “oof” was the next thing he said. This was because there was a robot in his way, but Percival was so busy looking over his shoulder and dreaming about goblin orgies that he slammed full speed into the automoton.

“God save the King” was all he had time to mutter before blackness overwhelmed him. He wasn’t out long, just a bare minute, but when he came to he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Noise was all he heard. Lots and lots of noise.

Right. Fight. That was what was going on. A fight. Get him Goblins. Nope. Need to run.

Those thoughts raced through his head and he stood up quickly. A goblin was standing just in front of him looking dazed and hurling banana bread at people. Odd. Percival cracked him on the head with his mug, grabbed the remainder of the loaf of bread, shoved it into his mouth, and ran out the back door.

Nimble and quick he scrambled up the wall of the tavern and half-skittered half-ran across the roof. It would be safe up here. He would follow the goat and find goggles of his very own.

He wasn’t sure where he had found the match, but suddenly it was in his hand. He eyed it curiously. Matches loved him. For some reason they were always jumping onto him. He’d tried to ask them what they liked about him but never got any answer.

He stared at it and lifted his mug of beer to his lips. A few scant drops was all that fell out. Barely enough to taste. Damnit. Well he was on a tavern after all, he’d just go below and steal some more. He forgot about the fight going on below him and began to scramble back down the front side of the tavern leaving the curious match, lit, on the thatch roof behind him. Forgotten just as the tavern brawl was forgotten.

He dropped nimbly to the ground and opened the front door upon the chaos of a bar room brawl at precisely the same moment the thatching above him caught fire and the smoke began to fill the air.
“Um there’s a fire on the roof” he said as loud as he could to those gathered inside. He spied a full flagon of beer which had miraculously gone untouched in the brawl and grabbed it. “Never mind, I’ll just put it out with this.”

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

With a deep groan Percival opened his eyes and blearily tried to focus on something, anything. When he finally did he quickly shut his eyes again. That had to be the ugliest person he had ever seen. Small piggy eyes were set deep in a narrow piggy head. An ugly pink schnozz was stuck almost in his face and the breath that emitted from the mouth was enough to make any sane person retch.

“Squeeeeee oink oink grunt” said the face and it took Percival a moment to realize it was a pig that was sharing his bed. The horror of that fact so overwhelmed what little focus he had that it took him nearly five more minutes to realize he wasn’t in HIS bed. Or any bed. He was passed out in a pile of hay in a pig sty.

Groaning Percival shoved the pig out of the way. He was rewarded with some angry grunts but the pig wandered off and the small goblin stood up. That was some crappy ass beer, make him fall asleep with the pigs. Dumb ass things. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the hay that had been wedged in his long tapered ears. Grumbling and stomping around the pig pen he looked for his ale mug. He found it stuffed under the trough and grabbed it like it was a prized gem instead of a the battered tin mug it was.

Still not sure what exactly was going on, why he was here, where here was, or anything else Percival secured his most valued possession back on his belt and headed out of the covered pig sty to a bright day which nearly knocked him on his ass. Too damn bright. He squinted his eyes and wished the sun would go away, it gave him a headache. Or the beer did. Man that was some crappy beer. He needed to find better quick. He needed it to clear his head if nothing else.

He thought he saw a sign for a bar and shuffled forward, each step clearing his head of the alcohol induced fog. He walked in the front door and soon found himself flying back out it. Literally flying. Zooming along on a current of air. Damn spell born bouncer. Using air to fling him about as if he was a daisy. Why? Had he been here before? He didn’t remember it if he had. That of course was not an uncommon occurrence. He rarely remembered where he was, what he was doing, why he was there, or anything else he didn’t deem important.

Still he needed beer and it was obvious the front door was not the way to do it. So around to the back, through an unguarded window was the next step. No one saw him despite the fact he got stuck halfway through the window, unable to reach the ground on either side. He had to wiggle like worm on a hook till he dropped to the inside floor with a thud.

Not a good day. Must be the fault of that crappy beer he had had earlier. Slipping unnoticed into the main room he helped himself to a mug of beer he spied sitting somewhat unguarded at the bar. Dumping the contents into his own tin beer mug he took a grateful swig. Proper beer at last. With a deep sigh he plopped to the floor, somewhat out of the way, and proceeded to down the contents of his mug. He would need to steal another in short order but now that his head had cleared up somewhat he wanted to see where he was and who was here with him. More importantly who had something shiny he might find interesting to examine.

He spotted the ancient goat with the pilots goggles right way. The goggles were shiny. And they probably meant the goat had other shiny things. He scrambled up on the bench shoving his way next to the ancient goat.

“Hiya” said Percival in his most professional and polite manners addressing the creature. For a goblin that wasn’t saying much but it was a step up from the usual riffraff. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours. Where did you get em?”

Rites of Passage

Serra I don't want to pressure you but I have to leave town from Tuesday to Saturday, sans computer. If you can get a post up I'll reply before I go so you and Jollan can do something while I'm gone.

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

Do you have an ETA on when you will get this underway? I am leaving Tuesday and returning Saturday during which time I will be sans computer.

Rites of Passage

I like that plan...Brisa and Argurios can manage to get away. Alone in the mountainous region they sort of have to work together to survive and what not. But we don't actually need to have that written and can just come out of it alive and allude to it in the future if we ever should need.

Serra not to pressure you or anything I'm waiting on you to post and I'll try and get your girl into the first post tomorrow.

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

EDIT: Character up for approval/denial.

A couple questions...
1.) are there normal goat goats or just ancient goats?
1a.) if there are normal goats are they sacred or can they be used to ride or as pack animals?
2.) is plant/nature an element?

Percival

Percival

Name: Bergenshurgenoffgunsun. Everyone just calls him Percival.

Age: 1 and 1 and 1 and…he’s not sure, he’s not very good at math. Old enough to steal booze.

Gender: M

Appearance: Percival is quite small topping out, on a good day, around 4 ft tall and skinny as a starving dog. His green skin however is quite lustrous and warty, and with his long pointy nose and his long pointy ears he is actually quite the handsome specimen of goblin kind. He knows this and often touts his fantastic looks, not realizing that not everyone has a true understanding of goblin beauty. His limpid brown eyes and nasty sharp pointy teeth are a contradiction of sorts, the first puts people at ease the second makes them edgy. He doesn’t realize this and when he grins his sharp teeth look like nothing so much as a gaping maw about to bite someone. He has terrified even the most hardened of hearts with his well meaning grin. He dresses in brown leather clothing and occasionally, when he remembers to put it on, patchwork brown hide armor. He completes his dress with whatever shiny things he happens to have found recently, valuable or not, and always carries his beer mug hooked on his belt. He keeps a soap-on-a-rope tucked carefully in a pocket along with some lengths of wire that make good lock picks.

Race: goblin

Main Weapon:
Beer Mug (if its handy) or a petrified Soap-on-a-Rope. Both are special to Percival and comprise three of his 5 prize possessions (the fourth are his “lockpicks” and the fifth, well I said he wasn’t good at math).

The beer mug is forged from the finest tin and taints all beer that in it with a faint metallic taste. Percival is so used to this that beer without that flavor is just wrong. He’s convinced the mug must be magical because it’s the only thing that can make a proper beer and thus it is his favorite possession. And in truth it is magical, but not in the way that he thinks, it cannot be broken, bent, damaged, rusted, etc. It also has a bit more heft than tin should have, making an admirable thunking weapon. This unique item was given to him by a spell-born lass who’s house he accidentally on purpose burned down. He destroyed her house but he saved her life for the presence of the fire fueled her strongest magics and she was able to easily dispatch the mob of angry goblins and run away steam powered goat headed turtle that were about to kill her (long story, suffice to say lots of beer and a stupid dare led to the situation).

The petrified soap on a rope is simply that, soap on a rope that has gone so long unused that the soap on the end has turned into basically a waxy rock. Percival found this weird item while looting something…he’s forgotten what. He was completely perplexed by the thing and its purpose, having never used soap in his life, and therefore thought it must be something greatly unique and special. He never has figured out its true purpose but it makes an admirable weapon that fits in one’s pocket. He’s grown quite adept at using it.

Personality: Percival is an easy going sort of thief. Outspoken, boisterous, fun-loving, and only sometimes brave. He loves to steal, loves to burn things down, loves to drink, and apparently loves to run because he finds himself doing that quite a lot. He’s quite good at hiding, or so he thinks. If it weren’t for virtue of his small size he might be less adept for the places he chooses to hide are often quite terrible. He’s still alive however, and that says a lot for his skill. In fact he thinks he’s quite good at a lot of things. This is not always the case. He loves fire, explosions, and everything related and is constantly stealing things related to fire. Unfortunately he’s also prone to accidentally catch any number of things on fire or blow them up. At any one time he has at least a hundred matches stuck on his person, usually in nooks and crannies best not explored by the faint of heart. But when needed he can always procure one. He also loves shiny things, valuable or no, and will often help himself to baubles that catch his eye. That is the one thing he is truely good at, he’s an exceptional thief. Especially with acquiring things from another’s person or getting through locked doors, chests, etc. He doesn’t think himself a thief usually, he has a somewhat flexible concept of ownership, most don’t really understand this however no matter how much he explains it. Drinking, to him, is a serious matter but to be taken lightly…in other words drink lots, drink often, and have fun doing it. And if you run out of beer then you’d better steal some more.

Of Goats, Goblins, and Mages

if you get more people I'd be interested in a constantly drunk goblin thief who's truely terrible at his job or a crazy old man spell-born who talks to trees and bushes and anything else that won't run away from him.