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@Dusty If you don't mind, I have a question regarding your character's abilities.. how long do the effects of his hypnosis last?


@HowlsOfWinter

Good question, and I'm afraid I don't really have an exact answer. Its mostly based on the suggestion or command given, and some suggestions can take years to manifest while others are immediate and more precise. Really, it depends on what Brundy is seeking to accomplish. Though that's not to say someone can't break free of his influence early.


@LordofthePies

"Kill yourself" is rather vague, someone who doesn't want to die just then could take the suggestion in a confused sense, and say slowly kill themselves over the years by eating too many Slim Jims and perishing of a heart attack. Something more direct such as, "take that knife and stab it in your eye." Would be more successful if immediate death is desired. But I can't imagine many situations in which he'd want to employ that sort of tactic, he's a manipulator not a murderer.

Thank you, I shall.

I like where it could go, I'm interested.

Room for another?



@Regitnul Ah, well I misunderstood it so it stands to reason Treekle could have misunderstood it as well. No harm done.

Facing the kitsune Treekle gave a low sigh. “Aye lass, horse dung does transform into manure over time. How insightful of you, alas I still have no desire to shovel it because it is beneath my station. Should we happen to need willing dung movers however, I shall be the first to employ your services.” Giving Ayana a cheerful nod Treekle turned away only to be completely caught off guard by Rhen.

“The bloody nerve of that lass.” Treekle muttered to himself as Rhen walked away, his face a similar shade of red as his braided beard. “Grabbing my whiskers and insinuating a dwarf maidens have a beards, what utter nonsense. And we bathe just enough as need be, I certainly don’t smell like an ogre orgy.” His self-reassurance aside Treekle lifted his arm and took a quick sniff, wrinkling up his nose at the bitter scent. Rhen was lucky he had the restraint to keep from lolloping off her arm with his mattock when she grabbed his braid, and it left him too flustered to retort. A number of good comebacks filtered through his head in quick succession but all he managed was a quiet, “damn changeling,” under his breath.

The dwarf’s good spirits returned in short order however when Rintor suggested moving towards the mountains. Raising his fist into the air Treekle voiced his agreement with this proposition. A mountain would be an excellent place to start his research, rivers and baths be damned. And they didn’t seem that far off to him, he estimated they could reach them before the second sun descended below the horizon. But perhaps the scouts would know for sure, that being their job and all.

Releasing a booming laugh Treekle thumped Esailia’s lower hip good naturedly, holding a wide grin under his red beard. “That’s the way to treat old duffers who lord about, when they demand you hold the flaming coals high you ask them to give it a try. That’ll keep his pride smarting for some time, hohoho, hehehe. You’re a good lass Esailia, a good and sharp lass for sure. Hahaha!”

The dwarf near doubled over in his spurt of good humor, even going so far as to slap his thigh amidst his guffaws. He quieted down when Rintor began talking once more, and despite his earlier teasing Treekle recognized a wise man, who, for all his quirks would be a valuable asset on their journey. Besides, Rintor was right. They had brought an unholy amount of warriors on an expedition which was about discovery and diplomacy, of course practical things like finding safe places to camp, and scouting was the first thing on the agenda instead of the more expertise concerns like research. The dwarf could add nothing to that discussion except minor points, his own talents being much more refined.

Treekle’s thoughts were interrupted by Rhen, at whom the dwarf raised a bushy red eyebrow. “That’s a bit presumptuous don’t you think elf, I mean changeling, I mean, ah, you.” He pointed his stubby finger at Rhen to clarify. “Here we are in a whole new world of opportunity and you give orders demanding, a bath? Your mind must be a dazzling pool of brilliance to be so focused on priorities.”

@Regitnui @Force and Fury @Esailia

The arrangement frustrated Treekle, he should have been placed in the front or rear of the line. Stuck in the middle between the elves, humans, and changelings practically guaranteed that dwarf wouldn’t be noticed. A sad thing indeed seeing as he’d worn his best cap and cloak for the crossing, and how he would have loved for all the people to see them. Especially his fellow dwarves who remained hidden among the crowd, shouting a rousing, “Ka ka ka Ka’Zath!” In a near vain attempt to show their people’s presence at this momentous event and their support for Treekle’s royal pedigree.

And why shouldn’t they? Hadn’t it been dwarves who mined the portal’s ancient rock and steal? And wasn’t it dwarves who donated many of their precious crystal to help power it? Shrugging these tiresome and divisive thoughts from his mind Treekle shouldered his mattock, taking his turn to step through the portal, the dwarves picking up the chant just when he entered. “Ka ka ka Ka’Zath!”

Treekle’s first impression of this new world was how quiet it was. It seemed almost jarring, how one moment he stood amongst the roaring crowd and the next in the stillness of this new land. He would have liked it to last, for a minute at least but alas the chattering giants that surrounded him wagged their tongues and began chittering mere moments after entering. Typical humans and elves really, kind of amusing in a way.

“Ah production, I suppose that’s me lass.” Treekle marched over to Esailia standing off to her right, sizing the odd Mithra Guardian up and down. “The name is Treekle Ka’Zath, lesser son of Vulgrim Ka’Zath ruler of the red dwarves and your accompanying alchemist and engineer. I presume you fancy yourself leader, shouting orders like that and what not, which is jolly good, always a fine thing to see chaps confident enough to take charge. But don’t get me wrong miss, I will not tolerate you disregarding my station. I am the son of a king, and I will not shovel horse dung or any other likewise demeaning tasks. I will carry my own weight, rest assured, but consider yourself… Informed.”

Turning to the group as a whole Treekle delivered a louder, more abrasive address to the gathered adventurers. “That goes for all of you taller folk, us dwarves often go looked down upon, an understandable side effect to our unique biology, nevertheless, keep my warning in mind. Should I find myself being mistreated I have no problem shoving this here mattock so far up someone’s bung hole their eyes turn grey. A decidedly uncomfortable procedure for all parties involved, let me assure you. Thank you, please continue miss, Esalila, is that correct punctuation? Yes, jolly good.” Treekle reclined, leaning on his mattock hilt, letting the others absorb his little speech and introduce themselves.


Here's mine.



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