Spiritzer

RWBY: Ragnarok

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Terra

The small bones were melting in her mouth as she savored the taste.

@MissCapnCrunch

Orc acidic saliva confirmed. 💉💋

Terra

I formatted the post.

Say, when the posts refers to 'a man', they mean any clearly identifiable male of any sapient species right? I pressume?

Terra

I just had an idea. Sending you a pm.

Terra

My horrible post is up.

Terra

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

Terra

.

(I typed this and posted by unintentional pocket dialing.)

Terra

Profile

Cloaked in radiation-protective gear from head to toe and a medium sword for self defense, with broad frame standing at an average height of about a little less than two meters, Briggs' masked mien leaves little to infer from his expressions (or lack thereof).

However like all Humans, the clothes he wears is also coded to identify many aspects of himself to other Humans. For example, the white pointy polyesterene hat sewn unto his helmet, is worn by someone with scholarly pursuits, as opposed to the feathered cap of a hunter or the ossified horns of a warrior. The torch he wields further reinforces the idea, as the plant quickly withers if not cared for by skilled hands.

Torch

Brightwisp Torch.

Gnarled roots of leafless Saberstem sapling exude a bactericidal chemical that accelerates the life cycle of the hardy, territorial Brightflies which colonize on them. The insects, in turn, pollinate the plant's spores. By exploiting this natural symbiosis, Humans have a living torch that lets them travel in the dark without risk of setting things ablaze. By topping it up with a nodule of nutritious nectar and mud every now and then, further adds to the chain of symbiosis and reliance.

His clothes, though now worn and torn, were once an indication of wealth that meant he came from a settlement where they could easily fabricate cloth - something traders (and refugees) might pay for directions to. Even the little red symbol on his sleeves, bearing a handprint with a leaf at it's center, signals his field as a naturalist and Biothurge which other Humans may hire and consult him in troubles related to his area of expertise.

Biothurge

Biothurgy.

While Biothurgical runecrafting is capable of mending small wounds and ridding malaise in the span of a long breath, Briggs prefers to let wounds heal through the more conventional methods of microbicidal herbs, nutrition and good rest. There is much less scarring and a better chance for the body to strengthen itself against illness this way. Plus, it hurts less. WAY LESS.

There's also a risk that some patients get addicted to the magic, eventually turning undead should they not curb their habits.

OOC

Rubbing radioactive salts in a precise manner, coupled with low-frequency soundwaves that activate the matrix (incantation), stimulates spontaneous cell division and role assignment around the wounded aRea.

It is such ingenuity in communication and other areas (from the viewpoint of a non-human) that has helped Mankind survive thus far. Being able to convey ideas without sparing the labored breath of a breather.

Breather

Breathing apparatus.

Particulate gas mask. Like and part of the armour most humans of Humanity wear, they are replicated from relics of the country called Hazmat from the first age.

Too bad there's no one else out here to communicate with.

Briggs muses, sighing heavily as he leers from his leafy camoflauge to stalk an overgrown tortoise grazing away blissfully. For a moment he was certain that he heard the reptile laugh ...though ....maybe he was just going crazy sooner than he thought.

Oh well.

Background

The child no one wanted. The son no one spoke of.

Humans were a flimsy lot. No scales to shield them from the harsh weather, no wings to help them cross faraway lands. Their skin was bare and naked, uncoloured, cooking at the slightest touch of the sun into a variety of reds and browns. The only thing going for them were their penchance to overthink things. Nature's consolation prize at best...


In a harsh land, there were once some who tried to make up for these weaknesses with a forbidden art. Like baking, they tried to change the ingredients that made up Man. Human Transmutation, it was called. Most were thought to have yielded no results, others were too traumatic to even consider attempting. So after a decade or so of trials, Humans resigned to their fate, ekking out a living with their tools and walls of stone at the outskirts of the wilderness.

But the labors of his ancestors did not go to waste.

In the colony of pure-blooded humans, were suddenly born a generation of peculiar children. A sickly girl with ears like white feathery wings, adored for her angelic appearance. An energetic boy with a prehensile tail. Twins who never left the water tub they were born in.

Briggs was such a child.

He was kept in a library, almost mute, for most of his childhood. Till his vocal cords developed in his teenage years and he could finally speak the words he had long known. Books were a big part of his life, a life he felt content with, for what he could not see beyond the little glass window - he could wander through their written pages. As a curiousity his family then dressed him up, and with the help of a big floppy hat, let him attend school like any other student. Illegal things, afterall, were ever so exciting for the nobles and few things were as illegal as giving a halfbeast a proper education under the very nose of the government which forbade it.

...That was many years ago. Briggs has long outstayed his welcome among Humans and his family since then, since a series of misfortunate events. Having to brave the wilds on his own now, he has only his wit and opposable thumbs against all the nasty things out here. Yet he still clings to the naive altruism that stems from one too many evenings with heroic/romance novels, believing that there will be one day where 'monsters' and Humans will be able to live together in peace. So while trying not to get ferried off by some petrodactyl, rot from overexposure to radiation or you know, starve, he studies the strange and wonderful flora-fauna that thrives out here. Seeing his exile as a silver-lining chance to explore the world outside their lead walls, looking for that big discovery which will be his ticket back home.

His ticket back to Humanity.

Relationships

(Hostile) The government of the town of Humanity - Exiled. Bounty rewarded for capture.

(Neutral) Shroomfolk - Managed to barely communicate through notes left by other explorer, seems friendly if not a little sedated. Can be used as a seizure-inducing lightsource once lured into a one sided conversation about rotting logs.

(Friendly/Neutral) Humans from other colonies - Mankind might be inclined to treat each other kindly, given the rarity of their species as a whole. ...Maybe??? Yet to confirm.

Terra

So, what's next and when? @World of Terra

The world of Telduria [Sandbox] [Player driven]