Tuddums

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

Genrit's first response is to tear at her jaws, ripping them off of his neck and clamping down onto hers. His rows of bladed teeth further shred her throat, ripping upwards to completely open the wounds. If she wasn't dead before, she's dead now. The pain of the acid is starting to mount and he drags himself off of the crushed dragon. His wings twitch and beat, trying to get airborne. He manages to gain some altitude but the aching sensation that now fills his body makes it difficult to maintain his height, causing him to crash into the trees before him, toppling them. He roars in pain and frustration as he limps his way towards the lake, his body thrashing as it forces down the trees that get in his way.

By the time he finally reaches the water, the acid has scarred his flesh. The scales will heal over it, but the wound will always be there. He practically throws himself into the water in an attempt to wash the acid off. He writhes and lets out a muffled roar underneath the once calm waters. His head rears out and breathes heavily, feeling the pain of the acid disappear, though the other sources of pain still remain. His warm blood bubbles away in the cool water from the gouging at his stomach. Genrit drags himself up the shore and rests with his upper half out of the water. His injured leg is relieved of his weight somewhat but he still winces with each movement. His head turns to look at the path of destruction he caused to get where he is. The crushed body of his enemy remains motionless. A snarl builds in his throat and he roars in its direction. Half as a show of victory, half as venting the agony he's undergoing. He can't help but think to himself about how he would have dealt with this before his body was degraded. She would have been nothing to him. But here he is, wounded and sitting in... Water.

His lip curls upwards in disgust and he curls his neck back to look at some of the damage caused by the acid. A devious weapon indeed. His head faces forwards once more and he rests it on the ground, letting out a pained whine. His breathing turns somewhat ragged as he lays still and regains himself. He at least finds some form of entertainment in watching the smoke rise from the forest fire he has created. If not for the pain he would find this moment relaxing. Genrit stays like this for quite some time, shutting his eyes and trying his best to keep his body still.

When he finally opens his eyes once more he's met with the same scenery as before. With a groan he drags his lower half out of the water and begins to limp over to the corpse, the fallen trees cracking under his weight as he moves. When he reaches her he grabs her head and lifts it up slightly, holding onto her shredded neck with his other claw. He has to lay on his side as he does this, unable to support himself on his hind legs. He opens his mouth and clamps it down underneath her skull, shaking his head and growling as he rips apart the flesh beneath the scales. Genrit lets go to re-position, dealing further damage. He does this for a few minutes until he finally manages to succeed in tearing her head off. He drops it to the ground and rolls it over, looking at it front on. He snarls as he looks into her empty eyes. "So sure of yourself." He leans in closer, his throat rumbling in contempt. "You're dirt."

He grabs the top of her head and extends his wings, launching himself off of the ground and taking her head with him. His flight is unsteady but he relies upon the warm updrafts of the area to help him glide and conserve energy. Whatever blood remains inside of her head now leaks out, dropping down to the earth below as he returns home. Once he finally arrives he lands awkwardly, needing to drop the head just before he does so to accommodate for his wounded leg. His breaths are unsteady as he picks up his trophy and crawls inside his cave. Once he descends he places the head near the center of the open area that he resides in. It's still filled with water, but this water he doesn't mind. He lowers his head into the completely pure liquid and drinks, the otherwise cold water turning warm as his snout touches it.

Having eaten, fought, and drank, he pulls his sore body to the open area and curls up. He tries his best to ignore the pain in his leg for now. His eyes lock onto the head of the other dragon and his gaze hardens. A puff of smoke slips between his lips as he settles down to rest. He grumbles to himself, in desperate need of a proper sleep. And he's finally tired enough to achieve such a thing.

"That's one. Who knows how many more."

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

The sensation of the acid eating away at his scales is new to him and he doesn't entirely know how to respond to it. He knows that it's being caused by her spit and that he needs to wash it off lest it cause too much damage. But for now he needs to respond to the dragon rapidly flying up towards him. Wordlessly he beats his wings to powerfully propel himself upwards before he loops backwards and twists, he flaps his wings one more time to propel himself downwards. He tucks his wings in and his weight does the rest. His body zooms down and he extends his front claws. It's definitely time to end this. He's had enough of this poisoned soil of a dragon.

His body rams into hers before she can adjust her path, the speed of his descent sending him crashing into her. A claw catches on her lower jaw and drags halfway down her neck before slipping out and slamming into her chest along with his other claw. The two of them collide with the earth with a sickeningly loud thud as his weight fully presses down onto the smaller dragon. Even though he pushes her down with the attack, the impact also harms him. A sharp jolt of pain shoots up one of his hind legs as it cops a lot of the impact from the fall, causing his claws to curl up and his leg to twitch and stretch out. He works through the pain that is both growing on his head and the newfound pain spread throughout his body. He needs to focus on the task at hand. He opens his bladed maw and plummets it down as he now attempts to finish her off by tearing her neck open, having pinned her beneath him.

[Ebonfort] Dead Men Tell No Tales (Unless You Ask Politely)

The jester remains still as the ghost materializes and goes to hit him, unfazed by what's happening. Ah, what a depressed statement. Excellent prose. When he hears the woman's voice he listens keenly, though his still and neutral body language would not suggest it. Ghost sound tastes... Different. Like someone left a blueberry pie on the windowsill to cool it down but forgot about it until the end of the day. Her mentioning how they have been adrift for some time inspires him with confidence, especially when she mentions that they have already been seen by two other towns. How very exciting!

There is no air of sympathy coming from him at all, even as the ghosts are given identities. When she walks through him he shudders and turns his body. He has never felt something similar to that before, though he's tempted to ask her to do it a few more times, that he may better describe it. But he doesn't for now, not deeming it appropriate. He tries to face where he assumes she is now that she has passed through him. All he has to go on regarding the nature of ghosts is stories, so he'll stick with what he knows for now.

The hand actually touching his skin comes as a surprise, but he remains still. His flesh feels rough in texture, firm due to the absence of muscles aside from those needed to move his mouth. A stark contrast to the gentle ethereal touch of the ghost. When she finishes introducing herself he takes a smooth step back and does an exaggerated bow. The bells on his hat jingle obnoxiously as his head tilts down and flips back up, his arms going out to the sides. His voice alters as he speaks, suddenly sounding overly pompous and regal.

"What a lovely name, ma'am~ I am Amrik, a bringer of joy, good tales, and good times. A jester, if you will. I figured it best to approach you before the common folk got too carried away with their silly superstition. This is the port of Azure Strand, I wouldn't get too comfortable in this place, the smell gets to you after a while. Not to mention the amount of pickpockets. Oh my, the pickpockets!"

He stands straight and rests his hands on his hips, a grin so wide it would split open the face of any other creature concealed under his mask. His posture is almost perfect as his chin tilts up. He maintains this stance for a few seconds before hunching slightly, holding his hands together and sliding what he once more assumes is closer, now sounding more devious and inquisitive, with the voice of a woman. Young and pleasant yet husky, as though she has spent the past few nights shouting at the tavern or arena. He often does this when he's excited. So get used to it.

"Would you care to tell me more about what happened to the crew of this ill fated ship? I would be glad to try and help a few lost souls find their way back home. You say you don't recognize the stars? Just how long have you been at sea?"

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

The spat goo hitting his face is enough to throw him off, causing him to take the strike in the face. He recoils and growls, but she has already started moving towards the trees. He glares in her direction but does nothing further, having other things in mind. His wings spread and beat powerfully, lifting him off of the ground. To her it looks like he's just planning on leaving. He quickly gets enough height to go over the tree tops. But instead of just flying away, he begins to glide low over the forest.

His throat rumbles as smoke starts to fume out of his mouth. A massive torrent of flame erupts out of his maw, the hot blood dripping from his nose turning molten before hitting the ground. The smell of what she spat on him is overwhelmed by the smoke coming from his mouth. He sets fire to the forest beneath him as he glides, the sheer scale of destruction caused by his swoop is enough to initiate a huge forest fire. His glide carries him away from her and by the time he needs to take a breath again, it's clear that her lake isn't going to be getting many visitors. He curves to the side and begins unleashing yet more flame on the forest, spreading the fire even further.

He much preferred when there was no forest here, anyway. He'd rather see all of this burn. He keeps an eye out for the other dragon as he wrecks her home, preparing to attack her if she confronts him. He isn't in the mood for talking anymore. Either she leaves or she feels his teeth rip her throat out.

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

His snout turns up slightly at the codfish insult and replies simply, his deep voice full of the same level of contempt. "I have been away from this place for three hundred years, hatchling. But I have returned. I hope you enjoyed your time here but now you must leave." His mouth clamps shut for a moment, cutting off the smoke as he does so. He raises his body off the ground, opening himself up somewhat. But he's watching just as keenly as ever. He detects the smell but pays no mind to it just yet. "This is your last chance." His maw opens slightly again, allowing the flow of smoke to continue. He doesn't growl or put on any more of a show than he needs to. If this dragoness makes one more move out of line she is going to face a swift yet agonizing demise.

In the back of his mind he was hoping that this would somehow be the dragon that attacked him all those years ago. But it's foolish to expect to encounter them so soon. Especially living in the bottom of this lake. This dragon looks like she has spent far too much time underwater to be moving around the area at all. Not to mention... This lake hasn't always been here. Or at least, not to this scale. Regardless, a trespasser is a trespasser.

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

A powerful claw strikes down as the other dragon charges him and bites his wing, only for it to dodge out of the way. The sight of her spitting his scales out prompts more smoke to pour out his maw. A deep growl echoes through his throat as he replies. "This is my land and it has been for quite some time." The other dragon reminds him a lot of the snakes he used to eat back when he was just a hatchling. Before his scales were strong and he was experienced with fighting, he had to rely on the weaknesses of the animals around him. He has never been able to speak to a serpent, but he assumes that they all suffer from the same overconfidence. Just because you think you can lash out doesn't mean you should. Genrit's eyes harden as his bitten wing twitches a little, both of them folding in as to not get in the way. "Find another lake far away from here before I contaminate this one with your corpse, worm."

His head tilts slightly as he glares at her, expecting another attack. It's a reflex game. Catch the head, clamp the mouth shut, twist it, step on the body, bite. In this case the body being the neck. He knows that he will most likely take some scratches with what he has planned, but it's nothing compared to having one's head mauled off. Genrit also needs to make a few sacrifices here and there if he's to get back on his feet. He doesn't notice, but some saliva drips out among the smoke. He may have become a bit too invested in the memories of one of his old food sources.

[Ebonfort] Dead Men Tell No Tales (Unless You Ask Politely)

The crash practically happens in slow motion as the wood of the ship collapses in the wood of one of the piers. The loud crack is crisp in the night air. People immediately start to move closer, but the jester gets ahead of them, practically sprinting. His feet stomp loudly as he rushes to it. Upon closer inspection it looks even more worse for wear. The mast is collapsed down onto the deck and some of the guardrails are cracked apart. It's a miracle that it managed to even make it anywhere. Suspicious indeed.

He makes a spectacle of himself as he swiftly leaps up and grabs onto the bowsprit without hesitation. He hefts himself up onto it and looks over the deck from his slightly elevated position. He's not an expert, his knowledge of these things exclusively from his stories and songs... But there was a massacre here. There are signs of combat littered across the deck in the form of gashes in the ground and walls. The destroyed mast and rails also make more sense now. Being a Boogeyman he is unable to detect the half washed but obvious blood splatters all over the ship, but he doesn't need to see them to know what's up. He shifts his feet and starts sliding down the wet bowsprit, leaping and landing on his feet smoothly.

People continue watching him as he begins walking across the ghastly vessel. It all seems fine to Anataaoerki up until he starts to hear shouting coming from the onlookers. A woman screams and a man yells at the jester to run away. His echolocation is unable to detect that which has no body. A collection of ghosts begin to materialize before him. Their unsettling visage causes those nearby to panic, starting to back away from that which they don't understand. He freezes still and listens closely to what they're saying. Ghosts? Excellent. He understands why he can't see them, but he's sure it won't be too much of a problem... So long as they're friendly. The same man is still telling him to run away. His body turns to the panicked audience and he snaps up straight, standing with his arms by his sides as he screeches out.

"BLOODY HELL! I'M POSSESSED! RUN BEFORE THEY GET YOU TOO!"

People scream and begin to flee. The nice taste of their fear sinks into the Boogeyman's skin and he can't help but grin underneath his mask. He knows it's a taste he shouldn't get too used to, but it's fine every now and then. When he detects no one nearby he stands properly and turns to where he assumes the ghosts are standing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you out to be villains. But it was so fun I couldn't resist. Care to tell me what happened to this ship? It could make for a fine ballad."

His nonchalant attitude towards such an absurd and potentially dangerous situation serves to further highlight just how willing he is to do what it takes to gather tales to tell others. Though he definitely has fun lying about them, it would be nice to have some completely true ones up his sleeves. Especially when dealing with those pesky Katzheer.

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

Genrit's eyes snap open as the water near him erupts in motion. His claws dig into the earth as he hefts himself up, turning his head to the source. Another dragon, already on its way towards him. A sense of indignation of his own rises up from his chest and up through his throat. His body shudders in rage as his massive wings also outstretch. His bladed maw opens wide as he roars in return, shaking the ground beneath them. Smoke smolders between his teeth as he challenges her. In the back of his mind he registers that with all that water and algae, his fire may not be the best weapon to use against her.

But he was given these jaws and talons for a reason. His body fully turns to confront her and he lets out yet another primal roar. He feels his hot blood pound through his body as his heart quickens. This is a feeling he's experienced time and time again. He's glad that he managed to get his bloodlust up just before this, blood already hardening as it stains his scales. He completely outsizes the other dragon, but he's weakened and size alone doesn't help a dragon against another, more aggressive dragon. But he holds his ground, claws ready to lash out if the other dragon accepts his challenge. His body lowers, ready to pounce and tackle them down with his weight.

[Ebonfort] Dead Men Tell No Tales (Unless You Ask Politely)

For the most part all he gains as a reward for his performance is applause and getting to witness the expressions of shock, though a few patrons put one or two coins in the glass. When it looks like no one else is going to pay, he lifts his leg up, still balancing the glass, and takes it with one hand. If he didn't already look energetic before, he definitely is now. Nothing quite like filling one's pouch after a solid performance. He places the glass down and leaps off of the counter, rolling as he lands and skipping a few steps as he goes to leave. Both in his eagerness to investigate the ship and his eagerness to leave before anyone starts asking him questions. He has yet to plot out the grand lie and he would much rather not being painted into a corner. Or at least, not a corner full of drunk sailors.

Anataaoerki practically launches himself out the door and into the salty night air. As a testament to his tale, a chill wind washes over the area. He straps his lyre to his belt and runs to the edge of the closest pier. A small crowd has gathered already, watching the ghostly ship sail ever so slowly. He hops from foot to foot, anxious and excited by the series of events. It looks like it's going to crash into the docks soon, which is perfect. Maybe not for those that will have to repair it. But definitely for him as it saves him having to row out to it. He's always wanted to go on a ship. Why not have his first one be haunted? Oh how he hopes it's haunted.

[Ebonfort] Dead Men Tell No Tales (Unless You Ask Politely)

@Twhirtley