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+---- Thread: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised (/showthread.php?tid=12625)
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My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-14-2026
Although the Feverlands borders her home area, she’s never gone deep into it, and for good reason. This place is about as foul as it gets in her opinion, and she’s ever grateful for Deimos’ continued assistance in that respect. She’s fallen quiet for the moment as they listen and stalk forward, tar lessening back into deep water and murk. Through the haze of mist, a large shape looms ominously, and Colt regards it with a narrow eye of suspicion. She feels uneasy here, and she’s certain that shape is a reason why.
[say]”Careful,”[/say] she murmurs to him, although she assumes he well knows already, but saying it brings some comfort just the same. [say]”Something here feels, wrong.”[/say] She might not have been here in person, but she knows the tales behind this land. She’s hoping her horses weren’t stupid enough to stray much further here. Maybe they turned tail and ran back out, might have passed right by her through the low visibility without even noticing.
[say]”You’re right, by the way,”[/say] she admits softly, still straining to catch notice of movement here. [say]”About everything having some risk.”[/say] It could be reason enough to stay, to double down on her own fire management plans, deal with the devil she knows and all that. Honestly though, it’s like she told Zavien, much as she loves the life, it doesn’t allow her much opportunity for more. It’s consuming, and for the first time that she can remember, there’s a bit of freedom to this horizon, smoke-blotted as it is. She’d also like to think there’s someplace out there where she couldn’t just lose all of it again.
Chewing on her lip as she finds the courage to say what she knows will sound crazy aloud for the first time, she offers him an answer to his previous question. [say]”Thinking of going to Hak Etme.”[/say] Hearing it put into the world instead of just echoing around her own head sounds almost too loud and she winces a bit at the stark reality of it. [say]”I’ve run up and down that land,”[/say] she continues, lest he think he a complete fool. Not lingering on who she accomplished that with, too focused on things besides past ghosts when she’s got future struggles aplenty, she elaborates a bit further. [say]”It’s hot there, but unlikely to burn. Suvahasi can’t be that lush without fresh water either, and cattle should be able to eat it. After some work.”[/say]
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-15-2026
Deimos was caught between careful and brazen at some points. Calculated and controlled, but he knew his capabilities. Knew how to protect, how to devastate, how to shield and ruin simultaneously. [say]“Frequently does here.”[/say] So while he might not have molded into fear here, for he knew the amount of things lurking beyond those ranges, plus the rampant squeaking nearby was an indicator of what Belial had heard and seen, he nodded, shoulders straightening as he began to unfurl more earthen incantations into the area. They would need solid footing for whatever intended to come next.
Though perhaps that could be said for most things; catching her admittance on the low breeze. He ceased from snorting, tucking and suffocating it down on an inward catch of breath. Her further idea though made his brow arch, and he did turn back to her as if he’d misheard. Not much came out of the desert except for the Suvahasi, predators, and bones, and his eyes narrowed speculatively, letting her finish while his mind tried to absorb the hows and whys. Many probably thought them all foolish and ridiculous to be living in Halo too – but people had long since been making the best of it, and they’d cultivated ways to survive. Hak Etme, though…not many had done anything with it, for obvious reasons. [say]“There are also the landsharks,”[/say] he added, insinuating they would love to gobble up the woman’s impending snag of future cattle. Wouldn’t she be tied to that region too, same as before, if she became swept up in ranching? The only thing altered and changed would be location. [say]“But I have been there in the rare and occasional rainfall.”[/say] A superbloom of plants all basking for one singular moment, for it to be gone in the next. [say]“Probably depends on if you can get enough people to help. Sounds like a big project.” [/say]Not to discourage, but perhaps to flicker in bits of reality.
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-16-2026
Landsharks are admittedly more of an idea to her than an actuality. Something she can get the shape of, but can't quite describe in full, never having really seen or dealt with them. Proof enough of all the trials of every region though, for King's End has its own troubles, as Sunjata had well put use of her electric fence to instead. [say]"Mm, I imagine there's a good number of things to account for along with the landsharks,"[/say] she admits, wrinkling her nose as much for the smell of the bog as the realization that should she decide to take this path, it'd require more than a whim. She should probably study what she's getting into, or find people that had the knowledge already, people she could trust. Question is, would they be willing?
That Deimos doesn't immediately cast her a fool and laugh at the idea is all a continual reassurance. It might be wild to imagine, but she has held wildness in her hands plenty of times and molded it before. A practiced type, she will admit, but that, if anything, emboldens her to rise up to something new and test her mettle against it. Carefulness had gotten her here, with nothing but loss to show time and time again, until now it's naught but memory. [say]"I think there is always something worthy to be found in the places that are hard won. A certain beauty, to the things that give warning."[/say] Not that beauty is high on her list of requirements, but the desert appeals to her in that way, and she can imagine the blooming spectacle he describes is one such splendor hidden among the hardship. Life builds itself into every niche, and it creates defenses to protect itself. What might the desert be like, if some of those layers of armor get peeled back? Something shiny, yet to be found, polished beneath the grit?
[say]"Do you find it hard,"[/say] she wonders quietly, more direct now than theoretical. [say]"Getting people to thrive in Halo? You've many more years of practice there, but I know that land is harsh in its own way. I imagine they all were, once."[/say] Even Torchline, for its shining luxuries now, surely did not start out so amiable to citizenship. Some easier than others, she's sharp enough to notice that—here, for instance, seems like a miserable place to exist now matter how she squints at it to try and find something redeeming. She supposes every creature that already lives here though has taken a certain liking to it, and maybe one day some person would lay claim to these wastes as surely as she's considering doing to the desert.
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-16-2026
He wasn’t certain what rankled, but he could feel the fringe of it down his spine at the admittance. Perhaps it was the way his notions had been so casually written off, or that because she hadn’t lived the experience, it meant less. Dismissive maybe, in the face of her dreams, when he’d done no such thing to her. [say]“As long as you are taking things seriously,”[/say] he countered with an arch to his brow again, eyes flickering back to the land around them, following Belial’s sharp movements through the sky. A scorch of nuances to settle before moving forward on a plan that seemed, by and large, overwhelming, complicated, and needing to be more than a figment and whim. He took a deep breath, let the cutting edges peel away. [say]“I have hunted quite a few. Nearly lost my arm saving Zuriel.”[/say] And while that had been a moment where he’d gained a companion, he wouldn’t encourage the incident to anyone else. The mare gave a snort regardless, shaking her head in prim and properly fashion.
His head tilted as they traipsed further, listening to the sounds of the bog rattle against the senses, waiting for something to strike or an opportunity to do so first – Belial’s silence spoke volumes against the restless fervency lingering in his pulse. He heard her just the same, nodding along at the indication of hard won places and facets – Halo could be regarded in much similar endeavors, but there were counter-balances and things already long since placed before he’d arrived. [say]“It was not easy, but the people were willing. It was also around for hundreds of years before any of us came, so I did not have to lay out the foundations or the groundwork.” [/say]No prayers to the Eirachi, no promises made to seasonal aspects that they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, keep.
Taking a quick breath and stilling, his nose wrinkled, the stench of the muck and grime pervading. [say]“It will be down to how much you are prepared to put in.”[/say] Her time, her effort, her strength, her determination – but she also couldn’t do it alone. [say]“You might want to talk to one of the heralds, perhaps for advice or a place to start.”[/say]
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Serendipity - 03-16-2026
A slick, glistening shape lies stretched across the path ahead, its pale body pulsing faintly as it inches forward. A Chebis Slug, nearly blending into the wet ground except for the wet sheen it leaves behind.
The surface around it is smeared with thick residue, and every slow movement produces a faint, unpleasant sound as it drags itself onward. One careless step would be enough to crush it — and coat anything nearby in foul slime.
It continues its sluggish journey, indifferent to the world around it, an easy thing to overlook until it’s far too close for comfort.
Chebis SlugAreas Found: The Feverlands, Oerwoud — Common An orange slug with black spots that can grow up to 1ft in length. Facial markings make it appear to be constantly frowning. Shockingly fast.
Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 17 | To Hit: +19 | Dmg: 8 Movement: Crawl 30 ft.; Climb 10 ft.; Burst Slide 40 ft. (straight line) SPECIAL SKILLS Slime Slick: leaves an exceptionally slick trail that can send pursuers sprawling; Grip Shed: secretes extra mucus to slip restraints and grasping hands; Low Profile: hugs the ground and vanishes under leaf litter between bursts |
TRAITS Shock Speed: accelerates in sudden, slippery bursts despite its size; Adhesive Foot: clings to bark and stone to navigate short climbs; Moist Hide: stays supple and swift in humid undergrowth, slowing in dry air; Narrow Squeeze: compressible body slips through finger-width gaps ACTIONS Slick Dash: surges forward in a sudden straight-line burst to escape or close distance; Slime Coat: floods its skin with mucus to break free of a grab and reduce friction; Leaf Latch: anchors firmly to a surface, resisting attempts to pry it loose |
 |
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-16-2026
Though she doesn't realize he's misconstrued her words, Colt understands well the threat landsharks pose, and recognizes they aren't the only issue she'll face in Hak Etme. In fact she suspects she'll have a great number of problems on hand from the start, so she has filed away his suggestion alongside ones she better knows, something she did consider serious. His concerns lands less like a warning then, than just a good reminder, and she nods along with the advice. [say]"There's still a lot to consider,"[/say] she concedes, because seriousness means continuing to chew on this idea. It's still fresh, him being the first she's told, and while he didn't immediately warn her off, he did give her a new think to study or find someone capable of handling - landsharks, since she herself likely couldn't manage them nearly as well. Especially not when it seems he himself has struggled.
[say]"I'm sure I can't interest you in taming some wild landscape with me then?"[/say] She shoots him a sly look from the side, already well knowing his answer, he's his own half-wild region to oversee, nevertheless his prods into other places, such as this. [say]"Well, if you know anyone capable, send them my way."[/say] Or, as he suggests not long after, perhaps the gods might have some tools or input.
[say]"I would likely build a Frey and Rae shrine there,"[/say] she admits, considering the quick accessibility to her gods. [say]"Far as I know, just Ludo and Mort have one there."[/say] Frey and Rae might not be interested in the murder of all their landsharks, but she suspects they could help her wrangle some of the region into a nest of safety. Though, as he well points out, she could not do it alone, gods or no. [say]"I have nothing left but my all,"[/say] she says with a softness that should not be confused for uncertainty. She has nothing left, and that means she has everything to offer to a dream like this. Perhaps the only time she might. [say]"Or I could always find something easier... fade into the background of a bar for the rest of my days, slinging drinks, tending to a small herd on the side."[/say] Even as she says it, she frowns, not quite liking the picture of it.
Shaking her head, she notices the shine of something nearby and stills. [say]"What's that?"[/say] More to draw his attention than a question, because soon enough she narrows her gaze on the chebis slug.
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-17-2026
Deimos had done many considerations when it came to Halo as well; even when he and Evie were first deciding to even take up the mantles. Knowing how it had been for him in the past, the pressure, the overwhelming, overbearing, cantankerous bridges he always made for himself. He liked to believe he’d gotten better in the interim, but maybe just accustomed to the constant state of restlessness, requirements, and duties; the obligations of citizens, regions, family, friends. The question made him snort, regardless, immediately shaking his head. [say]“Have enough on my plate already,”[/say] of which she knew, considering the glance she gave him. [say]“Evie is due at the end of this season anyway,” [/say]he mentioned with a light grin, so it wouldn’t seem strange when either of them were carting around another infant again. [say]“But if I hear of anyone looking to rampage through the desert, I will let you know.”[/say]
It seemed she’d been coinciding with the notion of the gods anyway, and his head tilted vaguely again, concentrating flickering between the squeaking sounds nearby and the carrying conversation. It did appear to be a Ludo and Mort terrain, what with the rampant feeling of death. Loosening a slight chuckle, he arched his brow back at her as she warned about going all maudlin. [say]“You do not seem the type to fade.”[/say] Nor meant to roam in the background – he might’ve gone further, but then there was the distraction.
Glancing downward, he caught sight of the tiny slug. His face flattened, glancing upwards at Belial. [say]“Really,”[/say] he extended; as if this had been the thing he’d warned about, but the peryton screeched in return, and the Sword sighed. [say]“Chebis slug. Harmless.”[/say] So he stepped around it, as it made to meander away, before there was another chorus of sounds – and his gaze narrowed again.
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-17-2026
A surprised ‘o’ shapes her mouth from its teasing smile as he offers up just how busy he has been, and will soon very well be. [say]”Congratulations,”[/say] she beams across at him, assuming the wish is in order after seeing him with his son at the rodeo. She’s not certain she’s ever like the same extended to her, the ideas of being a mother long ago buried with a husband, and now she’s quite certain she’s too old to keep up with her heart much less a little one.
Well, it’s no wonder he gives off such a fatherly figure, he has practice doling out patience with citizen and babe alike. [say]”Yes, you’ll be quite busy,”[/say] she grins, happiness for the piece of paradise he’s found simmering warm and bright through her, rushing past the hollow ache that’s sure she’ll never uncover the same.
Perhaps that’s part of what lent her to say the quiet part aloud. The small, fragile thoughts of this being the end of all she might amount to. Some part of her immediately kicks back at such notions, and it’s granted improved strength when he adds to it. [say]”I suppose not,”[/say] she finds herself agreeing, smile threading back into place with a quiet appreciation as she sneaks a thankful glance towards him. A vote of confidence is sometimes all that’s needed to recover a stride gone short.
All of that fades away to one, singular, small, slug. Colt has to press her lips together tightly to keep in the laugh that risks escaping, especially as Deimos levels the peryton with a look so unimpressed it rivals the one he’d given her idea of lassoing an ursur. Soon enough though her humor fled her as another sound came forth from the mire ahead, and as Deimos scrutinized it, Colt found herself already swinging the bow around into her hands from her back. Slug, horse, or something else, she wanted to be better prepared, and she’s all the more certain that Belial wouldn’t be calling for nothing. [say]”The rats?”[/say]
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-18-2026
Those unknown chords; where one was never certain if they’d see portions of light again, had called upon him more than once. Dark and dim, where he hovered inches above plunging below the surface and leaving it all behind – bound to be easier than being slowly consumed by grief, melancholy, loss, and heartache. But he hadn’t, he didn’t, and in time he’d managed to carve another hallowed earth for himself that he’d never considered again. Family. Friends. Regions. Years and years before he’d been choking down and shuddering away ghosts and wraiths and failures like they were all he had; and to find himself here, along these intertwining roads of peace and prosperity were sometimes so startling and striking that he’d catch himself basking in the solace. Of repose. Of things to hold and cherish. They all had those capabilities, if they could catch and dart and get out of the mire before it swallowed them whole.
So if Colt wanted to try and sculpt a desert, perhaps she’d succeed. [say]“Thank you,”[/say] he nodded, before his attention went towards more than slugs and potentials; though, perhaps the latter was reserved for the inevitable swing of demolition and destruction again. [say]“The rats,”[/say] was both an echo and a warning, as they began to emerge from the dropped embankment of muck nearby.
Always figures that gave off nasty little airs, their larger than life frames towered above some fallen logs and rotten stumps, their noses pinpointed to the sky as they began to smell them. A group of four – a threat for passing merchants or those weary travelers just trying to make it through another day. [say]“Has your aim improved?”[/say] He joked; before altering and shifting, soaring upwards on thunderbird intentions, immediately rising above to meet with the peryton, and targeting the furthest from the group. Within half a breath the lightning pierced from his eyes, sliding and striking the little beast with bestial, powerful, potent intent.
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-18-2026
His confirmation is one she expects, but had quietly been hoping to be wrong. Could certainly be worse, all things considered, but she rather hoped a horse might dart through the mist. Instead, a smattering of shapes take form, more worrisome than their name gives them credit for. Her barn cats hunt rats on the daily, but not these.
Shooting him a smirk that lightens the rigidity settling in her shoulders, she reaches smoothly behind her head to draw out a sharpened arrow. [say]”Keep that up and I’ll show you personally!”[/say] Her answering calls lifts amid a grin as she nocks the feathered shaft, arm drawing back the taut bowstring. Her gaze tracks him, his new shape requiring some amount of appreciation as it rises above in a tempestuous show.
Soon enough her focus slides back to the scrabbling, vicious creatures. His lightning crashes into one, the light scattering amid the mist peeling back, eerily casting rat shadows in a scatter of light and moisture. She picks out her own mark, and on exhale releases her shot, sharpened edge racing to cleave the veil, both in terms of boggy haze and rodent lifeforce.
The Pencil Sharpener | An earthen quiver that sharpens any arrow placed inside.
Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Upgraded | Cost: Action
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-20-2026
There were chances of a horse appearing, perhaps, but given the incoming, wild commotion, maybe any equines would’ve taken off in a different direction. Instead, what they had for the moment was a sudden inclusion of feral rats, suddenly very much intent on making their lives’ either entertaining or miserable. Deimos didn’t bother responding to Colt’s quip, however amusing, for his concentration and focus was now entirely on eradication.
The fourth rat was momentarily stunned by his assault, collapsing from the sudden array of shocks, though clearly not done yet. Colt’s target, the third one meandering through on their incoming rampage, was hit by her arrow – and began trying to gnaw on the wooden armament, distracted by the painful array. The other two, confused for a second, began smelling again, trying and striving to find someone, something, they could bite and scratch and unfurl.
Deimos, naturally, unleashed another torrential display of power and lightning, searing straight into the one he’d already seethed upon, intending to ensure it remained wholly useless, and ultimately lifeless.
Rat 1: 356/356
Rat 2: 356/356
Rat 3: 326/356
Rat 4: 250/356
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-22-2026
Her arrow strikes true, and there’s a flash of satisfaction that warms her from head to toe. A little rush of victory amid the adrenaline, but she does not linger to bask in it, nor does she throw her voice to the impressive thunderbird to remark how well her aim settled. Not when there’s still rats to deal with.
Reaching back for another sharpened arrow, Colt fits it back along her bow and hunkers down further. She side steps, cautious of the terrain, but not wanting to stand stock still. She evaluates going for the others while the injured ones reel, as opposed to fully ending the ones already wounded, which is Deimos’ approach.
She considers both, but ultimately swings her aim towards the second rat and fires her arrow towards it, hoping to delay any advancement by injuring it.
The Pencil Sharpener | An earthen quiver that sharpens any arrow placed inside.
Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Upgraded | Cost: Action
The Wildwatch: Hunter’s Presence: Rolls with advantage against regular creatures (anything marked with a difficulty of Normal or below).
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Deimos - 03-23-2026
Different strategies, different methods; all in all as long as the rats ended up carcasses, Deimos didn’t much care. These weren’t cunning disciples of warriors; they were creatures influenced by drive and necessity. So while Colt’s arrow plunged into the second rat, leaving it momentarily stunned, stupefied, and now sporting a massive wound its side, it kept going – a consideration that might bog things down a bit. With one electrocuted, and two with arrows sticking out of their forms, any onlooker might believe this would be a heady impact – in some proportions, perhaps.
But they kept coming, and even as the Sword sent his lightning gaze straight into the fourth rat’s frame, it still maintained life. With a vague huff of irritation and a click of his beak, his eyes narrowed, fully intending to maintain the distance and power between the group and himself.
But that left Colt at a disadvantage, for they were heading her way, limping and gimping. Granting himself some time and space, he swooped downwards, plucking the first rat entirely off the ground and into his talons. There was a surprised squeak before he was into the air again, already striving to alleviate its breath with the crush of his grasp.
Rat 1: 356/356 (Deimos has a hold of it)
Rat 2: 326/356
Rat 3: 326/356
Rat 4: 144/356
RE: My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised - Colt - 03-24-2026
This would be a great time to be on a horse. Much better to face rats than an ursur, although she could argue either way she’s at the benefit of a swifter steed than her own two legs. Maybe Deimos could oblige and let her mount up, the humurous thought raring up bright and brief before she’s grunting and stepping back through the mud.
It squelches up around her, and she tries her bes to backtrack on the harder ground they used to advance here, as much for avoiding the sticky mire that might trap her as to soften the sounds of her retreat. If they march forward, she’ll fall back, and though the ground will gradually be eaten between them, at least she could slow it.
Reaching for another arrow as Deimos swoops past, she quickly nocks it and aims for the fourth rat that’s got it’s fur all on end from the static still. She breathes and looses her arrow with her breath, already pulling out another, expecting she might need to speed up if her advantage of distance would be removed.
The Pencil Sharpener | An earthen quiver that sharpens any arrow placed inside.
Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Upgraded | Cost: Action
The Wildwatch: Hunter’s Presence: Rolls with advantage against regular creatures (anything marked with a difficulty of Normal or below).