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One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

This is where all of the medieval Arctic Islands role-plays are archived.
Larcen
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One Plus One Makes...One? (Open)

Post by Larcen » Fri Apr 23, 2010 12:54 am

((All right, there's no official character description for this one; just like Oare's first RP, this one is a test to see if the newest--and possibly weirdest--addition to "Larcen's Freak Show & Asylum" can act.))

In a typical partly-underground lodge in Slimtla, the crowd was fairly average this evening. The only thing strange was that all of them were seated in one end of the room, while the nicest figure in the establishment was seated alone at the opposite end. Everyone else had moved away from that table when the figure came in, and the tables closest all had their weapons on their minds.

However, the figure was used to this kind of situation. By description, the grey, shorthaired canine body ran about six-foot-five and featured a slim, athletic build, in contrast to the more rugged arctic furs that made up the majority of the crowd. The shoulders were unusually broad, and the head was covered by a cloak. This had been pulled up after the crowd moved away, in the event that someone else might come in and be more inviting than the others.

Under the hood came a sigh, then some rather off-beat lamenting. "Sheesh. You think that maybe somebody they would come along and actually start the conwersationink. That is not purpose for the comink to the lodge, besides drink, it not is?"

The same voice seemed to answer itself out loud, giving rise to theories about the reason for all the solitude. "Yes, it the purpose is, of course. But also of course there is no-one for to be comink over here. It not is friendly in it the Arctic. Furs, they are cold as she is, the outside. Why did the church, they send us here? I will for to tell the why; is because they like us not more than nobody else does. Face it."

The voice returned again, "Bah. No, The church, they sended us here for because the Arctic is rough place. They need someone smart, and someone strong, and able to handle the area for to come here." Whatever the reason really was, there was not even a drink at the table, for none of the barmaids had worked up the nerve to tend it.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

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JamesG
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Post by JamesG » Fri Apr 23, 2010 2:06 am

((Don't mind if I deposit a shaman into this RP? :D))

The door banged open, and a loud voice, speaking in Diktion Arktik, the language of the Islands, shouted across the room. "Kukik be with you, brothers!" And in entered the Shaman known as Simeon Krasnov. The 5'7" harp seal man took off his furry black hat, and touched the symbol of the Shaman religion that he hung around his neck. The silver necklace with the thrice-crossed symbol was the shaman's only jewellery, otherwise he was dressed in black furs and boots, a shashka, the traditional curved sword of the town of Narvik upon his belt. On his forehead, the seal had his darkened goggles, used to protect his eyes from the harsh blizzards of the Arktik environment. Simeon was grinning broadly, as he usually was. He was a healer and he spoke to the gods, and he spread good will to all Islanders, as well as an insatiable thirst for drink and good company. Tonight, not finding any other lodgings but this, the seal was preparing himself for an evening well spent in relaxation. He had visited before, in fact he was quite a regular.

The seal, oblivious to the arrangement of the patrons, whom all seemed keen on avoiding a figure in one end of the room, found a vacant table nearby. Behind him trailed a small entourage. There was another shaman friend, two fur-clad ladies and a third fur wearing more colourful furs than the two religious figures in black. Though Simeon was anything but the traditional religious figure, being boisterous and loud. The group had been following Simeon for quite some time, all for one reason; because of his miracles. Throughout the course of the day, Simeon had been healing the sick and blessing the needy, and his work seemed to actually have an effect. The shaman beside him was curious to learn Simeon's methods, the two ladies were old friends and the colourfully dressed Arctic Hare was a worshipper whom was hoping that Simeon might get around to blessing him. Simeon himself was glad of the company, being a very social animal, and always needing to talk to someone.

Chattering away in Diktion Arktik, the group ordered a meal and drinks. Simeon was particularly fond of drink, and intended to clear most of the lodge's supply of alcohol. The seal himself had not yet noticed the tall canine in the cloak, and was more interested in a discussion on their table concerning the feasibility of travelling to Yamaha. Of course, the dialect of Diktion was quite different to the sort spoken in Slimtla. The Southern parts of the island had a more fluid manner of speech with different phrases and words, the Northern areas were rougher, and sometimes more imposing. It is said that the best poets in the Arctic come from the South, because the Northern dialect is too rough and based on discussing manual labour to contain ideas of poetry. Not that anyone in a town such as Narvik would need to be a poet, so the seal was content to speak his own language.

The meal arrived, and Simeon was beginning to notice, as their table grew quieter from eating and drinking, that, in fact, the whole room was oddly quiet. There was some dull murmuring, but everyone seemed to be glancing furtively at the cloaked creature near Simeon's table. As the chef's assistant brought out the shot-glasses for the Arktik alcoholic drink known as slivovitz, Simeon asked him, still in Diktion Arktik, "Who is the tall man with the cloak?" The assistant just shook his head, and tapped his temple with one claw, to indicate that the cloaked fur was mad. Simeon could hear it too, the fur was speaking to himself. The white-furred seal contemplated this for a few moments, downed his drink and stared up at the ceiling. "My Lady, is his mind clear and his path blessed?" the seal asked, quite literally aloud, as if the Divine Kukik was hovering on the ceiling. It was a habit of the shaman to speak to the gods as if they were physically present, and most of the time, it seemed he got an answer or a sign of some sort. His companions looked at him, wondering what the healer was up to next.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by Larcen » Fri Apr 23, 2010 10:04 am

((Don't mind at all :) ))

The figure brightened a bit when the entourage entered.

"Ah, see? Is nice fellow, yes? It maybe he shall talk with us," it muttered.
"Do not be holdink our breath," was the reply.
"What he is? You studied more of the cultures than I."
"Is because you make it for that I should do all the studyink, you lazy..."
"Yes, yes, yes. For is what you are good at. Answer it the question."
The fur sighed. "Is...is the seal. Is good at for to the swimmink in the frozen waters. Is also...it look like the shaman? Like, uh...the town priest." In actuality, the figure was not talking to himself. And yet, it was almost so, if one looked at it sort of sideways.

It watched on, as the seal questioned the assistant. Blast. The dog had enough trouble with one language, let alone all the various dialects of the Arctic. But the reply spoke clearly in any tongue. The dog's knees bumped against the bottom of the table as a paw went for one of the curving longswords at its hip.

"Ah, no. No no no, you will not. Of course he think we are the lunatics," he said under his breath. "Remember, we are the foreigners here. And we...you know. Just be glad he did not say nothink about we beink a monster or somethink." He settled back into the chair and sulked.

Then the seal started questioning the divine as to the nature of the lodge's guest. The dog's tail wagged. "Ah! Yes, friend, we may for to be assuring you that we are very clear of the mind, regardless of how we have the trouble with the speakink. Whether our path, she is blessed, ehh...frankly, it not is certain no more. But if you please, come yourself over to here and have the sit down and the chat with us; we would for to welcome it your company!"

The figure shifted after the heartfelt yet especially exuberant invitation. It quietly warned itself, "Do none of the overdoink it, Deré. You want for to be scarink him off, too?"
Last edited by Larcen on Sat May 15, 2010 10:40 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

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Post by LittleWing » Fri Apr 23, 2010 10:22 am

"This is not my kind of weather!" grumbled Sibuna as he stumbled through the snow. Clods of frost and ice were caked around his sandled feet. It was clear by his appearance that he had never visited any remotely arctic land before. He wrapped his arms across his chest, rubbings his hands up and down the opppsite arm in a futile attemp to warm up.
"Why....whywhywhywhy..."
The tall jackal was much more accustomed to desert climate.

In all honesty, he was completely and totally lost. He would never admit this though, for his pride was far to strong for his own good. At this point, he could hardly recollect what he was doing in the Arctic Islands in the first place.
Turns out, he was simply traveling. This time era was rough on him, as he was used to a more ancient setting. His reincarnated past tended to make him a bit delusional and mostly confused. It was just as of recent that he discovered modern clothing.

He hurried through the fridged weather as quickly as he could, mentally cursing himself for wearing just a tunic and sandals. Until, that is, he looked up to see the lodge in the distance. Upon doing so, he broke out into an awkward attempted at a full sprint until he got within a few yards of the building.
As he approached, he straightened up, stood tall, and regained his composure. He was royalty, after all. Or, at least he was in a past life. Maybe. He thought.

The lodge looked so inviting to him. Without hesitation he reached out his shiver paw to open the door. The gust of warm air from inside hit him immediated, causing his nose to instantly stuff up and his eyes to water.
"Thats more like it!" He though to himself, stepping inside. Bits of snow and drops of water spray from his body as he shook out his thick, dark, fur. He eyed around the room, making small observations, before finding a table as far away from everyone else as possible. He then promptly opened the menu and began to search for something warm.
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Post by JamesG » Fri Apr 23, 2010 5:23 pm

There was at least half a minute of silence following the canine's speech to Simeon, during which time a jackal entered poorly dressed for the climate, before anyone spoke. The seal noted that the jackal appeared to be a Kähûnslander, a native of Kahun, in the Arktik speech. He inferred this from the canine's species and lack of suitable dress. He had met Kahunians before, they too had been ill prepared for the Northern climate. The dog had just uttered something that the seal found incomprehensible. He had trouble enough with foreign speech as it was, but the cloaked figure had been near completely unintelligable. The hare in the coloured furs whispered something in Simeon's ear, and the seal shaman shrugged. "Inostranniyelander" he replied quietly, a word in Arktik meaning 'Foreigner'. The seal had, at least, recognised which of the Southern tongues the creature had spoken in, and so replied, "Hello, brother. I am Simeon Krasnov, a shaman. What are you called?" Simeon's speech was thickly layered with a Northern Arktik accent, as he tried to work his tongue around the unfamiliar words.

Simeon, being the sort that was in tune to the Divine, or so he believed, decided that Kukik commanded him to meet this creature. That, and his mind had finally unravelled the jumbled up message from another language to translate out as an invitation to go and sit down with the dog. As previously established, the seal was a lover of sociable company, and so grinned at his companions, and reverted back to Diktion Arktik to inform them that he would like it very much if they would join him at the dog's table. So it was that the group of five, including Simeon, trooped over to the canine's table and noisily seated themselves, plates and drinks still in hand, to resume their meal. Simeon sat next to the dog and his Shaman friend, and the two ladies and the hare worshipper sat opposite. The assistant was watching them as he approached the jackal to take his order. He did not trust a seemingly mad fur with longswords, so resolved to make sure Ivan, the Polar Bear that served as the chef, was ready to storm in to defend the patrons should the creature go completely insane.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Larcen
Duke
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Post by Larcen » Fri Apr 23, 2010 6:56 pm

The dog noticed the new arrival, but he was a tad busy to acknowledge the jackal formally at the moment. As the troupe seated themselves, the dog straightened up, positively beaming at the change in fortune. "Wondermous, it is, that you would for to join us, friends. Many of the thanks we give. But first, we make with the introductioninks, yes?"

"And, would she be too much of the trouble for to get us two of the drinks, please? We have been waitink for an hour, and nobody, they come for to get it our order."
"Would you at least try for to be polite just the once? You will have to forgive; it has been the rough week for us. Anyway, I am Deré, and this is my sister, Izquiér."

At that last sentence, the dog's right fist clenched. He replied in a sarcastic (and definitely masculine) tone, "Deré, considerink we share the same of the nether regions, that would make you a woman, too."

The comment was met with a chuckle. "None of the kiddink, Izquiér." Aside to the guests, "He cannot for to take it the joke."
"Wrong; I cannot for to take it the idiot. And you are tellink me to be polite."
"Eh, forgive it our arguing, please; is hard to not sometimes. Oi, yes, Izquiér, I can see it we are losink them. Again, many of the apologies, Simeon. Izquiér, shall we...?"

"They seem to be the level on the head enough; I mean, they come this far, so what it we can lose?"

Deré cleared his throat. "Ah...if it would for to please our esteemed guests, we should like to remove it our hood and let you to behold us fully. I only say it for because we both can tell it you are confused, and probably think we are the crazy. Is very not the case, really it not is." He was telling the truth, whether Simeon and company believed it or not. Besides the apparent speech problems, neither of the personalities inhabiting the dog's body were insane.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

LittleWing
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Post by LittleWing » Fri Apr 23, 2010 10:49 pm

The Jackal shivered in his seat, adjusting to the warmth of the building. He was greatful for the change in temperature.
He flipped through the menu, not entirely sure what to make of it, as he did not do well with foriegn languages. Though, he would not admit this.
While his eyes were preoccupied with the selections of meals his ears twitched around, gathering bits of information. He listened to the jolly sounding seal, not sure what to make of what he was saying. Although he understood that he was a shaman, that didn't mean he understood what he was doing. Modern religion was not his stong suit. But, of course, he would not admit this.
He tuned in to what the other canine was saying, immediatly picking up on the speech impediment. Sibuna had met plenty of crazies in his day, so he really wasn't too terribly concerned. As long as not trouble broke out over something petty, he would be more than content with a pitcher of strong alcohol and a large bowl of stew.
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Post by JamesG » Sat Apr 24, 2010 5:02 am

Simeon realised that he would have to act as a translator between the group and the canine. None of them had even been outside the Islands before, let alone picked up any other languages. When he communicated the dog's wishes for introductions, the other members briefly introduced themselves. The wolf shaman to Simeon's left spoke up first. "Nikolasha". The two ladies piped up, as 'Natalya' and 'Aleksandra', an arctic fox and stoat respectively. Finally, the well-dressed arctic hare gave his name as 'Kolya'. The seal knew that the dog had already got his name, but a formal introduction was necessary. "Simeon. I heal, I bless, I make miracle. But I cannot understand your words. Your name is... Deré, and Izquiér?" Here Simeon pronouced the names in an Arktik accent that was probably far removed from the correct pronunciation, sounding more like 'Darer and Itsqver'. Kolya repeated the name, "Darer Itsqver? Prekrasniye imya!" which translates roughly to 'Beautiful name!'

Simeon nodded when he heard that the dog wished to reveal its face. True, in the dim lighting of the lodge, set in the dark of the Arctic night, he could not make much of his conversationalist with the hood drawn to. He smiled pleasantly, his thick mop of black hair and rounded seal features the very image of friendliness. "Da, you must show your face, so that I may recognise you the next time we meet, Darer!" Whilst the shaman was speaking, the assistant had finally reached the Jackal. "Isdrasbuyete, spetsyalyst sobaka. Tvoye poryadok?" he enquired in Diktion Arktik. It roughly translated to, 'Welcome, master Jackal. Your order?", though of course it was difficult to tell if one was not familiar with it. No lodging in the Islands was required to have staff learn foreign languages, and neither the assistant nor the cook spoke a lick of anything but their native tongue. It was too bad for foreigners if they did not know the language. Most travellers resorted to simply pointing at what they wanted.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by LittleWing » Sat Apr 24, 2010 11:52 am

Sibuna listened to everything around him. He picked up the names that were spoken, but, since he was "good, but not THAT good", naturally he had no idea who uttered them. He wasn't going to be so nosey as to stare at each individual as they spoke. And the fact that he obviously didn't know the language didn't help.
As the assistant approached, the jackal was rather relieved. The traveling and the cold had made him quite hungry. As the assistant spoke, however, Sibuna simply blinked.
"Uh..."
He cleared his throat and looked down at the menu. He hadn't understood much of what the menu said in the first place, but he tried. In order to avoid any suspecting that he did't know what he was doing, Sibuna attempted to order simply by stringing together various words he had heard around the lodge while he had been sitting.
He cleared his throat again.
"Perkratsty setsyla stranynnlyaner!...uh..smivnove!...." and at the end he quietly added "beef", before clearning his throat again, shoving his menu to the server and looking around uncomfortably.
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Post by Larcen » Sun Apr 25, 2010 2:43 pm

Upon hearing what might have been a dinner order from the jackal, Deré and Izquiér both had the same thought: He will not for to be wantink that in a few of the moments, if he looks in this direction.

The seal had asked for it, so by the rules of politeness, there was no turning back now. From under the hood came the sound of one swallowing his fear - twice, and in rapid succession. The answer for that would come presently.

Deré and Izquiér took a deep breath and pulled the hood back with both paws. What it revealed caused a few hisses from the other patrons. It also explained the dog's meter-wide shoulders. The constant argument had come from not one, but TWO mouths, for two identical blue-gray Hortaya Borzaya heads sat atop their shoulders. Deré and Izquiér were conjoined twins, merged at the base of the spine. Their necks were separated by five inches of space in the middle of their shared torso, allowing them the ability to look at each other, which they currently had no interest in doing. In reality, either face was quite handsome, and the other equally attractive, but together, they had been called an abomination by more than one. Immediately after showing their faces, Izquiér and Deré lowered their heads fearfully and squeaked in unison,

"Salutations?"
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

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Post by JamesG » Sun Apr 25, 2010 10:47 pm

The seal's eyes went wide. The lodge fell silent, following the hisses. Slowly, the shaman rose from his seat. He closed his eyes, and said nothing. His face did not smile, but was not revolted or angry either. Instead, he seemed to be listening, for he held up a paw when Nikolasha tried to speak. Simeon was listening to what Kukik had to say. The seconds passed. Simeon suddenly bowed his head, and touched the symbol around his neck. He then went to lay a gloved paw on each shoulder of the fur, or furs that sat before him. "You have no need to be frightened, my friends. Kukik wills it be so, and Her Divine will should give no fur cause for fear. It is a sign." with this, Simeon held out the silver symbol around his neck in front of them, and made a prayer in the Arktik tongue. His shaman friend was watching the seal, trying to see what it was that made Simeon so well-known, the arctic hare gaping at the two heads, and the ladies were giving nasty looks to the furs that kept staring. In truth, they were all very surprised and shocked, but more willing to accept Simeon's words that it was Kukik's will. After all, the white-furred seal had obviously just communed with the Divine Lady, as he had claimed for many years.

The assistant, quite forgetting about the Jackal's semi-nonsensical order, pointed at the two-headed fur. "H-hey! Nyet pristyada posvolyat!" At this, Simeon turned, his eyes for the first time filled with anger. He spoke harshly in Diktion Arktik, the syllables and consonants sounding more like he was cursing the assistant rather than arguing. For practical translation purposes, following the assistant's declaration that 'freaks were not allowed', Simeon retorted "Did I not say it was Divine Will? Do you read another sign from Kukik, Our Lady whom I am blessed by, whom watches over every moment of my life? Have you faith, or have you nothing but animalistic fear? I should be very careful what you say about those whom shamans call friends. Your soul is not so pure as you might like to think, Peter the Licentious!" The assistant gaped, replying still in Arktik, "How do you know that name? Who told you?" Simeon merely glared at him. The candles in the wall brackets began to flicker, a wind blew through the room, though every door and window was closed. The Assistant, an Arctic Wolf, bowed his head, and mumbled a short apology.

Simeon looked around, and every fur immediately stopped staring. Nobody wanted to look that scary holy man in the eye. The Wolf hurried off to the kitchen, and told Ivan the chef what had happened, and the Jackal had ordered some sort of foreign steak, he guessed from the strange sentence that the Jackal had put together. The big Polar Bear nodded, not really believing the wolf's story, and lumped a piece of Avian meat into the pot. The Rike Arktik Empire often made a sport of hunting Avians, treating them nothing more than animals, and their flesh was usually quite satisfying to eat. Foreign steak it was, for the Kähûnslander Jackal. Simeon, meanwhile, sat, and smiled nervously at the two headed fur. "I apologise for that little scene. I cannot abide those that criticise others, whilst being impure themselves." The wolf assistant exited the kitchen, and served the Jackal what appeared to be a normal steak. "Inostranniyelander pitsa, ist Piriquīländ myaso" he said hurredly, returning to the kitchen. The Jackal might have gotten a clue from the word Piriquīländ. The assistant had said, 'Foreign steak, an Avian from Piriqui'.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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LittleWing
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Post by LittleWing » Mon Apr 26, 2010 10:14 am

The jackal watched wide-eyed at the scene. Surey someone was about to die...and surely this was something he did not want to miss. Watching carefully he tried to take in what they were saying. No success. For all he knew, they would be tallking about the cabbages in their garden. Though that outbreak between the seal and the assistant seemed a bit dramatic for cabbages.
Though, it took all he had to not gasp when the other canine removed its hood. Two heads? How fascinating. He bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything.
He muttered quitely to himself "Nehebu-Kau?", remembering the old deity. The conjoiner of the soul after death.
He couldn't help but stare for a moment.
The jackal nodded to the assistant as he brought out the meal and tried his best to say thanks. He caught the last word, barely. THe familiarity was enough to bother him for a moment, but not enough to keep him from eating, as his belly was near growling. As much as he didn't want to, he picked up his utensils and used them to eat, instead of his hands.
The scene in front of him was so captivating, he missed his mouth several times, jabbing himself in the cheek with the fork. He was hardly phased.
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Larcen
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Post by Larcen » Mon May 03, 2010 10:46 am

((Wow, no matter how I slice it, this is a long post.))

Deré and Izquiér smiled graciously under the shaman's touch, both of them doing their best to prevent getting choked up. It was more than anyone had done for them, save one fur. For the twins, the Arctic had just warmed up a degree or two.

"Your words, sir, we thank you much for them..." Izquiér (who, in case you were wondering, was the right-hand head) began. However, he was cut off by the assistant's comment. Though he could not understand what the wolf had said, the meaning was easy enough to decipher. The Arctic had frozen over again. Even more shocking had been Simeon's response and the ensuing display. Izquiér shrank into his shoulder. The twins had been spiritually outclassed. Nevertheless, one had to be grateful for the shaman's actions. "You did not need for to stand up for us, Simeon, good sir. But we thank you the same; is not everyday we find it one so kind." He expected his counterpart to chime in, "Is not ever we find it," and looked in his direction.

However, ever since Peter had spoken the first word of his prejudicial outburst, Deré (the left-hand head) had spaced out. Finally, he murmered to himself in a dreamlike tone, as if remembering something long suppressed, "Nyet, oh Kukik, nyet..." His eyes remained focused on something far past the rafters of the lodge.

His brother was stunned. Had that been...? No; if Izquiér, the studious brother, had not learned a word of Diktion Arktik, then that dreamer Deré could not have picked any up in the short time they had been there. He turned to him crossly, muttering through his teeth, "Deré, you are doing it the babblink again. If you must for to blather, wait until nobody they can hear you."

At this, Deré snapped out of his reverie. He opened his mouth in protest, but shut it again. There was no arguing with him. Instead, he looked around, his eyes falling on the fumbling jackal. Suddenly, the chance to do good presented itself. His ears pricked up. Deré turned to Izquiér and nodded his head toward the Kahunian. That odd form of pseudo-telepathy that identical twins seem to share let his brother know what he was thinking.

"You are beink serious?" Izquiér asked. The addressed simply smiled. Though, simply was a deceiving way to put it. When he smiled, the Deré became irresistably charming and nigh impossible for his sibling to deny. "All right, all right."

They made to get up, Izquiér explaining, "You must for to excuse us one of the moments, please. We shall for to be returnink very soon." With a gait that seemed heavier than their apparently light frame would suggest, the twins crossed the room, doffing their thick fur overcoat. They approached the jackal, holding the garment out to him.

"Here, friend. Please, take," Deré offered with a smile that could melt a glacier. "Eh...Probably is too big for you, especially around it the neck, but will keep you warm."

Izquiér added, picking up where Deré left off, "And do not for to be worryink; we are suited to it the cold. Besides, we are wearink two other layers anyway; is the least we can for to do."
"Also, is not good for to eat alone. If it you want, pull it up the chair and join us. The others, they will not mind, yes?" Deré finished, as both brothers looked inquisitively over at their table guests.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3

LittleWing
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Post by LittleWing » Mon May 03, 2010 11:51 am

THe jackal was indeed fumbling. He had seen a great deal of things in his life, but never one as interesting as the scene that lay before his eyes. He managed to get a few bites of his steak successfully in his mouth before the twins made their way over to him. A bit of confusion struck. First off, he was wondering why they were coming up to him, and secondly, he wasn't sure which head to look at, as to not be rude. He hastily chewed and swallowed the bit of meat which had been sitting in this cheek, giving him a the apperace of a chipmunk for a moment.
He stared up at the two, suprised and dumbfounded at the kindness they were showing. He stood to greet them and nodded once.
"Thank you, very much, brothers," he said, still slightly in shock. He was extreamly greatful for thier offering and took it gently in his hands.
"You're sure?" he asked, looking to the both of them. Once he heard that they were already suited for the cold, he slipped the jacket on and sighed deeply. Warmth that he could take with him. Finally.
"I will treasure this," he said, before reaching into a puch he kept at his side. Out of it he pulled two shining gold rings. He held them between his hands for a moment, closed his eyes, and muttered a quiet prayer that translated to something along the lines of "Goddess, With your graceful stealth anticipate the moves of all who perpetrate cruelties and stay their hands against the children of light. Grant us the joy of song and dance, and ever watch over us in the lonely places in which we must walk". His word were soft and ancient, he spoke in desert tongue. A prayer of protection and joy.
Between the cracks in his fingers came a soft glow that quickly subsided.
He opened his eyes and extended the rings to the brothers.
"For you. Blessed by one of the desert goddesses. May they bring protection and joy to you.," he paused for a moment, "the goddess is also a twin."

Again he nodded and placed his hand on his chair, ready to bring it over to their table when they returned.
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JamesG
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Post by JamesG » Sat May 08, 2010 5:27 am

Simeon shook his head. "Oh no, my friends, I had every reason to defend you. Any one of us would have done so!" here he looked at his companions. The other shaman was nodding, but the arctic hare was guiltily avoiding eye-contact with the seal. Meanwhile, the two-headed fur excused himself... themselves, and went over to the jackal's table, whom the shaman noted was rather under-dressed for the Arctic climate. Simeon's new friends offered him their coat, and the seal smiled, and said to himself. "Generosity. A virtue amongst the greatest of furs in Kukik's creation." He approved greatly of this act of kindness by his new aquaintances. He knew a good soul when he saw one, or at least, he had never been wrong about someone before. He understood furs very well, and as he had demonstrated to Peter, seemed to know alot about certain furs than seemed possible for some wandering seal holy man.

Simeon nodded when Deré suggested the jackal join them, but as the stranger began to mumble to himself, the shaman wandered over, whether through curiosity or some divine fate, and heard what the jackal offered. A light visible only to Simeon scorched through his mind, and it was unlike any vision he had experience before. It was pain. The seal bared his teeth at the sudden sharp pain in his mind and soul, and instantly thrust his paw out to cover the rings. For the first time, they saw the seal appear angered. He was not actually mad, but he was recovering from a shock, and his light blue-grey eyes stared into the jackal's eyes. He murmured, "Nyet". No. The shaman often experienced more passive visions, but Kukik had sent him a stern, powerful warning. No good would come of these magic glowing rings, supposedly blessed by a false deity, or worse, a daemon in disguise. Whether the seal was insane, or he actually could detect the Divine, was anyone's guess, though he himself believed it wholeheartedly. He moved his other paw to motion Deré and Izquiér back, and he spoke in a commanding tone, his face wild looking with his messy mop of long black hair against his white facial fur. "Put them away. Make no offering. Cast them into the Arctic Sea." The bar had returned to its previous level of quiet conversation, but many furs nearby were staring.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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