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What possible idea could it have given you?

Aurix was quick to follow Lauk down the pit, not truly caring that Jhimas and a few of the party had to deal with personal matters as it would hardly have any consequences on her survival. Luckily, they had replacement soft-skins, though she had not gotten a good look at them since being ushered to the platform that would lower her, and the rest of the party down. The lizardfolk did, however, notice that one was slightly meatier and she knew it was a good enough boon should that member happen to die, though she had to remember her ‘manners’ as some of the party had previously put. She knew not what manners were, but she figured it just meant to not make comments about eating soft-skins upon their eventual demise to further her own survival, though she could never be too sure.

Her gaze went to Ardour before letting out a huff at the tall man, moving to the platform and dropping the necessary amount of useless coin that Durnan had demanded for the entire party, excluding Luak. “Come, tiefling. I do not trust Achthend by himself and I don’t think the turtle is capable enough to handle him,” Aurix started, crossing her arms in a generally impatient fashion.

In the few seconds it took for her to be lowered down, along with her party of course, Aurix could not help but remember the time the group had spent in the dark caverns in the past, slaying the drow that had dared to imprison her. The times were certainly better then, plenty of corpses to feast upon and never an empty stomach because of it, missing the feeling of eating raw flesh that the more intolerant could not bare to eat. However, she had little time to think about those times as she reached the bottom of the pit and spotted her horse, standing there and scuffing the floor with his hoof. The horse had an attitude, something Aurix found mildly amusing.

She walked over to Achthend, handling his reigns to move him to what looked to be the back of the room, eyeing the tortle all the while. In addition, Aurix swiped up the saddle as she passed by. It took her a moment to properly get the saddle on Achthend, rubbing his snout every now and again as he whinnied and continued to paw at the ground with his hooves. It seemed that he did not like it down in this tight, confusing space, but he would have to get over it eventually otherwise he would prove to be useless rather quickly.

Updated my gold for Achthend going down and payed 2 Gold for Aurix. Will likely have a post up today or tomorrow!

Decided to be generous and pay for the entire party to go down. Also going to lead Achthend to the back wall to get his saddle on him when Aurix gets down there.

Gah! I am sorry, but I won’t be able to get a post out for this. I’ll subtract the gold for going down but my creative juices aren’t there for writing a silent lizardfolk paying for her and her horse to go down the pit.

I’m sorry, but I’ll opt to just move forward. :[

I’ve just been a bit busy is all, I can get a post up after work.

Turn 1

The tribe was busy, their makeshift huts sprawling across the landscape in a shanty, disorganized fashion as the sun dawned over an already awakened and contemplating Guthug. It was clear that they could sustain themselves on the food they hunted, but for how long was a question that he did not have the answer for, especially if the tribe was to grow into this rough land. As he leaned to pick up a rock, Guthug inspected it before the sunrise brought light into his eyes, the chieftain tossed the rock up, allowing to fall back down and land in his hand before repeating the process of tossing and catching. The shamans had told him that they needed to connect with the local nature in order to thrive, in order for the gods to grace them with bountiful hunts and harvest, should they find somewhere to plant crop in the rocky place they now called home.

Guthug grunted as he crushed the pebble in his hand, after a moment the leader waited for the wind the grace him with a touch before throwing the remnants of the rock into the air.

"Akrosh guide me," he said as the debris took flight, moving inland and towards the great beasts that feasted on the land and the carnivores that hunted them. Guthug could only once more think to himself before he made his way back to his own hut, gathering a spear made of wood and stone, along with a horn to summon the shamans to his aid. With his supplies gathered, Guthug made his way to the edge of the tribe's outskirts and blew into the horn, its deep and booming sound moving across the land and the tribe to summon those elder shamans to his location. While he waited, Guthug stabbed the spear into the ground and knelt before it allowing himself to think more on what task he wished to chase and which animal the tribe would first associate itself with. This was no easy matter to decide as whichever animal they chose would grant them only a specific boon from the gods that they wished to commune with.

The mighty wolf, the first choice and the first tamed by Akrosh, it was these mighty beasts that allowed the ancestors to thrive and learn that working as one, as a pack, meant success. It was the wolf that loyally served, the wolf that die for its kin, the wolf that was the hallmark of a leader as an alpha to guide the tribe down a righteous path. Guthug knew Akrosh would approve of this choice, but with all the versatility and power that the wolf had made it arrogant, a sin they could not afford to plague themselves with lest they wish to see the ire of the ancestors and the gods. Perhaps one of the other choices would please the ancestors more.

The boar, the second chosen but the last to be tamed by Akrosh, a savage beast that proved to be a threat even to an orc in his prime with tusks easily bigger than their own. They were ruthless, powerful, and ever vigilant on what it would next eat, whether that choice be a natural found herb or a carcass that it sought a right to devour. Their tenacity would prove to show the tribe's will to survive in any place they set their mind to, willing to do what they must to survive and to defend itself from whatever is a threat. However, the boar was aggressive and dangerous, it would drive away potential animals to be tamed and brought into the tribal fold and it would make any native tribe more cautious and skeptical of their intentions in this new land. Then the last choice.

The graceful and cunning hawk, the third to be tamed by Akrosh but the first chosen by both Orzg and Mork, able to spot potential prey and able to grasp a potential meal with talons of iron. It would be the hawk that would think and strike without even being seen by its prey, able to out think even the wolf and match the tenacity of the boar should it be desperate. Their meaning to the tribe would be one based on traps and to travel great distances, nothing would stop them from taking flight. However, the hawk distanced itself and made it unknown to those who sought to befriend it, it would make the tribe more cautious and more skeptical of even the best of omens. No doubt, it would make the orcs seem strange and wild to even the noblest of people.

Guthug could smell the burning of herbs, the shamans had arrived.

"Guthug the Damned, what have you summoned we few for?" a shaman spoke.

"I seek to invoke the Rite of the Land so that I may bring the first beast to us, to define our path so long as I may live," Guthug answered, his voice stern and his knelt form unmoving. He knew that a crowd had gathered, voices whispered behind the shamans as the placed the burning herbs behind the chieftain before pushing the staffs into the back of him.

"The Rite of the Land may only be invoked once, the beast you chose will be the mark of the Bukradul for as long as you shall live. But the gods must know the choice you make so that they may bestow the proper blessing onto us," the shamans said in unison.

Guthug moved to stand, feeling the staffs being pushed deeper as they urged him to quickly make a choice and end the ritual, but he had hardly the time to deliberate on which animal to chose. The wood bored into him and he remained silent, the people began to speak in their hushed voices as they were curious as to why their leader was taking so long to chose which of the numerous sacred animals. Eventually their whispers began to grow, talk and then a debate. After another moment, Guthug raised his hands into the air, silencing the crowd before he spoke, "I chose the elk!"

The shamans retracted their staffs.

"The Second Chosen and tamed by Akrosh, for its power and strength through times of trial, as well as the protection of a herd," Guthug continued, retrieving his spear form the ground.

"The let it be known, Guthug the Damned, that you have chosen the graceful and noble elk. You may not return to the tribe until you have tamed a mighty stag while wearing the skin of one of its herd. Let Akrosh guide your hand, and may your hunt bear bountiful harvest." The shamans said in unison, allowing the chieftain to sprint into the wilderness to claim the herd as his own.

A fat human is a delicious human, will feed Aurix for a good while...

Will get a post up in a bit.

Turn 0

There, on the beaches of these new lands, did the orcs of Bukradul land their boats, weaved together with trees commanded by the shamans who asked for the aid of nature to side with them. It had been months at sea, once they had numbered ten ships, now they only numbered a mere two, with the winds and the rough currents of the seas fighting them at every turn, claiming many for its own maw. The sea had been a foreign enemy to them, a foreign enemy that was quick to fell them when it had the opportunity despite the powerful connection to nature that the orcs had commanded. Yet, now they had escaped its clutches, the two ships beaching themselves and those more capable jumped onto the sands to scout out their landing, moving the start of a forest.

No threats could immediately be seen, giving a breath of relief for these orcs who merely wanted to rest and find some moniker of peace to bless them. Gradually, the women and the children came off of the ship, followed by many of the shamans who began to unravel the twisted trunks of the trees to begin making some rudimentary form of shelter for the entirety of the tribe's survivors. In the bowels of the largest ship, sat the form of Guthug the Damned, his light brown skin hunched over the carcass of deceased boar that had not survived the voyage to the new land.

A shaman approached him from behind, laying an old hand on the shoulder while leaning against his staff. "Grok was a good boar," the shaman commented, allowing a toothy smile to overtake the wrinkled face.

Guthug turned his head but did not look at the old shaman, his gaze moving back to the boar before bringing his arms around the boar and lifting Grok up, cradling it like a newborn. "Grok was the first beast to rally to our cause, and the last to die on this voyage," Guthug said solemnly, turning to finally look back at the shaman, who raised an eyebrow before reeling back and headbutting the grieving chieftain who nearly dropped the corpse of Grok.

"Are you challenging me, Uruk?" Guthug growled moving his hand cover the spot which Uruk had just struck.

Uruk let out a laugh, "No, but I have been called mad! Tell me, Guthug, are you so blind to the other animals that have helped us through this journey?"

Guthug snorted, before answering the shaman, "There are no other animals. They all died."

"Is that so? Then how come you see not the smallest of mice? Perhaps you truly are blind!" Uruk laughed, motioning to a small, brown mouse moving along the intertwined branches of the ship. Scurrying up the gnarled staff that the shaman held before taking the mouse in his hand. "Remember that even the smallest of creatures help. This mouse has brought plenty of seed for us to grow, for even he has more foresight than the mighty Guthug the Damned!"

Guthug huffed before moving past Uruk, continuing to cradle the body of Grok.

"Grok will serve as a friend in your death, unless you decide to push away nature itself that is," Uruk continued before a wall unfurled itself to serve as a window to the orcish people that moved away from the beach, fathers and sons laughing, mothers and daughters playing. The shaman wrapped his arm around the taller orc, speaking again, "Look away from the loss and see what we are gaining! You cannot be such a pragmatist forever!"

Guthug nodded before looking back down to Uruk, "Maybe you are right, Uruk. I have not seen these people this happy since we have left for this new place."

"Go! Go and get some of that happiness, boy!" Uruk laughed, bringing a light smile to the Damned. Though a sudden headbutt swiftly brought that smile down in annoyance, causing to walk away from the mad shaman.

As Guthug hopped off the side of the ship, he walked towards his people, those who noticed him ran up to him with happiness of finally being free of the ocean's embrace. As they saw the body of Grok, however, they were quick to embrace the chieftain and give a swift pet down the snout of the deceased boar, a last sign of comfort for the spirit of the boar before it departed into the heavens. The people helped to dig a grave for the boar, moving on to digging graves for the few animals that they needed not to throw overboard out of fear of rot and evil spirits. It was silent for the most part, as the people grieved with the chieftain before many attempted to bring his mood up through song and dance, and it worked.

They made merry into the night, the shamans calling for them to a swiftly crafted longhouse made from the same trees that had made the ships. The people continued to make merry and Guthug watched them from a dune, a soft smile across his face which grew as a group of children ran up to him.

"Chieftain Guthug," a small girl began, "What are going to call our new home?"

For a moment, Guthug thought to himself, running his hand across the stubble of his chin before he picked up the girl and hoisted her onto his shoulder, laughter following. With a mighty shout and thrust of his hand into the air the chieftain called out the name of their new blessed land, "Sumbad!"

Soon the other orcs began to follow, chanting the name of their new home.

Sumbad! Sumbad! Sumbad!

A collab with @Ruby

Satele Shan needed time. The schedule didn't allow her that time. Jace had a ship ready, but they had to move for reasons that owed to the greet logistics god of the Republic spaceways. It was a fickle god, but Satele understood Jace having to put it before her Jedi and their uninvited guest. She talked to herself aloud in the small office, talking about this old contact, that old lead, as she binged file after file, sealed record after sealed record, in her search for information. Jace just stared at her. The office was borrowed from another Master, a connection certified as secure so she could look.

Then, of course, Satele found it.

"She's the collector."

The words were sighed as she stood quickly from the desk chair, smoothing her robes out almost subconsciously. They were tight by design, made for not getting in her way just as much as they were some form of repressed expression from the lifelong Jedi. The shiny, velvet, blue of her robes over her midsection wasn't armored. It was just shiny fabric, and it bunched over her tummy if she didn't smooth it down after sitting in certain positions. Usually the product of bad posture. At least Jace knew to follow her, not she he was likely to let her out of his sight as they walked fast through the corridors of the Temple, Jedi getting out of their way as the two moved.

"We thought maybe they were a former Jedi, maybe even someone like Theron who started out in the Order as a youngling but was then removed. Maybe an Imperial agent, who knows how long they plotted t for fun. If it was for fun. And Je'daii items. Them especially, it would seem now."

She didn't knock on the door when she reached it through the maze of small corridors branching off the wider main ones where people tended to congregate; and people were gathering everywhere trying to gossip, steal what information they could, and report the coming and goings of people like satele. She just entered slowly and repressed the smile when she found San Anin with Brye. "Excuse us? I hear the Supreme Commander could use a guide to the nearest cup of coffee." Her Padawan would understand; so would Jace. This was a Jedi thing, San Anin's face seemed to Satele to sink at the sight of the Grand Master appearing within the door, but inevitably had a way with everyone.

Satele ensured the door shut after Brye left, the expression upon her face anything but unkind. "What happened?"

At first, San Anin was silent, shifting as her uncomfort grew and grew before she eventually began to speak in a soft, hesitant tone, “W-well, M-master Kyla and E-Elav took me t-to investigate the l-landing. The o-other padawan w-was there t-to.” She paused at the mention of the other padawan, lowering her head as her hand brushed over her breathing mask. “E-Elav d-died when those t-things came. T-the other padawan had already left, i-in the chaos, I gave into a-anger. I could f-feel the chaos of the planet, I-I could feel the s-sadness of m-my master. W-when we found the s-sith, I let m-my clouded m-mind get the b-better of me. I tried to k-kill her s-so her presence w-would kill anyone else.”

The padawan refused to look at the grandmaster, keeping her gaze firmly on the floor as her fingers interlocked and her thumbs played with each other.

“They aren’t a Sith.”

It was largely irrelevant to the purpose of the discussion at hand, but Satele felt it important to highlight the fact none-the-less. This one woman invader, this Selene, wasn’t Sith. It was important for many reasons, the least of which being acts of war. What would become of the woman? That, however…

“San Anin,” Satele’s voice came out changed, different: it was soft, it was warm, it was vulnerable. It was anything but the neutral tones that were interspaced with flashes of humor and care that made up her usual public tones. “We cannot know what is to become of this Selene. I know she will be put on a ship and sent to a prison made to hold even Force users. With any luck she will rot away in a hole, or come to the Jedi Order for redemption. It is possible that this woman will one day lead to the death of another Jedi.”

The more she spoke the more steel returned to her tone, until there was little left in her voice, and reflected in her eyes, of the seriousness with which she addressed the Padawan, “Make no mistake, San Anin, I cannot see this peace lasting. You will have plenty of time to use your lightsaber against Sith. War will come again, and maybe if you had killed this woman you might save other lives later on--or if you killed her you might deny the Force some useful purpose for her. We do not know. The Jedi way says you spare the woman, find what information you can, then deal with her...precisely what we are doing now.”

Satele made steps towards San Anin earlier, when her expression changed, but had now largely drifted. Eyes touching on various spots of the Padawan’s private quarters as she moved, almost as if she were restless. Maybe she was. Maybe she would be until the woman was off Tython and in a prison.

At the door Satele turned quickly on her right heel, sudden and smooth as a soldier’s facing movement, though it was accompanied with a rather casual little sigh. “Dust yourself off, Padawan. You can use this event in meditation for years to come. You’ll improve, you’ll get new realizations on why we Jedi err on the side of life whenever possible. They will be needed if war comes again and you find yourself forced to fight with people you never thought you would, or could.”

A live wire of a smile crossed Satele’s red lips in a flash, afterall, she had confidence in San Anin. “I wouldn’t expect any disciplinary action.” There, as Satele’s body leaned back into the door of the Padawan’s quarters, that smile lingered a moment longer so long as Satele kept her eyes on the Padawan. “Good luck, San Anin,” a farewell before Satele twisted her shoulders and slipped out of the door.

Now it was time to speak with the other Padawan that didn’t belong to her involved.

With Satele now gone, San Anin felt that she could finally breathe again. The padawan had been expecting much worse, finding that Brye had made her master seem far worse than she had led on. San Anin let out a sigh as she went on to clean her robes, she had a funeral to attend and she knew that she would not like it.
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