Elric's Manor
Elric's grip tightened on the box. He smiled, "Oh no I have absolutely no idea how to open a box like this. ...But yes if you must know, I am quite capable of opening it." He said as his face contorted into a wheeze as he began huffing out. Elric glanced back at Tirarian, "Why, is it night already? Most peculiar, well I shall return to my shop..." He wheezed again, "In the morning."
Elric's Shoppe
Anya knew much of books, or it was a lucky guess, but many books do smell similar. This would be a problem in finding this strange and illusive book upon surgeries. Unless there was some strange and noticeable clue, such as a faint odor, which smelled like the 'fingerpaints' below the floorboard right under the chair next to the desk.
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I believe that deserves an "Ooooh snap! Snap!" At least I think that is what your tribe would do.
Atl noticed the glance of one of the Tribal Women, Wren was the name of the woman. He noticed that she tried to hold back a smile and Atl simply glanced at her, square in the pupils and gave a single nod.
Atl continued to swing his stone axe with an incredible vigor, ready to kill any member of the enemy tribe who dare stood against him. He paused in his swinging as Gnarl, Man who Calls Himself Bear, angrily spoke to two of the tribe and said something about the Chieftain, guarding and punishment. He arched his right eyebrow as he thought of how it was an honor to defend the Chieftain back in his tribe. Atl quickly disregarded this thought as he returned to swinging his axe.
As he swung he listened to Man-Bear, who said something about three and King. He knew King meant Enemy Chieftain, and he raised his axe up as he smirked, while Slayer jumped off of his shoulder and stood near his feet. Man-Bear then talked of a village, and before Atl was ready to cry for a glorious war, Man-Bear mentioned the village belonged to the Chieftain. That is when he stared into his eyes, and Atl returned the stare, fixating his pupils on Man-Bear. "Fight. Got." He said, as Slayer brushed up against his leg.
Atl quickly plucked his companion up and placed him back on his shoulder. He swung his stone axe once more.
Waggling his toes in the dirt he glanced at Slayer, "We hunt." He raised his axe as he boisterously yelled out to the other warriors of the tribe, "HUNT WELL." He said, wishing them a good slaughter, as Atl knew he would have today. Atl charged forth to find what this Tribe called 'Stables', once he found it. He quickly got on the beast, holding onto his cat and axe, and nudged the creature to the village of the Chieftain.
Atl continued to swing his stone axe with an incredible vigor, ready to kill any member of the enemy tribe who dare stood against him. He paused in his swinging as Gnarl, Man who Calls Himself Bear, angrily spoke to two of the tribe and said something about the Chieftain, guarding and punishment. He arched his right eyebrow as he thought of how it was an honor to defend the Chieftain back in his tribe. Atl quickly disregarded this thought as he returned to swinging his axe.
As he swung he listened to Man-Bear, who said something about three and King. He knew King meant Enemy Chieftain, and he raised his axe up as he smirked, while Slayer jumped off of his shoulder and stood near his feet. Man-Bear then talked of a village, and before Atl was ready to cry for a glorious war, Man-Bear mentioned the village belonged to the Chieftain. That is when he stared into his eyes, and Atl returned the stare, fixating his pupils on Man-Bear. "Fight. Got." He said, as Slayer brushed up against his leg.
Atl quickly plucked his companion up and placed him back on his shoulder. He swung his stone axe once more.
Waggling his toes in the dirt he glanced at Slayer, "We hunt." He raised his axe as he boisterously yelled out to the other warriors of the tribe, "HUNT WELL." He said, wishing them a good slaughter, as Atl knew he would have today. Atl charged forth to find what this Tribe called 'Stables', once he found it. He quickly got on the beast, holding onto his cat and axe, and nudged the creature to the village of the Chieftain.
That's the Savage's job
Name: Ermenegilde Larue De La Fontaine
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ermenegilde is a rather dapper, short, and corpulent individual who has a pronounced limp in his left leg, which is much scrawnier than his right leg. Due to this he is commonly seen with a thick oak cane, which he uses as his walking stick. He has a pair of reading glasses with a thin frame that is usually on-top of his thin hooked nose. Perfectly covering his bloated belly is a dark black waistcoat that was embroidered with several flashing and sparkly golden threads. In the upper right breast-pocket of the waist coat is a silver pocket-watch, and a red handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. Over that was a white coat, which contrasted quite nicely with the under-piece. His breeches were also dark black and made of a fine silk, and he wears black dress shoes. His dark brown hair is balding, and he is combing over a large bald-spot on the top of his head from the right. However he has a rather thick and luxurious mustache.
What Am I Fighting For?: The Aristocracy is a noble institution which must be preserved! If it falls apart, who will buy the slaves I sell!? It would be an absolute tragedy, a most horrid and distasteful event! It shall not fall while I, Ermenegilde Larue De La Fontaine, continue to live and breath!
Revolutionary?: No
Revolutionary Power: N/a
Personality: Ermenegilde is a self-styled dandy and dapper gentleman. He always keeps a calm and polite manner, and he rarely loses patience. Sometimes he will lose patience when he is dealing with a disobedient slave and will not hesitate to smack the merchandise with his cane, to get the beast to back down. However he tends to be non-confrontational, easily backing down when someone tries to fight him in some regard, and most often acts as a yes-man, unless business and his property is threatened. He is a teetotaler and despises the ‘Devil’s Nectar’, and other forms of drugs, and he vows to live a clean life, free from harlots and drugs. He finds books to be the most wonderful of entertainment, far superior than dancing, or singing, or any performance, preferring the power of imagination that is inspired by the fictional book, and the non-fictional books to be the most informative work. However, while he is free from harlots and drugs, he finds himself unable to resist the temptations of a good home-cooked meal, well several really. Ermenegilde is also rather sensitive about his leg.
Backstory: Ermenegilde was born, not in the upper echelons of society as he would dream of, but in a relatively lower class lot, to a butcher and alewife. He was the disappointment of his parents due to the fact he was born with a limp leg, and would receive much harshness from the both of them. The disdain was more prevalent, and far more violent when they were drinking. He kept quiet, kept his head down, and found solitude in the written word, especially the tales of great sailors. This was all the more exciting when sailors would visit a shady bar just a few paces away from his lodgings, and if there was one thing they were, they were rowdy. One day, he found the courage within him, and sneaked out from his house, and to the bar, where he amused a Captain who decided to take him on as a Cabin-boy, despite the boy’s deformity of the leg. The Captain, was a Slave Trader, and this, is where he knew how he could climb the ladder. He took detailed notes of what would be useful, and studied for many years, and plotted to get many resources for the business. And that he did, becoming a known Slave Trader, good at getting stock and offering fair prices for good slaves. Then King died, and France is tearing at the seams, with instability threatening many businesses. Ermenegilde is not ready to give up his business just yet, and with an old slave-trading ship that was outfit into a Navirez, he plans to restore order for the sake of the aristocracy. Business is business after all.
Mecha?: Navirez
Name of Mecha: Maître des Maures
Mecha’s Appearance: It stands at 21 feet
Weapons:
Left Arm Cannon: Relatively standard device, shoots heavier than usual rounds, but that’s about as special as the canon arm is.
Smoke Vents: The Maitre produces a lot of smoke when in action, which can be directed at will, which makes a rather dense and thick smoke-cloud, making it an annoyance to gain accuracy.
Claw: The Maitre’s claw is incredible mobile, able to spin 360 degrees and the metal pincers are quite capable of gripping through the armor of its opponents, and keeping that part of the opponent it gripped at whatever location they want.
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ermenegilde is a rather dapper, short, and corpulent individual who has a pronounced limp in his left leg, which is much scrawnier than his right leg. Due to this he is commonly seen with a thick oak cane, which he uses as his walking stick. He has a pair of reading glasses with a thin frame that is usually on-top of his thin hooked nose. Perfectly covering his bloated belly is a dark black waistcoat that was embroidered with several flashing and sparkly golden threads. In the upper right breast-pocket of the waist coat is a silver pocket-watch, and a red handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. Over that was a white coat, which contrasted quite nicely with the under-piece. His breeches were also dark black and made of a fine silk, and he wears black dress shoes. His dark brown hair is balding, and he is combing over a large bald-spot on the top of his head from the right. However he has a rather thick and luxurious mustache.
What Am I Fighting For?: The Aristocracy is a noble institution which must be preserved! If it falls apart, who will buy the slaves I sell!? It would be an absolute tragedy, a most horrid and distasteful event! It shall not fall while I, Ermenegilde Larue De La Fontaine, continue to live and breath!
Revolutionary?: No
Revolutionary Power: N/a
Personality: Ermenegilde is a self-styled dandy and dapper gentleman. He always keeps a calm and polite manner, and he rarely loses patience. Sometimes he will lose patience when he is dealing with a disobedient slave and will not hesitate to smack the merchandise with his cane, to get the beast to back down. However he tends to be non-confrontational, easily backing down when someone tries to fight him in some regard, and most often acts as a yes-man, unless business and his property is threatened. He is a teetotaler and despises the ‘Devil’s Nectar’, and other forms of drugs, and he vows to live a clean life, free from harlots and drugs. He finds books to be the most wonderful of entertainment, far superior than dancing, or singing, or any performance, preferring the power of imagination that is inspired by the fictional book, and the non-fictional books to be the most informative work. However, while he is free from harlots and drugs, he finds himself unable to resist the temptations of a good home-cooked meal, well several really. Ermenegilde is also rather sensitive about his leg.
Backstory: Ermenegilde was born, not in the upper echelons of society as he would dream of, but in a relatively lower class lot, to a butcher and alewife. He was the disappointment of his parents due to the fact he was born with a limp leg, and would receive much harshness from the both of them. The disdain was more prevalent, and far more violent when they were drinking. He kept quiet, kept his head down, and found solitude in the written word, especially the tales of great sailors. This was all the more exciting when sailors would visit a shady bar just a few paces away from his lodgings, and if there was one thing they were, they were rowdy. One day, he found the courage within him, and sneaked out from his house, and to the bar, where he amused a Captain who decided to take him on as a Cabin-boy, despite the boy’s deformity of the leg. The Captain, was a Slave Trader, and this, is where he knew how he could climb the ladder. He took detailed notes of what would be useful, and studied for many years, and plotted to get many resources for the business. And that he did, becoming a known Slave Trader, good at getting stock and offering fair prices for good slaves. Then King died, and France is tearing at the seams, with instability threatening many businesses. Ermenegilde is not ready to give up his business just yet, and with an old slave-trading ship that was outfit into a Navirez, he plans to restore order for the sake of the aristocracy. Business is business after all.
Mecha?: Navirez
Name of Mecha: Maître des Maures
Mecha’s Appearance: It stands at 21 feet
Weapons:
Left Arm Cannon: Relatively standard device, shoots heavier than usual rounds, but that’s about as special as the canon arm is.
Smoke Vents: The Maitre produces a lot of smoke when in action, which can be directed at will, which makes a rather dense and thick smoke-cloud, making it an annoyance to gain accuracy.
Claw: The Maitre’s claw is incredible mobile, able to spin 360 degrees and the metal pincers are quite capable of gripping through the armor of its opponents, and keeping that part of the opponent it gripped at whatever location they want.
JUUUUNGLE LOOOOVE... DRIIIIVIN' ME MAAAAD... DRIIIIIVIN' MEEE CRAAAAZY....
Oh! OR MAYBE.... WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE! WE'VE GOT FUN AND GAMES!
Or maybe GEORGE! GEORGE! GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE!
Plenty of Jungle Songs.
Glad you are enjoying it. Slayer and I have much work to do.
Oh! OR MAYBE.... WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE! WE'VE GOT FUN AND GAMES!
Or maybe GEORGE! GEORGE! GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE!
Plenty of Jungle Songs.
Glad you are enjoying it. Slayer and I have much work to do.
These tribes have strange customs Atl thought to himself as he glanced inside a small cup which contained some elixir of a brown nature. He placed his nose in it as he smelt it, earning him the many stares of those who were from these tribes, and who knew these strange customs. Atl was eating a small rabbit that he had caught, and Slayer was drinking from a small saucer of milk that some tribal woman made out for him. "Slayer!" The cat was too busy lapping up the drink to pay attention to his master. That is when Atl decided to use his right thumb and index finger to pluck Slayer by the back of his neck. He held the cat up, "...Did you hunt that?" The cat just stared at him with dilated pupils, and ears flattened back. Atl placed the cat back on the ground as he glanced again at the cup. He then proceeded to ignore it as he ate the rabbit he had cooked earlier, chewing on its haunch, dripping with some juices.
All the while he made his intentions known to the Tribal Women, that the tribe referred to as 'whores'. "I pick." He yelled out to the individual who eyed him with an incredibly worry, after all a Jungle Savage was a Savage. He quickly glared at a member of the tribe who was glaring at him. "He-" Atl glared, "I said. I pick. You no pick. I pick." and the man backed down, not wanting to get engaged with the savage. He returned his glance back to the tribal maiden, "I show you real man. He not real man. I real man." Pointing out the fact that he disengaged from the situation instead of fighting to win the whore. The whore managed to find herself amused by that statement, and looked slightly more comfortable with the savage. But it was still mostly fear.
He glanced down and noticed Slayer was low on his drinking material. Atl slammed his hand on the bench, "Slayer thirsts." And after the serving wench brought the cat another saucer, and Slayer had lapped up a little more milk before meowing, Atl glanced at the tribal maiden and gave a single nod.
Back in the marshes, Atl trudged through the thick pools of dirty and fetid waters. He was waist high, and he felt his feet sloshing through the surface of the floor, as the muck crawled up between his toes. The ferns were tall, quite tall, and Atl was lost. Then suddenly, there was a bubble, a large bubble was produced, right below his nose. It grew, and grew, and grew until it was the size of his hand, before it popped.
Atl rolled around in the bed, rather uncomfortable with this strange device, though it was soft, it wasn't right.. And... The tribal maiden was not there. She left before him? It was a good sign. During this line of thought is when he heard the yelling of the Man-Bear, Atl's eyes fully flung open as he glanced at his cat who was sleeping on his chest. Atl kept his head up as he glanced at his cat, "Slayer. We hunt. Tone strong, hunt now." He said, recognizing that by the tone of Man-Bear, that he was needed immediately. He threw off the blankets of the bed, revealing his body that was ready for war. He glanced at the crate, and pondered on whether or not he needed his loin-cloth. Atl pondered on the matter, before deciding, that yes, he should grab his loincloth. Atl quickly changed into the loincloth, made from the leather of the jungle cats, as he glanced through the weaponry. He paused as he decided upon a single hatched forged from stone. Atl glanced at his pet, who had its head cocked up at him and meowed. Atl used his left hand as he grabbed Slayer and placed him upon his shoulder. Atl raised his stone axe, "CRUSH! KILL! MAIM! BLEED! BLEED! FOR THE CHEIFTAIN!" He shouted as he rushed out of the barracks and stood ready for what Man-Bear, and possibly Deer-Sage would speak of.
Slayer kept resting upon Atl's shoulder, as Atl was swinging his axe in all directions, ready to hunt something.
All the while he made his intentions known to the Tribal Women, that the tribe referred to as 'whores'. "I pick." He yelled out to the individual who eyed him with an incredibly worry, after all a Jungle Savage was a Savage. He quickly glared at a member of the tribe who was glaring at him. "He-" Atl glared, "I said. I pick. You no pick. I pick." and the man backed down, not wanting to get engaged with the savage. He returned his glance back to the tribal maiden, "I show you real man. He not real man. I real man." Pointing out the fact that he disengaged from the situation instead of fighting to win the whore. The whore managed to find herself amused by that statement, and looked slightly more comfortable with the savage. But it was still mostly fear.
He glanced down and noticed Slayer was low on his drinking material. Atl slammed his hand on the bench, "Slayer thirsts." And after the serving wench brought the cat another saucer, and Slayer had lapped up a little more milk before meowing, Atl glanced at the tribal maiden and gave a single nod.
Back in the marshes, Atl trudged through the thick pools of dirty and fetid waters. He was waist high, and he felt his feet sloshing through the surface of the floor, as the muck crawled up between his toes. The ferns were tall, quite tall, and Atl was lost. Then suddenly, there was a bubble, a large bubble was produced, right below his nose. It grew, and grew, and grew until it was the size of his hand, before it popped.
Atl rolled around in the bed, rather uncomfortable with this strange device, though it was soft, it wasn't right.. And... The tribal maiden was not there. She left before him? It was a good sign. During this line of thought is when he heard the yelling of the Man-Bear, Atl's eyes fully flung open as he glanced at his cat who was sleeping on his chest. Atl kept his head up as he glanced at his cat, "Slayer. We hunt. Tone strong, hunt now." He said, recognizing that by the tone of Man-Bear, that he was needed immediately. He threw off the blankets of the bed, revealing his body that was ready for war. He glanced at the crate, and pondered on whether or not he needed his loin-cloth. Atl pondered on the matter, before deciding, that yes, he should grab his loincloth. Atl quickly changed into the loincloth, made from the leather of the jungle cats, as he glanced through the weaponry. He paused as he decided upon a single hatched forged from stone. Atl glanced at his pet, who had its head cocked up at him and meowed. Atl used his left hand as he grabbed Slayer and placed him upon his shoulder. Atl raised his stone axe, "CRUSH! KILL! MAIM! BLEED! BLEED! FOR THE CHEIFTAIN!" He shouted as he rushed out of the barracks and stood ready for what Man-Bear, and possibly Deer-Sage would speak of.
Slayer kept resting upon Atl's shoulder, as Atl was swinging his axe in all directions, ready to hunt something.
Elric's Shoppe
And so James easily took the book, and opened the book and began skimming through it. As he looked in the book, he saw various anatomical figures, in various poses, it surely looked like a book dedicated to the surgical arts. However, if he was reading the words alongside it he would see such gems as...
'Why are you reading this?'
'Note to self: Writing Nonsense in this Book is fun.'
'... So lonely....'
'... Oh so lonely....'
'You must be wasting your time if you are looking in this book?'
'Idea for a mischievous prank: Make a book seem important, that looks just like the other books, but fill it in with materials that are essentially useless.'
'... You know the rules and so do I.'
'How long will this go on for?'
'Never going to give you up, never going to let you down.'
... and so forth. It appeared that this was not the book of importance, the Surgery Book that the intruder so desperately wanted.
And so James easily took the book, and opened the book and began skimming through it. As he looked in the book, he saw various anatomical figures, in various poses, it surely looked like a book dedicated to the surgical arts. However, if he was reading the words alongside it he would see such gems as...
'Why are you reading this?'
'Note to self: Writing Nonsense in this Book is fun.'
'... So lonely....'
'... Oh so lonely....'
'You must be wasting your time if you are looking in this book?'
'Idea for a mischievous prank: Make a book seem important, that looks just like the other books, but fill it in with materials that are essentially useless.'
'... You know the rules and so do I.'
'How long will this go on for?'
'Never going to give you up, never going to let you down.'
... and so forth. It appeared that this was not the book of importance, the Surgery Book that the intruder so desperately wanted.
It has to be set at a Department of Motor Vehicles you know.
Partisan said
Make sure to make him walk around asking what *insert item* is called in their language, or calling the Queen chieftain in a court, causing all the nobles to go 'uhhhh..'
I was already gonna. You guys have weird customs... Strange Tribe. Strange Tribe.
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