Ceallach gapes as the tiger man kills himself.
"Ya ruttin' bastard, what'd ya do that for?! Now I can't kill ye meself!"
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I'm still here. just waiting to see what the air blast does!
Ceallach roars a challenge to his fleeing foe, and then sprints after him, claws ready for savage death-dealing.
Unfortunately a few stragglers keep the wolf from moving in close enough for a kill strike, and he is forced to continue running after his prey.
I apply already. Can't have nobody taking my shtick.
Well, you already know how I work. Um...link to the game on Rpol?
What can a wolf do when he can't find his quarry? Get very mad. "Move you buffoons! Get out of the way or I'll eat you!" Ceallach lets loose a mad howl, filled with bloodlust!
The not on fire assassin fails to actually damage the wolf warrior in any way but his pride. Punching someone in the nose is not very nice you know. His stinging snout aside, Ceallach roars and charges after the tiger with abandon.
Ceallach strides toward the tiger assassin, fully intent on ripping him up, and proceeds with his attempt to do so.
Ripping curtains might not be awesome, but it is in character. Btw, def not paying the monkey.
The urge for adventure clawed once again at the large wolf's tiny brain. Being unable to scratch it satisfactorily with Eamonn's running jobs, nor his night fights, he found himself wandering about the docks looking for trouble. Fortunately for one rather uppity stag, Ceallach happened to see a certain vixen pass by, flanked by a rather familiar bat girl, and a tigress. Smiling in delight, he abandoned his efforts to start a dockside brawl and went after the ladies. Coming up behind them, he cocked an ear at the building before shrugging and simply tore down the curtain.
Now how to reappear...
Ugh life sucks. When I finally shove myself back into this fame, veallach is going to have been on yhe longest bender/soul searching journey ever.
The fairies dragged me off and brainwashed me into being a worker drone. Gawd I hate my job these dayd.
It does seem to have happened. Does yhe wolf need to burst in the doors?
Been gone too long...such a sad sad song... Trying to keep up with games. Wife on early shifts and me on late ones hurts my sleep starved brain.
Ceallach is thoroughly enjoying himself. As the rabbit faints, he lets out a howl of glee. He is less amused when the weasel woman starts chasing after him. Not that he can't admire beauty, but he prefers women who can challenge him in battle. He of course isn't very subtle about his dislike of her obvious advances. As she attempts to wrangle him again, he picks her up and lobs her into the pool.
Ceallach is promoting barely legal celebratory actions, not limited to but including: drinking way too much, insinuating lewd actions by members of the noble populace present, gyrating in openly raunchy fashion, and attempting to embarrass everyone.
This is how I do mischief: Ceallach winks, a really odd sort of thing for him to do, and downs the rest of his spirits. Drinking done, and now plenty sauced, he leaps bodily out of the pool and begins singing a rowdy Phelan song that appears to be about faerie maids, and certain things they like to nibble on. It is definitely not about cheese or grapes.
Accompanying this sudden torrent of terribly voiced song is gyrating dance moves which are obviously meant to draw attention to the lower areas of oneself, and are of course completely scandalous for mixed company in Triskellian. Just to top things off with a bit more crude action, he starts wandering (and stumbling a little) around as he sings and dances (his song seems to be about a licentious fox vixen now), showing himself off to the party, especially ladies who seem proper and all that.
Party?: The wolf smiles. "My people? Well, for celebrations like this party, we often make bonfires at the center of a village. We sing, we dance, we drink! Often times those tied by love, and those perhaps seeking to be tied together, find that the fire brings out a lust in them. The young warrior amongst us also use the party as an excuse to compete and show off their skills." He takes a slow drink from the bottle.
"If ye meant what I might do now, well, there are pretty women here, but no warriors amongst them except as came with me, so I'm not too interested in courting them. Perhaps, however, some sort of mischief might be achieved anyway. Something to embarrass and scare them, remind them that I follow their rules because I choose to do so, not because they trained me like a beast."
Ceallach wipes away the residual spirits from his snout, and sets the bowl and bottle aside. "Ah, that's better! Since the bat can't be mine to eat, I think I will have to find something else to do. Maybe we can have a little party, eh? Cause a little trouble? I am sure we can find something to entertain ourselves with, hmm?"
Ceallach smiles wolfishly, and says "The bottle isn't fast enough!" With that, he pours spirits into the bowl until it is full, and downs it in a swift gulp.
Ceallach ignores the looks coming his way as he wades into the pool with a whole bottle of strong spirits, and a large bowl that he dumped the fruit from before taking it. Finding the tiger man, now one of the few he considers worthy people in this room, he says "Did you see the bastard that attacked me? I can't seem to find his scent anywhere now. I owe him some injuries."
The large wolf growls softly, but seeing his quarry has apparently fled lets his rage dissipate somewhat. Glad to see a friend, he speaks to Javiera, "I tracked the scent of a male bat, seemingly hidden from the rest of us. He set off some sort of light, and it burned my face. I threatened to eat him, so I can see where he was worried, but I don't like those who skulk. If someone wants to fight, then they can stand up and declare it!" He maintains a grumpy disposition, mostly because someone got the better of him, but also because someone had the audacity to dress him in a towel on the way here. (He never grabbed one once they left the changing rooms). Needless to say, Ceallach disrobes at the first opportunity, not understanding why these city dwellers have a need to not see each other skyclad. If you were meant to have hidden body parts, why were they not made so by nature?
Sorry for the lack of input, I've kinda lost where I was going with this in my head at the moment.
Anger all the more furious because I can't see: Ceallach is far less than pleased to be blinded by some magically hidden bat, but he can't do much when his eyes can't see a foe to hit. Thankfully, the tiger warrior seems like a more honorable sort, and takes Ceallach to a person who can heal his burning face. Growling angrily all the way, he submits to treatment with the same sort of attitude he reserved for the seamstress.
Finally able to see again, he nods thanks to the badger after briefly suffering the suffocating embrace that was given, and begins the hunt for the bat again.
Happy birthday to me too. Coincidence? No...
Thanks for a warrior's honor:
My eyes!:
Should I just roll my Soak? Cause matching that 12 isn't happening.
Is he Batman?: Ceallach's growl intensifies as he responds "I don't like anything that hides so easily. You fooled my ears and eyes, but my nose doesn't lie little bat. So, why are you hiding so much at a party, eh? Don't like strangers? Don't like those with large, pointy teeth? Tell me, and I might not bleed you dry."
Nose Detective: Ceallach sniffs heavily a few times, gauging the strength of the scent. He follows it for a moment, waving off the tiger as he begins the hunt. In the end, however, confusion is what greets him. Returning to the spot where he began the hunt, he growls quietly. "So, bats want to hide, do they? Maybe they should come out and play instead."
Pride has its place: Ceallach grins eagerly. "I could boast about many fantastic feats, but only a few are my own. Someday, perhaps I will have the skill to back up such talk. Until then, I have learned that in this city your actions tell people far more than your words."
Yay more fighting, but not quite now: Ceallach scrunches up his face for a moment, and says "I suppose you could call the druids our priests, though they don't preach. They are spiritual guides and advisors. They study the secrets that the world holds, and gain power from it." He gives his own warrior's sign, a fist over his heart, in return.
"I am Ceallach Mac Seitheach. I am no noble, but I will fight if that is what you wish, though I am far from a master of my art."
Battle Talk: "Ya mean my woad? Aye, there is some import to them, though only a druid could really tell you exactly what they ken. It's a mark that many of my people wear, though mostly amongst the Fiann, our warriors. Atavists like myself tend to wear distinctive patterns, though I've not been home for many a year to have them marked with my newest achievements."
Admiration: Ceallach can tell that this tiger is quite skilled, even though he is having difficulty wrapping his head around the idea of killing without using sharp or pointy things.
In response to the tiger's question Ceallach says "I doubt anyone in this city would call my people anything nice. You can blame the Bisclavret for making these people fear mine. They chose to abandon our ancient ways to be more like the foxes that run the city, and choose to call us savages simply because we like to live as we were intended to live. While some of us are berserkers, that technique is better left to the northern bears who invented it. The truest of our Fiann, or soldiers, are called atavists. I am told that the word means 'to draw out the inner beast'. The art, which is one that I practice, is to seek mastery of the feral nature that each of us carries inside themselves. Not to find a rage, but to express the purest form of natural abilities. Some atavists can leap over walls with a single jump. I have seen one of our war leaders shrug off a cleaving axe blow as though delivered by a child with a weak branch. I have seen a scout find the trail of a thief seven days after he left, and under heavy snowfall. I have also seen a master of our techniques seeking his innermost wisdom survive with no food or water for nearly a moon cycle. There are many strange ways that can be found, if you are willing to seek them." Ceallach shrugs, unsure of how to explain the deeper mystery of atavism.
At the call to dine, Ceallach changes attitudes immediately. He obviously was hungry. Upon arriving at the table, however, his attitude changes to dismay: what were all these things for? Settling into a chair, his hands awkwardly hover over the utensils, trying to decipher their meanings, until he finally gives up and asks his seat mates "Um...what is this for?" He holds up a fine fork, obviously confused. Baths: Here, Ceallach is finally able to relax as he removes the strange clothes from himself. Letting himself flow freely as nature intended, his woad now apparent to all, he feels his confidence return.
As they arrive at the frigidarium, he simply hops in. The water is certainly cold, but no colder than in the wilds of Cell lands. His brief reminder of home ends too soon, but he swiftly learns to enjoy the warmer water of the Caladarium. At the mention of fisticuffs, his ears perk up, and he shuffles his way over to the large tiger man. "Unarmed fighting? You mean claw techniques?"
"It's so sad. I only wanted to talk with an old friend. I think he no longer cares about me though. Why, he said I stole this outfit! If he really knew me, he'd never have suggested such a thing." Because why would I steal something I hate?
Ceallach was about to do something terrible to Giuseppe, but the image of him dropping his dagger through his boot with wobbly paws was too much. He starts laughing with full force, and in fact nearly to tears, ignoring his foe's cries of pain with ease. As his laughter subsides, he notices Quinn speaking at him. "Huh? Oh, yeah, well, these guys don't know how to be real warriors, do they? Not like me or you. Heck, Giuseppe here doesn't know how to hold a dagger!" Ceallach has another chuckle fit. "Anyway, well, my people have warriors like me called atavists. We practice the art of drawing out the inner beast. It makes us tougher, faster, stronger, all those grand things. I once saw one of the Cell atavists leap from the ground to the top of pine tree. Things of that nature tend to be our province. The best among us are so in tune with their animal nature that they can ken the meaning of the most strange signs and random facts. Of course, being in tune with your savage side tends to produce people that are more akin to beasts than these 'civilized' peoples, so they tend to wander around like most Phelan do: naked, or nearly so. There are actually other types of atavists, but the kind these people know and hear stories about are ones like me: hulking beast warriors. That sort of thing." As Ceallach finishes his longest speech ever, he realizes that more than a few eyes are watching him now.
Can I just write 'Ceallach crushes Giuseppe's face with his hands.'? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?!
Everyone should be glad that Ceallach knows some hospitality rules, otherwise this party would be ruined already. ;)
Ceallach chuckles, letting a sardonic smile form on his face. "Unlike you, I keep my word and don't try to twist things to my own ends. I got in here through the door, but if you mean how I was invited? Well, you can talk to our host if you want to know. As for these annoying and itchy rags you people call clothes, well, I was forced to buy them by that weasel woman and the bat lady that I came in with. They said I had to look fancy, but given how everybody here is still looking at me like I'm either about to go into an atavist's rage or pee on the floor, I'm starting to think I should have left these at home. What do you think, Giuseppe?" Leaning in closer, Ceallach shows every single one of his teeth in a hungry smile.
Seeing his old Pit Master has one, and only one, effect on Ceallach: he lets the slightest of growls begin in his throat, and starts advancing toward Giuseppe, mostly in a non-threatening manner. As he begins to arrive, he holds his paws up, at first in a position well-suited to neck-wringing, but swiftly transforms them into something less threatening but equally intimidating. "I see that even dock-scum are allowed to visit this inn. Such a waste. If we were outside, I might finally repay you for all you did for me, Pazari brat!"
Long enough foe me to make everybody uncomfortable.
Ceallach resisted the urge to shiver and wiggle, instead simply giving the same impartial, slightly annoyed looked he'd been wearing since he was forced on stage. "Er...yes. It may happen. I am...trying to look forward to it."
Woad is me: [b]"Aye, that I'll have ta do meself. I know et's somethin' ta do with tha spirits within ya, but damned if I can remember such a thing. When I still lived in the Fiann camp, they talked like women about et some nights. It won't be done unless I find another one, or I do et meself."
"I...will try to concentrate. My claws have already tasted Screeberagh blood this night. I won't be looking for a fight." He nervously fingers the collar Eamonn gave him. He had flatly refused to remove it, and now it was his only source of comfort.
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