Likewise. I am paying attention daily, but will post when it feels right.
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"This one will be easier to look after," Harthresh growls, before dumping the corpse of the second riekling at the feet of the Coldborn. He then follows in the wake of the others.
I'm still here and following along.
Harthresh grips his prey tightly, his jaws opening wide as he snaps them shut...just short of the creature's throat. He seems to tremble for a moment, struggling with some inner compulsion. After a long moment, he shifts, quickly beginning to bind the creature with a sash pulled from his waist, the fabric intertwined with dull lengths of thin chain. His eyes fade from a fever-bright gold to a sickly yellow under the firelight, his breathing slowing from a ragged panting to low hissing exhalations. Finally, he looks up at the others, still crouched and looming over the bound riekling.
Harthresh clutches at the creature tightly, a low hiss escaping his jaws as he snaps down to bite at his prey...
...in the process, Harthresh viciously wrenches his grip tighter on the creature, looking to fully incapacitate it.
Harthresh quietly looms out of the fog, quickly grasping at the creature as it tries to rush past him, seemingly oblivious to his proximity.
DM, do you allow the Grapple combat maneuver to be used as an AoO? I do not believe this is allowed, as Grapple is specifically called out as a standard action and an AoO is a bit more vague. That being said, I just want to make sure what your ruling is before I post my AoO post and subsequent turn.
Harthresh watches the others interact with the guardsman, following a fair distance in their wake. His eyes narrow at the sudden commotion, fading from human-green to a sickly reptilian yellow. As the others begin to run toward the plume of smoke, he tenses. His jaw distends with a wet pop as dull fangs grow to protrude from his mouth. His skin ripples and darkens, taking on patchy patterns of gnarled scales and ridges. After a moment, before the others can get completely out of sight, he makes after them, keeping his distance.
Watching the few exiting, a ripple passes across Harthresh's face, beneath the skin. He waits a few moments as the others exit the gathering, then quietly rises. After a moment, he sheds his cloak at his seat and quietly moves to follow.
Harthresh watches the duel with half-lidded eyes, hunched over the table in front of him. He tilts his head slightly as he catches some of the banter from those around him in the midst of the cheering. Turning slightly, Harthresh pulls back his hood, giving them his full attention.
Spoiler:
Harthresh slowly pushes the food away, his lip briefly curling in distaste before the expression disappears from his face with noticeable effort. His gaze is once again drawn to the clamor of the challenges and banter among the others.
Harthresh watches the commotion with half-lidded eyes, his body still, a plate of food sitting nearly untouched in front of him. He sits close to one of the longhouse fires, appearing lethargic. After a long moment, quiet and still, his eyes shift down to the plate of food. He leans forward to slowly pick at it, his face withdrawing into the shadows of the hood of his thick cloak.
As the wagon grinds to a halt, Harthresh remains seated. A thick cloak is draped from his shoulders, his face lost within the shadow of its deep hood. After a long moment of stillness, he jumps from his perch, his boots crunching down upon the stone of the quarry. Drawing back the hood, Harthresh looks around the gathering. His auburn hair is pulled back and gathered through a clasp of bone. His attire adorned with fetishes and trophies, most of which consist of bone, teeth and shards of metal. He pulls at the cloak in a slow, lethargic motion, his jaw set tightly. Appearing fully human at the moment, his discomfort with the current environment and temperature is palpable. He utters a hissing growl, low in his throat, before setting off slowly for the nearest warm fire.
Scaleheart Introduction, Previous DM Post:
Harthresh listens carefully to the words of Shaman Mayhew, acknowledging them with a terse nod of affirmation. Upon the formal dismissal, Harthresh bows low, his posture reverent to the Shaman Council. Turning slowly, he strides quietly from the room. As he reaches the large windows that precede the long winding descent, Harthresh pauses, taking in the expansive view. His face grows solemn and cold. "Goodbye," he murmurs as he looks out over the lands of the Scaleheart, before proceeding with purpose down the stairs.
Harthresh listens carefully, his gaze never leaving the High Shaman as the venerable Scaleheart speaks. Yellow eyes widen slightly at the proclamation of his role as an advisor, yet Harthresh nevertheless remains quiet. At the question from Ishmael, Harthresh looks down, appearing unsure and uncomfortable. After a moment, he rises to his feet in a smooth lithe motion, one that many would find quite unexpected and unsettling from such a large creature. He stays quiet, appearing to be thinking, his expression of frustration belying a battle with his own patience. His fists curl and uncurl, further displaying some sort of inner turmoil. Finally Harthresh looks up and speaks. His words are harsh and grating, but his cadence is measured, as if forcing himself to maintain an even tone. "The human...situation," he rumbles, "is one that must be handled with forethought and patience, despite the disdain that their inherent weakness engenders in such as our ilk." "A single human is prey, nothing more, something to be dragged into the Deep Water, screaming and bleeding." He pauses, taking a hissing inhalation of breath. "But where there is one human, there are others...and others still, and yet more beyond those." "We are many...but they are uncountable, and for this reason we must reach a balance, one where their wariness of the predator, their fear of the Deep Water, balances and counteracts their thirst for growing their numbers...and their territory." A shudder runs through Harthresh, as if the effort of reasoning for such a period of time is practically unbearable. "Whether this balance is found through...discourse...or violence," he growls, seeming to relish the word, "will remain to be seen through the Moot."
Striding into the room, Harthresh bows in reverence to the assembled shaman, then raises his yellow-eyed gaze to Ishmael. At the words from the High Shaman, Harthresh cocks his head, finally attempting an expression meant to be a smile. To anyone but a Scaleheart, the expression would easily be lost amongst the distended jaw and myriad sharp teeth. He stays quiet, awaiting the proclamations of the council and the reason for his summons to this divine gathering.
At the affirmation from the Guards, Harthresh raises his eyes to them. He stares, his eyes fever-bright as his grating voice echoes their shout. "IN APEP'S NAME!" He grips his axe, replacing it in the sheath across his broad back. Standing, Harthresh stalks forward between the standing guards, no hesitation in his stride whatsoever. As he enters the temple, he seems to immediately relax. His movements become more fluid and loose as he takes in the verdant surroundings of the interior river and accompanying fauna, feeling as at home here as in his own holdings. Passing the enormous altar to Apep, Harthresh pauses, stopping to lower his head in obeisance to the statue of his god. "You are with me in the Deep Water, Apep," he murmurs quietly, his voice a sibilant hiss, "and all else is there to Drown in the Dark for you, by my hand." Looking up to the altar, he holds his gauntlet-sheathed fist to his breast for a moment before striding toward the large set of double doors. Despite the long climb, Harthresh show little sign of exhertion, moving with purpose up stair after stair. Upon reaching the top, he pauses, taking in the expansive view. As his gaze drifts south, his yellow eyes narrow, his lip curling over sharp jutting teeth. His face becomes a visage of anger and aggression, that of a predator spotting prey. After a long moment, he moves past the view, toward his destination.
Nearing the final steps to the top of the temple, Harthresh goes still, taking a slow look about him. His green eyes take in the surroundings of the Mundatei Temple, a slight shudder of reverence causing him to finally roll his broad shoulders and step forward to ascend to the summit. As he does so, a ripple passes through his imposing muscled body. He pauses, shutting his eyes and setting his jaw for a moment. His auburn hair, worn long yet shaved close to the scalp on each side of his head, blows in a brief warm breeze as he once again moves forward and ascends the final stair. At the top of the summit, he stops directly in front of the Guards of the Shaman Council. He briefly meets their curious gazes, his eyes slipping from green to a pale sickly yellow, the pupils shifting to narrow vertical slashes of deep black. Slowly falling to his knees and lost in awed reverence, his skin ripples once again, this time shifting completely. The tendons in his neck tighten, veins standing out in stark contrast as his hands curl into fists, the change overtaking him as he basks in the feel of being so close to the divine. Harthresh suppresses a low hissing growl as his jaw distends with a wet pop, sharp teeth elongating and slipping past his lips to jut out prominently. Where his pale skin shows beneath his hunting leathers and his light chain shirt armor, it can be seen rippling into patchy patterns of reptilian scales. His flesh slides in color to a jaundiced green hue in the places where the scales do not take hold. Muscles flex and grow larger underneath his skin, his entire body quivering briefly amidst the sound of popping tendons and grinding bone. In but a few moments, his full countenance as a Scaleheart is revealed as his body completes the change into that of one who is WereCrocodile-kin. Finally, without looking up to meet the gaze of the Guards, he growls out with a voice tinged with reverent awe, low and grating through a mouth full of far too many sharp teeth. “Harthresh Cald, this one has been summoned,” he rumbles, “this one is here to answer the call of the divine, our High Shaman has spoken and this one answers with faith.” The words from Harthresh are measured and slow, his growling voice laced with a underlying sibilant hiss of exhalation. As he finishes speaking he reaches slowly over his shoulder, his movements careful and non-threatening in the presence of the guards as he unsheathes a large serrated axe from his back. Laying the weapon before his knees in subservience, he removes his hands from it. His left arm is sheathed all the way to his elbow in a gauntlet made of some sort of hide, its worn surfaces studded with hooked animal teeth and vicious spikes of iron along the knuckles. “If it pleases the High Shaman, inform him that this one will await His Word until he is called for.”
Thanks, DM! Updated to Apep on my profile, just had Hanspur in there as a thematic placeholder until I got some deity/religion information from you, like this...Apep, "The Drowning Dark"...oh yes, that's right up Harthresh's alley...
I'd certainly be fine with that, Raijinn. I see Harthresh as a "True Believer" amongst the Scaleheart, utterly and piously devoted to the proclamations of the Shaman council and their divine authority. If they tell him to go...he's going to go, regardless of his insular territorial tendencies and almost complete lack of empathy, as a speaker for his tribe. He may not like leaving and may have reservations about his suitability for this assigned role, but he will do so because it is asked of him by those who speak for the divine. Any indecision or vagueness in the words of the Shaman Council sets him on edge and unsettles him, so he is most certainly...unsettled...in terms of what this gathering of the tribes will mean for him and his people. If there is a previous meeting between us, I'm sure you would have found Harthresh to be sullen yet driven, alternating between cold and aggressive. Despite these swings of mood, he always takes a moment to think of the less direct and more...efficient...route to solving a problem, rather than crashing into it head-on. If you met him due to a conflict that saw the Fanglords and Scaleheart as allies, then yes, Harthresh definitely would have been among the forefront of those who would fight on behalf of the Scaleheart in times of need. In terms of being warlike, I built Harthresh to come at you sideways. He's not going to charge into a threat, roaring and swinging. Instead, he's going to be quiet and relatively patient stalking into a position of maximum advantage before he strikes. He will then pull his enemy down into the deep, where their struggles and screams will only fill their lungs with water and hasten their departure from this mortal coil even as he tears them apart. He's not a warrior of his people per say, but threats to his tribe or those who encroach upon their territory are dealt with by him and others of similiar ilk. He just happens to be very good at what he does and quite possibly enjoys it. So warlike, probably not...but most definitely a killer. Still, a killer under the full control and sway of divine decrees. |