You didn't like the tentacle crib? Huh. ;P
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Kló inspects everything they pass. This place was so foreign and exotic, but the use and respect of the native spirits in the plants of the area ... well, it resonates with the teachings his father passed down to him. He tries to maintain an objective distance, but he's clearly awed by much of what he sees. To his credit, when Rhys offers food, his usual blunt nature asserts itself. "Yes, I am hungry, but time is against us. We have spent time I don't think we have in the hopes your aid can make it up."
Kló sits quietly astride Hunts for a few seconds, expecting one of the group to speak up. When they don’t, he gives them a quick, uncertain look, then slides from Hunts’s back. ”Aye, it would have been twenty winters, Master Rys. And we thank you for the invitation when we show up unannounced. I promise you our need is great, though.” As the mounts are being seen to, the big man looks over at Hunts. ”This one is not just a mount. She is a companion who has agreed to help me. If she wants, I ask that she be treated as such.”
Kló sits astride Hunts, trying not to gape at everything. When he rides through the impromptu passage, he leans down towards the natural wall. Reaching out, but not touching, the thorns and flowers. Almost inaudibly—and clearly meant for the objects of his inspection—he whispers. Druidic:
”I don’t know if you understand me, but thank you for the safe passage.” Then he sits back up, trying to avoid eye contact of anyone who saw the exchange as he pats Hunts uncomfortably.
Kló is … Kló on the group’s continued journey, content to work at learning to be a better rider for Hunts and do his best to heal up from the events in the graveyard.
As Lydd leads them past the sprouts, though, the big northman seems to be drawn more and more outside of his usual stoicism. He watches the sweeping vistas around him, frowns at the snow, rocks, and trees, and generally begins taking a keener interest in what he sees around him. At the sight of The Tree, he stops in place, unblinking as he tries to get a good look at its full scope. ”This is …” words fail him, and he looks over at Mav and Lydd, all suspicious momentarily forgotten. ”How is this place immune to the usual rules of Alfheimr? Is this a thing of your people? Or this location? And the spirits of this place … are they as … alive as they are in the rest of Alfheimr?”
I'm here, and sure. :) Let's rock us some fae-wild shenanigans!
I don't think you're alone in your reaction to the last few days. I've been thinking a lot about this, and I think Joana's suggestion is a good one. Given how busy you've been in general, and how I really don't want to risk you getting burned out in general because of this game, I'd suggest at the least we put the game on hiatus. Maybe it'll only be short, and you'll get a second wind, and maybe it's best in the end if this game gets shelved. I like the richness of this game, the way you have run it, and I like the characters involved. But overall, I've had a bit of a hard time keeping up with the details of Kló given how slowly we've been progressing. That's not meant to be a shot at you, Dien. Just putting it all out there.
Kló nods inscrutably, continuing to watch the conversation with the strange spirit-woman as he goes to stand by Hunts. ”It appears I owe you thanks for dragging me out, Hunts-in-Shadows." There's an awkward pause, "So … thanks.”
”Maeve, huh?” Kló grunts, looking over at Halla. ”What language does she speak? And where is she from?” He pauses, considering his own question before continuing awkwardly. "I mean ... uh ... other than inside you?"
Mav smiles sweetly at Klo. "As I told you, when you did not know me: we are allies, mortal man. Why should I hold it over you? It would only be tedious for all concerned." Kló frowns but says nothing more, focusing instead on the unintelligible conversation between Cai and this new ... spirit-woman.
Kló frowns down at the symbols, but nods. ”Then read it to me.” With each new word, comprehension grows in his mind, until finally he shakes his head and looks to Mav. ”You could have kept that scroll … and my memories.” He nods respectfully, ”Thank you.” The interaction with the new woman, though, draws his attention. ”There has been a separate spirit inside you? And what is her name?”
Kló looks at the scroll, curiosity warring with suspicion. He steps closer to Mav, his lumbering gait for once seeming cautious. "This creature put my memories on those scrolls? And you ... took them? May I read them, instead?"
Kló suspiciously glares at the elves, Mav, and Hunts in turn. Finally, he touches his head, "Two days?" He shakes his head, hoping to jar some stray memories loose, "Why would a creature steal memories?" He finally gets to his feet, then looks over at the big cat, "It appears I am in your debt ... Hunts-in-Shadows."
Tassidar’s words calm Kló only a little. He shakes off the elves, and retreats cautiously from the monstrous hunting cat. ”Clear how?” he asks, eyeing their surroundings suspiciously, ”And where are we? Where is the market?” He eyes each of the people who had held him moments before, trying to remember. ”I don’t know any of these … creatures. What is going on?”
Clarity returns to Kló’ eyes quickly, and his three attackers find themselves looking down at a man that you’d swear has no idea who any of them are, but has serious intent to harm building. ”RELEASE. ME.”
Hunts shrieks her frustration as she makes for the door, dragging the big man with her. DM: Given that Kló doesnt remember her now, do you want me rolling CMB's for Hunts to drag Kló out? I can't tell if Stunned makes him unable to resist or not.
Seeing the strange pack seem to rally around a single strategy—run away—Hunts rushes around the swarm and clamps her jaws on Kló's armor, ready to drag him physically from this place.
Kló—or the bear-man Kló has suddenly become—sways gently where he stands, dark eyes clouded and staring at nothing. Hunts roars in frustration as the quarry explodes into un-bitable mist. Her eyes flit between the maked raven, the elves, and the Hofnites. ”Do we fight?” she yells, looking for direction.
When the master of this place (and his masked bird) isn’t quick enough to stand down, Kló lets a feral-sounding growl rip from deep within his throat. He roars at the name-taker, flexing and posturing like an bear whose territory is challenged. It becomes quickly apparent that the posture isn’t just an act. His face elongates, a white-furred muzzle full of teeth extending from his mouth. Claws tear themselves from his fingertips, and his muscles bulge and elongate … giving him more and more the look of a polar bear. As the transformation completes, along with his savage bellow, he moves to stand between the masked creature and Halla.
:
Kló doesn't hesitate. He steps forward aggressively, protectively, pointing at the bird on Halla's chest. "Whatever it's doing!" he roars, "STOP!"
Kló looks over at Knute and Halla, nodding encouragingly.
Everything about this encounter made the hair on the back of Kló' neck stand on end. He looks between Halla, Mav, and the eery speaker, his face a mix of confusion and suspicion . "Tell me, Master of this domain, do you know all who ... dwell here? We don't want to bother you. Just to know if a few specific people have joined you or not."
Kló general unease with this strange world is compounded as they pass into Tash’s domain, and his every uncomfortable movement proclaims it.
His mind latches onto something … anything … the strange, black rock-glass. ”Obsidian,” he mutters, to no one and everyone, ”supposedly found near mountains of fire.” He shrugs uncomfortably, ”Though with the way this place changes, I’m not sure what to make of it.” As the group comes to a halt, he tries to press upon Hunts to stand still, watching the strange bird-writer duo with mixed fascination and suspicion. Then his gaze shifts over to Halla, giving her an encouraging look as if to say ’go ahead’. It's clear the big man doesn't intend to speak up.
Kló falls heavily from Hunts’ back just in time to warn the creature and keep his feet as the change washes through. He looks around warily, watching the new-come fall colors with a shake of his head. ”I would be comfortable in a place that didn’t change so much.” He shrugs, ”But I guess that would be like complaining that it was cold in winter.” At the sight of the gate, Kló frowns. ”Is this a common thing? A cemetery appearing? And are cemeteries different here than in our home?”
Kló accepts the nail, sliding it into his belt pouch as he stands, stretching his legs and stomping his feet to get the blood moving in his near-frozen feet. He seems as impatient as Lydd to get going.
Kló looks up at mention the ice-man, his voice alarmed. "He was in camp?" He looks over at Lydd and Mav. "And these nails. is there something special about them? Should we get some?"
Kló simply nods at Lydd’s answers—both humorous and serious—then, with a quick motion to get permission he stabs some fish onto his knife, nodding again in thanks before biting into the steaming river-food. He pauses at the discussion of dreams, his face thoughtful. ”I wouldn’t know what kind of truth there was to mine. As is so often the case, time will tell, I guess.”
”Thank you for the dumb fish,” Kló grunts to Lydd as he stands, wiping his fingers on his leathers. ”I will go help Hunts-In-Shadows and Baletooth prepare for the march.”
When Kló is shaken awake, he simply lies in the snow for a while, quietly watching the camp slowly begin to stir. Finally, the big man fully wakes, and—after checking with the Hofnites and their allies to make sure nothing must be done beforehand—he takes nearly the full hour just watching the snow fall.
Finally, he lumbers to his feet, shaking the accumulated snow from himself as he makes his way to whatever breakfast areas have been set up, but mostly looking to connect with the group before they set out. He gives the fish a surprised look, then shifts his gaze up to Lydd. ”How do you know they are not talking fish? Do you know it as you catch them? Maybe you could teach me this trick?” As he eats, he finds himself with his friends once more. His mood still seems quiet, but a morose quiet as opposed to the angry quiet of the day before. ”This place plays on my moods. Last night on watch, I saw nothing, but Baletooth and I sat and listened to the saddest, loneliest music that brought to mind everything I had ever lost. Coming from somewhere out there.” He gestures vaguely off into the woods around them. ”And then it gave me the strangest dream. Of something I know I lost but never really knew.” He takes a bite, dark eyes searching everyone else’s for their reactions.
Kló awakes briefly in the night, a low inhalation of breath and a slow shift in position giving him away. But he says nothing, looking suspiciously at all those around him before leaning uncomfortably back down on the cold ground. Sleep comes again with difficulty, but he eventually drifts back off. When he wakes in the morning, the big northman is quiet. Not the sullen, angry quiet of the night before, but a distant, cold quiet. A mournful quiet that covers him like his thick furs and hides.
I'd rather it be done slow than half-assed. :D
Kló smiles around a mouthful of hot (but tasteless) vegetables at Hunts, then he points a boot over at Baletooth. "I meant him." His small grin returns, "But I will be sure to remember that." Mav's response gets a neutral shrug, "We are always changing ... every moment. That's not the same thing as removing parts that make you what you are." He makes a 'at least that's what I think' face, but doesn't feel inclined to discuss it further. It's been a long day, and his watch will come soon.
Cool. Done and done.
UI went ahead and updated Kló. Hope that's cool. :) BEAR-KLO LIVES! GRAWR!!!!
”Can you remind me again of what your elders warn about the first world?” Kló relays all he’s heard about this strange place. Know: Nature results (reposted from above):
Spirits (true fey) are tricky, capricious, gifted with stranger powers, and obsessed with being treated politely even if they see nothing wrong with being rude to mortals... Gifts should always be answered with a gift of one's own; give your name hesitantly if at all and do not ask for the names of spirits in turn. Stay on paths. Eating spirit food or drink is rumored to cause loads of bad luck. Saying 'thank you' to a spirit can be ill-advised, even if they've done you a good turn-- better to lay on thick compliments instead. Spirits love music and dance, merriment and games and riddles, and few of them can resist at least hearing out a would-be bargain even in the most dire straits. Some spirits are child-like mischief makers; others are formidable and powerful creatures, jarls among their kind.
Not everything in Alfheimr is necessarily a spirit-- Baletooth, for instance, seems to be a reassuringly flesh-and-blood creature, just unnaturally intelligent for a rat-- but judging by what you saw in the market, everything that lives here long enough takes on some part of the spirit world, even if it was not their original nature. At the doubt expressed by both Tassidar and Halla that they can gain enough power to shape bridges to suit their needs, Kló shrugs, ”Maybe. Maybe not. But with few options, every idea has merit. Plus, I refuse to believe her limits are ours. We are not her.”
Kló sits transfixed, staring at their mysterious hostess as if her response gave far more insight than simply the words themselves. Finally, he responds, cautiously but ernest. ”Maybe I am over-cautious,” he mutters, trying to find more meaning in her words. ”Maybe we have more to offer one another than simple gifts. Time will tell.” He continues watching her, but is interrupted by the big cat, at whom he scowls, then sakes his head. ”Your are here by your choice, Hunts-in-Shadows. What you eat here is also your choice.” He grins, ”… so long as it isn’t one of us.” ***
Kló can’t help but listen in on the exchange about taking memories. ”Tell me, Mav. What are we, if not the product of our memories? Even the bad ones. This is how we grow, no? Remove one fish from a school—even the small, sickly fish—and it’s never the same school again.” He shrugs, his leathers creaking, ”Maybe it’s a bad metaphor.” ***
Kló nods to Rikka, ”I will take second.” He points to where the rat already snoozes, and grins,”He will accompany me.”
Woot! Level up stuff. Can we go ahead and update our profiles? Or should we wait for a specific green light to do that?
Kló looks around the quiet camp, making sure they are not overheard before he continues in Skald. "If bridges in this place are as much symbol as object. Then with enough power maybe we can make a bridge take us to cut off the path of the orks, no? All we'd need to know is where they go and how to gain the right amount of power." He looks at his fellow child-followers, "It's worth considering, at least."
Kló listens to Mav’s answers, a constant scowl on his face the only insight to his thoughts. Though admittedly it’s the same scowl he’s worn since the path incident earlier in the day. As he listens, he begins getting out some of his own gear. Over one of the camp fires, he rests the greataxe taken from the lizard-men. While he listens to Mav, its blade grows hotter and hotter, eventually reaching an untouchable heat, at which point he takes it from the fire and scrubs it with snow from outside a few times. Then he returns to the fire, sets the axe-blade back across it, draws out some of Sula’s vegetables, and begins cutting and cooking them on the now-cleaned-and-heated axe blade. Finally, as the vegetables heat up, he looks across at Mav. ”What seems a long time ago, I left my village to find game for a festival. I misjudged an incoming winter storm and was forced to find shelter. With nothing but my own frustration to keep me company, I explored my shelter. What I found was the warmest, most green spring day I’d ever imagined.” He taps the floor with the end of his knife. ”This place. You know what else I found? Entrapment. A goat-man ambushed me and stole my will from me, for no reason other than I was on his land. There was no warning. There was no trade or mention of deals. I didn’t know where I was, and had no way of knowing what that meant.” His voice has become more and more heated as he speak, growing to a quiet fury like the heat of the greataxe. ”And now I am to understand I have lost YEARS of my life.” He struggles futilely to control his building fury, his dark eyes holding Mav’s. ”Everything we see seems to have hidden dangers. Every creature we meet seems to have layers of designs on us, with few exceptions. I have lost years of memories of my home … my father. No offense to you, Mav, as you have been helpful so far, but I am … overly cautious of trading what memories I do have for unknown gifts from this place.” Lapsing into silence, he tests the heating food with his knife. Finding it still unfinished, he looks to Hunts-in-Shadows as he switches to Skald. ”I have no meat for you, he shrugs, ”though you are welcome to my vegetables … meager as they are.”
Kló had been quietly brooding since the incident on the path. Responding to anyone who approached with nods and gestures when possible, and as few words as he can manage when not. Only Knute receives more, by way of a sincerely-if-reluctantly-given thanks for intervening. And later, the stakes he helped drive into the frozen ground surely paid a great price for Kló’s dark mood.
At dinner, he watches Mav’s ritual with a mix of fascination and suspicion. ”This thing you do,” he rumbles, nodding to the soup, ”eating a being you’ve killed. Why do you do it? Is it symbolic? Or does it have power of some sort?” He makes a gesture that includes the Hofnites, ”Where we come from, there are few that eat other thinking creatures.”
At mention of gift-swapping, Kló looks uneasy. So far, everything gin this place came at an unexpected price. He indicates Halla as he responds to Mav, ”She is right. You are helping already. Plus, what would I give in return?” He nudges his bulging pack, stuffed with winter travel gear, ”You don’t much look to need an extra pair of snowshoes.”
Go-Go-Knute's grapple check!
”DA!” the big man roars furiously as he lumbers off the safety of the path and into the woods, his face twisted in wrath, ”I’M COMING!”
Kló is midstride in a circuit of the potential campsite, looking for subtle tracks or trails when his head suddenly snaps up, dark eyes searching intensely into the woods off the path. On his face, emotions play ... confusion, fear, anger. DM:
"Let us... speak no more of it." Kló nods and moves on, readying for the assent of the cliff. Before they move out, though, he finds a moments with the Hofnites and their elven companion. "I do not know what she did with that skull, but it was not natural. I will ask her about it." On their assent, he does just that. He rides up next to Mav and get right to the point. "As we skinned that drake, you did something to its skull." His demeanor is as blunt as ever, though obviously more out of curiosity than indolence. "What was it?"
And when it comes time to scout, Kló gives a reserved grin, looking over to Knute. "Come, great northern hunter. Let's see what an elven hunter can teach us."
Makes sense. I'm likely being a bit paranoid. The "you get ambushed while you sleep and before you can recover resources" bit has been done to me one too many times, I guess. |