Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
For the crafters, Ulrik & Coris!
First rounds ends on September 3rd or when all have posted.
If anyone wants something of this post changed, please let me know. ^^
This will probably be a very short thread, requiring just one or two posts from everyone, unless you wish to socialize among the ranks later/talk missions. :]
The meeting had, so far, been a success, with no quarrels except for Lotus and Korra butting heads about marehood and how to best serve a herd. With the oncoming night the King's eyes were silvering; the stars popped out faster than usual, bright and distant, and the shadows seemed to grow more compact where he strode. It pleased him that so many had desired new ranks, and with a purpose in his step he approached the two crafters.
Ulrik was his usual self - tall, muscular, silent, the bronze tattoo across his shoulder snaking down his legs. Beside him stood a mechanical wolf, a magical wonder that Mauja hadn't even tried to figure out. Coris drew the eye with all his leather and dead stuff, and he seemed thoroughly engrossed with the stoic mechanic. A slight smile twisted the King's features and he attempted to give Ulrik a horn-greeting, merely seeking to touch the upper section of his own to Ulrik's. Then, he peered at Coris for a moment. "Crafters. I'm not quite sure what both of you do, nor the limits of your powers. Enlighten me, will you?"
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
"You are a skinner yes?"
The voice, strong and rough, weaves through Coris' ears. His head turns immediately, gold eyes locking intently on Ulrik. Skinner. Coris prefers the more politically correct label of tanner, or even leathersmith, but at the bare bones of it a skinner is exactly what he is. He wouldn't dare correct a maker anyway.
"Aye. A tanner as 'tis called in ma land. Coris ma name." Coris responds smoothly enough, even dropping the hint of his ideal title. Inside however his body is clenching and coiling while his stomach flips in out as a swarm of butterflies seems to fill it. He can't believe a maker is addressing him!
It doesn't end there however. Ulrik goes on to flatter the leather worker, propositioning a collaboration between them. The butterflies have now moved to his feet, Coris feels like he might just float off the ground... "Skin is a useful tool." A compliment! Coris is swooning and his groin aches with all the pleasure surfacing in regions other than down there. He is overwhelmed and stumbles a bit just standing as he tries to reign in his composure to offer a comprehensible reply.
"Y-y-yes of c-course." Is all Coris can get between his grinning teeth. Luckily the mares begin their argument, distracting him for a moment and helping settle all his fluctuating emotions. Eventually Mauja intervenes and breaks the herd apart, now leaving solely alone with Ulrik. Jumpy like a hare in a wolf's den the leather maker glances feebly around for something to strike up conversation.
"Did you name it?" Coris asks stupidly, his eyes only finding the machine wolf and his tongue running away before he could think of anything more profound to mention or ask. Instantly he berates himself, highly doubting the engineer names his creations. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Mauja approaches then and saves Coris from any more embarrassing minutes spent astride Ulrik. Nearly sweating, despite the cooler weather as of late, Coris glances up at the king. It would seem he's gone from the volcano into the dragon's nest however. The time to truly display his skill is at hoof and Coris still hasn't even gotten his falcon. He'll be made a fool id the king needs a demonstration, in front of Ulrik no less! Could this day get any worse.
It wouldn't do well to let Mauja, or Ulrik, know that he'd been outcasted by his herd for failing to ever show magical potential. So he'd lie a bit, just a little bit, and hope against hope the Moon Mare would come through for him in time. At the very least, he could still do some minor things with the talents he learned by hoof and horn alone. "Actually sir, ma powers are rather limited, at the moment." Coris begins, hoping his voice does not betray him. It's not the first time the stud has lied before, and his voice sounds steady enough, but the presence of the maker Ulrik has him acting in unpredictable ways making him suspicious of himself. "Ah have seemed ta, uh, lost touch with it as such. Stress mayhaps, or maybe muh chi is blocked from an injury..." All theories he'd heard as a boy, although none ever proved true, not in his case. He swallows hard, eyes jumpy with shame at his failure. "But ah, I have seen to the Moon Mare, for aid in this matter. Given time, I'm likely ta be functional soon."
There, as much honesty and lie as he dare give. It should be satisfactory, he hopes. Mauja doesn't seem the time to welcome useless horns, nor the type to forgive easily should Coris not accomplish what he says he will.
"Buttn othawise I can do tha killing and the skin-takin still. All which I'd need even iffun feeling fine. Once I'm fixed right, I can line armor, such as metal. Make leather armor, not as strong but light and flexible. Create saddlery for companions, many of them have fierce claws. Pouches to store and gather, such as the one on me. Ropes to bind, hand, tie... Connectors, to link pieces together. Blankets for the cold months, snow shoes for the blizzards and the ice. Tarps and tents to avoid the rain... There is too much to say or know it all, my king. Better to ask what I cannot do." As Coris spoke his accent began to fade, his nerves calming down now that the business of his inadequacies is over. That and, just naturally speaking of the greatness of his craft he grows bold and prideful. He hoped to show off for Ulrik, let the maker know he is not inferior - Ulrik already complimented him once, he hoped to forge an ideal and lasting relationship with the fellow however. The more time in his presence, the less likely Coris would be to turn rabid fangirl.
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Ulrik the Engineer Posts: 235
| Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 11 HP: 69.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Kirchoff :: Common Hellhound :: Superspeed
Tamme |
ULRIK
You better learn to keep your face under the dark
Wake up and feel the blood escape your heart
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Coris corrected him on what his title truly was, and Ulrik grinned, letting out a deep, slow and wicked laugh. "I would not call you what you are before the more soft natured kind, fear not," he rumbled with a grin. The charcoal, bearded stallion watched with a raised brow as the grey stallion began to stumble around, barely managing to spit out his words coherently. He simply nodded once, tersely in response to their future collaboration.
When Coris asked if he had named his wolf, he wondered why everyone here was intent on naming inanimate objects. First Lotus, then Sno, and now Coris; what was the point? Deep, madly intelligent bronze eyes churned through countless points of information at the same time, and he grunted sightly, staring down at the lifeless machine. "I see no point. When they grow useless, their forms return to scrap metal and they get reused. A name implies some permanence that these machines will never have," he replied in the most coherent explanation he had ever given on the matter.
Ulrik had quickly departed from the meeting. Too many new faces and too many soft bellied idiots that needed a lobotomy. He wished the Doctor his best in trying to rearrange years of nonsense and fluff about equality, but he supposed that putting all the dog loving types on the same category of Emissary was a smart enough move to keep tensions down in the rest of Helovia. Ulrik looked at his lead and touched the tip of his curving, long horn to the frosty point, waiting with the mechanical wolf whirring lifelessly at his side.
The charcoal stallion was not concerned by the skinner's lack of powers. He understood. How Ulrik had gotten through the borders without being stripped of his own magic was beyond him, but he was grateful. "The gods will grant your request if you demean yourself completely enough to their will and obey their every whim," he grunted, obviously not thrilled about the deities. He listened to what Coris could do and then looked into Mauja's ice eyes.
"I make machines. I am not limited by anything except my own strength and raw materials. Metal is what I need." The stallion was short and to the point. Then, Ulrik slid his bronze gaze to the skinner once again. "Can you make pelt coverings for my machines?" he asked. "The leather would hinder the mechanical sounds and provide a more realistic predator for trespassers," he explained.
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Credits
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
|
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
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"Actually sir, ma powers are rather limited, at the moment." His eyes narrowed a fraction, cold and blue. At the beach Coris had not been at all interested in selling himself short, and now he claimed his powers were limited. Mauja stifled a growl that threatened to rumble out of his chest, waiting for a logical explanation to arise. Out of touch with his powers? The King himself belonged to the group that had not lost their powers upon entering Helovia, though he'd heard a little of it since. Perhaps that was what Coris had gone through? And the Moon was helping him out with it? Well well well... He released the faintest of sighs. The thickness of Coris' accent was fading, and even though it greatly annoyed him that the stallion kept switching between can't do much and this is what I can do, he kept his face straight. The bloke was hardly responsible for losing his powers, no? So why hadn't he told Mauja that he wasn't functional back on the beach? Oh, well. Shit happens. "I see," he merely said, giving nothing away as Ulrik picked up. Metal. Pelts.
Natural predators for trespassers... Now that was a very interesting thought. For a moment Mauja was silent, then he fixed his blue eyes on Ulrik's bronze ones. "Any chance of commissioning a pack of wolves from the pair of you, to help reduce the obnoxious trespassers we're suffering?" He said it with a lopsided little smile - it would be sweet, indeed, to have such a thing, and it would reduce the strain on Mauja's patience if trespassers suffered for their folly in a fairly natural manner. But, the issues of raw materials remained... His gaze remained on Ulrik's sturdy, tall body. "Metal. Do we have enough of it here, or should we task someone to, uh, gather? it elsewhere in Helovia? And," he turned to Coris, briefly looking at the leather adorning his gray body. "Don't skin our Warden wolf. I'd also prefer if you didn't hunt the Edge dry. I must admit I've never shared home with a skinner before, I have no idea in which quantities you need prey." There was no shame in admitting that he had not a single bloody clue what was going on with these two. The magic the Moon had given his herd - glass making - was of a fairly magical nature, though yet he'd never seen it in action. Zar'roc's glass bending power had melted the earth and drawn from it. But these - would Ulrik eventually bleed all the metal out of the ground, causing the cliffs to fall into the sea, and would Coris leave only horses in this forest? Mauja much enjoyed to dance with wolves in the moonlight, or watching the majestic stags patrol their areas - seeing rabbits scuttle underfoot, hearing the chatter and fast paws of squirrels, and the occasional run-in with grumpy badgers did wonders for the mood. He had no wish to transform his home into a place of emptiness. Mauja thrived upon life.
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
As expected, Ulrik had not named it. His response, though mostly void of emotion and any sense of mockery leaves Coris feeling embarrassed of asking such a pointless thing. He swallows hard, hoping that it's not saliva but nerves he manages to send to the pits of his stomach.
Amber eyes study the blue ones carefully. As Coris speaks of his faults they appear to harden, colden, darker. It's difficult to believe such things can happen to Mauja's already frozen wasteland of an expression, but Coris notices it well enough to shift his weight with discomfort. He's surely to get the run through on that icy horn now. Will his armor protect him better from frost than it does flame?
Ulrik parts the rising tension within Coris with a flicker of hope. Hastily Coris flicks his attention to the engineer, happy to have an excuse to look away from the growing dark on Mauja's stern face. "She has already asked much from me." Coris grunts in response to Ulrik's input. He of course is referring to the eternal exile from his homeland, and any others but Helovia. Although the weight of this request is beginning to soften, as weights tend to do when you grow accustomed to them. If anything Coris is pleased to hear Ulrik knows of these gods to, and seems to hold some ounce of faith in the deals they craft. He will head there as soon as this ordeal has finished, a thought which makes him eager once more.
Thankfully Ulrik takes the rest of the conversation unto himself. The short, easy way in which he responds has Coris shaking his tail in self-annoyance. He should have played his work off as easily and calmly. Too willing is he to say much, but lists are daunting - it's this need to build himself up when he has so little to offer; he'd recognize this if he were a bit more introverted and self-assessing. Instead he feels envy of Ulrik. Makers are just as legendary as he'd imagined them to be. A wistful sigh pours from his nose as he watches and listens to the tribal marked stud. Such a handsome marking it is. The sharp points and gentle curves of the design compliment the attitude of the dark stallion. It's then Coris notices with acute detail how buff Ulrik is. Good Moon God does the boy haul around metal and boulders all day long? Probably, and he likely does so with a nice sheen of sweat glistening on his sleek coat, mane drifting his eyes with each toss of the wind... What Coris wouldn't give to be a fly on Ulrik's rump. Or even better, one of those metal ores he so passionately touches and caresses into something artful.
His muscle definition has Coris feel instantly inferior and weak in the knees all at once. The fantasies certainly do not help either. The simultaneous combination of opposites leaves a deadly effect on the swooning hunter and with great dismay he rips his gaze away from the glory that is Ulrik's fore limb.
Coris' breathing has become heavier and sweat beads on his neck. Get yourself together he hisses internally, shifting his weight once more in the hopes to resettle his body as well as his mind. And anyway, he is just as athletic and studly as Ulrik. Chasing down game and ripping it open takes great finesse and body control. Anyone can lug around metal and boulders.
This attempts at self flattery and demeaning of Ulrik's skill bases help reduce the heat flushing in Coris' groin. Just in time to as Ulrik turns to him, a question just fled from his lips. Shit Coris snarls to himself, ears scrambling to dig up an echo of the query which his mind is drawing a blank on. Just a couple seconds later and he would have been listening!
Mauja is talking again. Don't skin the warden wolf, right. Wolf, wolves, pack of mechanical wolves, skin. "Of course," he responds matter of factly to both the question and the request posed by Ulrik and then Mauja. Although Coris is anxious to see this odd wolf - it's a shame he can't play more intimately with her, he has a fondness for taking on bizarre challenges when possible and if he can get a trophy from it all the better.
"Why stop at just wolves?" Coris asks, pressing the matter, partly to help show he is an asset, his favor likely still low with Mauja. It would be, he supposes, until the ideas are made real. Time, just give me time. "A figure head like yourself faces many threats. Perhaps employing a mechanical double with skin nearly identical to yours would provide a different target for foes?" He grins then, the idea forming wholly in his mind. He glances sidelong at Ulrik, "a mechanical Mauja." The possibilities are nearly limitless.
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