the Rift


[OPEN] pirate pride [collecting/clearing]

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Snow
#1


As the sea breeze tickles his nostrils and dampens his chimeric fur, the stallion allows himself to smile and tilts his head upwards to breathe in the fresh air.

The morning is a fairly windy one, churning up the ocean's waves and sending foam-sprays onto the shore where the antlered pirate stands, his docked tail flicking away the more determined of the spring flies that insist on persecuting him even here, in his domain. It is cloudy, with only a few rays of sun darting through the thick grey covering of the sky, but that doesn't stop Bartholomeo standing in awe of the ocean that stretches off to the distant dull horizon. The sea is always beautiful, whether the sun is reflecting off it or whether a raging storm is throwing it into a frenzy. Like the most loyal, curvaceous and lusty of women, the sea is always there, waiting to welcome the stag with open arms and a warm bosom.

He has not come here just to stare at the scenery, though. There is work to be done! Kisamoa has set the task, and the stag automatically carries it out by virtue of the fact that Kisamoa is of the ocean. That makes him trustworthy in Bartholomeo's eyes, and he doesn't think twice about following his commands. There's a large pile of driftwood on the shoreline that's crushing some plant life beneath it, leaving a small section of the ecosystem where the sun cannot penetrate. The stallion targets this pile as one that needs dealing with, so he reluctantly tears his gaze away from the sea and eyeballs the offending driftwood instead. "To work," he says to himself in his hearty accented baritone.

The sand makes a pleasant crunching noise beneath his formidable weight as he saunters over to the driftwood, scrutinising it with a tilted head to decide how best to shift it. The pirate is a strong, well-built man, his pure Warlander blood creating hard muscle and his rogue's lifestyle helping to maintain it, but he knows it will be no easy task to move so much wood. He finds himself longing for his swords, which could have been commanded by a single thread of his old magic to help chop the wood into smaller, more manageable pieces. As it is, he's forced to make do and mend, but he doesn't object to hard work and sets about his task with gusto.

Using his antlers and the weight of his powerfully-arched neck, Bartholomeo manages to dislodge the topmost piece of driftwood. It topples down with a loud crash, and he rolls it away onto the sand with a series of grunts and huffs before returning back to the pile to begin it all again. He's soon sweating, a healthy dose of foam lathering his neck, groin and flanks, but with the sea crashing in his ears and the salty tang upon his tongue, he's never felt more at home.

B A R T H O L O M E O
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@Tarik and any!

Tarik Posts: 32
Dragon's Throat Stallion
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 :: 7 (immortal)
Odd
#2

The bearded viking had been hoping to see the white-winged angel again. He had not seen her since the day that he'd left her tipsy on the beach, she leading him towards the oasis, drunk on his foreignness and the never-ending rum that sloshed in his flask. But he had not seen her - not at the gathering that Kisamoa had called, and not at any of the small couplings that had formed after. His disappointment was mild, however. It didn't do for immortals to dwell too long on any one thing. The first few decades of his life had taught him that. You would think that with an abundance of time one such as Tarik would have all the time in the world to dedicate to any number of small, mundane tasks. But it wasn't so.

Today, Tarik stood with his hooves in the salty spray. He was wondering why his immortality had stayed with him, and yet his ability to transform had done. He'd been forced to use the Dragon's Throat bridge to move from the island to the mainland, despite his previous ability to transform himself into a shark. The thought was annoying and perplexing, but again, Tarik did not dwell on it for long.

Taking a long drink from his ornate silver flask, he turned his sea-blue gaze towards a man who might have been some fledging branch on his own family tree. Both men were large, both chimeric, bearded, dreadlocked, tattooed and scarred.

"You know if you were to call and ask for help, I'm sure it would arrive." Tarik offered. His voice was like a dirge; playful and melodic. His eyes held the twinkle of one who was happily tipsy, and his accent was northern, nordic, but pleasant. Though he was a rather grim and haggard looking figure, today, Tarik looked relatively approachable. The viking's sea-washed gaze fell over Bartholomeo with something like mild curiosity that lacked interest or surprise.

"I have found the inhabitants of this land very helpful in that regard." He concluded, taking another long drink from his flask, before offering it towards the stag.

[We'll just go ahead and ignore the impossibility of a horse offering another horse a flask ;) ]
@Bartholomeo

tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west, 
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking. 

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Snow
#3


A voice calls him from his task, and the stag turns to survey his compatriot. What he sees is both surprising and deeply reassuring - it's another stallion, but one of the same chimeric colouration as Bartholomeo himself. Like the pirate, this one's mane is braided - although, to his shame, Bartholomeo has allowed a lot of his braids to fall out in the past few years, with only a few stubborn strands still held in place by tightly-wound coloured beads - and a tattoo stands out in stark contrast to the rest of his body. This other man is bigger, but their builds hold the same work-hardened muscles and raw, unrefined masculinity, telling silent tales of the wilderness, the sea, adventure.

Just to make the overall appearance even more appealing, this newcomer smells of ale. Bart's nostrils flare with distinct interest, drawing in the deep, hearty aroma of whatever tipple the stranger has chosen. Rum, he thinks, the king of all beverages. It's been months since he had anything to drink, and he's rather afraid that his tolerance will be next to nothing. Time was, he could out-drink each and every one of his crew, but the alcohol levels in his system are next to nonexistent now, which is a crying shame. All in all, the stag's interest levels are truly piqued, and he scrutinises this new man with great curiosity. A reformed (or not so reformed) pirate, perhaps? A former captain, or a once-loyal crewmember? There's definitely something of the wild there, something that Bart recognises openly because of its presence within himself, too.

The pirate offers his thunderous boom of a laugh at the newcomer's first words. "Ah, sometimes a man is too proud to ask for help," he says, wincing slightly as he moves and feels the shoulder he's used to push the driftwood suddenly throb its displeasure. The stranger remarks about the approachable-ness of Helovia's inhabitants and Bartholomeo nods his agreement, even if, to his shame, he hasn't done a great deal of socialising with anybody other than his family. Helovia is the proverbial sweet shop, but he's been too busy to dip his hand in and sample the myriad delights. Too busy hunting for his missing possessions, which he is still no closer to finding. That's the irritating thing about thieves - they're far too good at blending straight back into the shadows from whence they came.

The man offers his flask, and Bart tilts a brow. "A man after my own heart!" he declares, gratefully taking a swig (I also dunno how this would work but SHHH) before passing it back and grunting his thanks. Damn, it tastes heavenly! Immediately the stag's muscles are filled with renewed vigour, and the pain in his shoulder lessens considerably. He's not had enough to get all-out drunk - when he's left propping up the bar, slurring and leering at anything with a vagina - but he's pleasantly tipsy, enough to relax him and make the world seem that much less objectionable.

"I'm Bartholomeo," he introduces to the newcomer, taking a momentary rest from his work in order to speak. "Is it safe to assume you are not from these parts?"

B A R T H O L O M E O
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@Tarik

Tarik Posts: 32
Dragon's Throat Stallion
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 :: 7 (immortal)
Odd
#4

"Then perhaps that man is not quite so clever." Tarik replies, and despite the fact that his words have the form of an insult, his eyes continue to sparkle with a good-natured humour, and the curve and tone of his words are full of mirth.

It is not necessarily in or out of Tarik's nature to be generous, but with a flask that had the good sense to keep itself always filled, it was rather easy. As his fellow sea-soul drank and did not sputter, Tarik grinned. A man after his own heart indeed. Alcohol seemed to be in short supply around Helovia, and Tarik had not yet decided if that was a situation he would set his sights on rectifying or not. It seemed like an awful lot of work, but of course, he had nothing better to do. That, and he couldn't possibly be expected to share all the time. He was a viking after all.

"I am glad that you like it." Tarik said, taking the flask back from Bart, pausing as if considering something, and then taking another swig before replacing the cork with a smile. "This vintage ... shall we say, is no longer around. But it is as good as the day it was bottled." With an appreciative smile towards the bottle, Tarik turned his sea-speckled gaze back to his counterpart.

"I am Tarik, and you are correct. My ship capsized on some hidden rocks, and myself and two others were stranded here." Tarik looked around the nearly-deserted beach, offering a shrug of his tattoo'd shoulder. "I come from the northern isles, originally. Though whether they still exist now, I do not know." Details were always so difficult as an immortal. In all honesty, Tarik couldn't recall the last time he'd been to his homeland. Had it been decades? Centuries? There was no real way to tell. Perhaps if he found some of his kin in Helovia, he could get a better handle on the dates.

"But it seems I am not the only one to wash up on Helovia's shores. Though my arrival did not come with an order to clean the beaches." Again Tarik's eyes swept the shores, particularly the brambles Bart had been previously working on. He raised a skeptical brow. "Tell me Bartholomeo not-from-Helovia. Why are you helping this sea-man with this tasks?"



@Bartholomeo

tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west, 
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking. 

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Snow
#5


In his current semi-inebriated state, no insult can possibly offend him. He simply chortles good-naturedly, never the sort to get prickly without good reason. Anybody who shares his ale with a stranger is, in the stag's humble opinion, a good man. Some people aren't so generous with their alchohol, especially when there seems to be a sad lack of dealers here in Helovia. Is a fermented apple merchant too much to ask for?!

The stranger points out that his beverage is no longer around, and Bart raises an eyebrow in interest. Indeed, the flavour had been unique, and the stallion tosses his tongue around him mouth to delicately discern each individual thread of taste. "You're right, I don't believe I've sampled anything like this before. It's very agreeable." He grins, his earthy green gaze alight with good humour and warmth. He fancies himself quite the coinneseur of all things ale-related, and he's already rather partial to whatever lurks in that flask.

His interest is further piqued as Tarik informs him that he was stranded here when his ship capsized. His ship. That definitely implies that he is a seafaring man, just like Bart. Of course, most of his adventures had been conducted firmly on dry land, but he'd served aboard a wooden vessel in the past and knows how difficult it is to live for long periods at sea. Lack of food, shelter and tough conditions mean that only the hardiest of men can survive, and the notion of being shipwrecked is a frightening one. Tarik's mention of his home possibly not existing anymore makes the pirate wonder quite how old he is - he seems to be the same age as Bart himself, but perhaps the alcohol is disguising the man's far greater age.

Tarik then asks why he is helping the sea-man with his tasks, and the stag falls silent for a moment whilst he ponders the answer. Why does he trust Kisamoa? The pirate is not unintelligent, nor is he the sort to offer his loyalty blindly. He's lived his life trusting only those who earn it, as a poor captain can cause disaster within a crew. He knows - he's been that poor captain once, something he never wants to repeat. "The simple answer is that he is from the ocean, so I like him on principle." He offers a tipsy grin. "The more in-depth answer is that I agreed with a lot of what he said. Take this pile of driftwood, for instance." He gestures with his antlered head to the obstacle. "The plants beneath it are crushed, and the sunlight can't reach the grass. That's quite a big patch of land that is essentially useless to us, but which could provide enough food to be the difference between life and death should we ever encounter drought or disease." It seems small, insignificant, but every little helps. He has survived famine, and he knows how important each speck of grass is to a starving horse.

He looks away from the driftwood and over to Tarik. "What's your opinion on him, Tarik?" The stag is interested in what others think, especially a fellow man of the sea.

B A R T H O L O M E O
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@Tarik

Tarik Posts: 32
Dragon's Throat Stallion
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 :: 7 (immortal)
Odd
#6

Tarik nods in agreement, appearing pleased that the stag hadn't taken his words as an insult, and that his taste in liquor was approved of. A wry smile parted the viking's lips as he tossed his head slightly, causing the beads in his knotted mane to gently knock against one another.

"I have met a fair share of beasties within the sea that I would not readily see again." Tarik interrupted, half-jokingly, and yet half envisioning a krakken that had once followed him for a week trying to demolish his ship. With a sort of intelligent interest that one might not immediately have associated with the nearly-always-drunk man, Tarik listens to Bart's interpretation of Kisamoa's plans. His eyes fall to the patch of greenery that is now visible to the sunlight, and for a moment he images the bits of sea-moss growing upwards, always in tribute to the man who brought the sun back to them. As his own thoughts on the matter were asked for, Tarik pursed his lower lip thoughtfully outwards, sea-blue eyes turning upwards to study the clouds for a moment.

"I think it is an interesting thing to watch. Perhaps he has won your affection because you share a commonality, but there are so many who obey him .. I have heard he has offered magic and trinkets as... well, not really rewards, for no work was yet done. He shows up, offers gifts, and asks for a relatively easy favour.." The viking's shoulders shrugged slightly, causing the circle tattoo on his left to crinkle beneath his mottled and shaggy coat. "Why would anyone say no? There is no good reason." Despite his words, something skeptical had alighted Tarik's normally easy-going visage. The man exhaled, turning his eyes to the sea once more. "The sea hides many things, and this new friend seems composed of the sea, does he not?"

But, Tarik was not in fact that skeptical, and so he shrugged again, and regarded Bart with an easy smile. "But I am not truly so skeptical. Just lazy." He admitted casually, taking his flask, drinking from it, and then offering it once again to Bart.

"What brings you to these lands Bartholomeo?"

@Bartholomeo

tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west, 
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking. 

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Snow
#7


Tarik's mention of sea beasties makes the pirate's booming laugh echo out once again. "Oh, that is far too true! There are some seriously odd things beneath the sea. When I was a lad, a friend of mine told me that sea urchins were edible. Funny for him, I don't doubt, but rather less so for me." He grimaces at the memory of pierced lips and throbbing tongue. Of course, there's magnificent creatures beneath the ocean waves as well - great whales, their size unthinkable to small creatures like horses, and fish of more sizes and colours than could possibly be imagined - and that's a large part of why Bart adores it so much. The sheer diversity, the unpredictability, the adventure of the sea and its denizens ensures that it holds a fond place within the stocky bay's heart.

His companion explains his own point of view, and the stallion nods sagely. "Gifts for little effort, hmm? Sounds perfect." He flashes a grin. He is, after all, a pirate, with a keen eye for a trinket and an even keener eye for a bargain. Looking back to the pile of driftwood, he muses over the fact that it's not exactly an easy task, but it's easier than some things Bartholomeo has done for coin in the past. He does not think himself a glutton, but he does have a weakness for beautiful things, whether they be objects or women. His magpie-like tendencies have driven him to do things he'd rather not dwell on, so by that measurement, moving some driftwood is practically free money.

The flask is offered again, and the stag doesn't think twice about accepting. This time, he takes the time to examine the taste and file it to memory, smacking his lips and humming his approval. "You are too kind, Tarik. I have little to offer in return save for the pleasure of my company and an invitation to work with me on this, so we may both earn Kisamoa's favour." Another grin, this one slightly more lopsided than the previous one due to the additional level of ale, is given as he gestures towards the driftwood. As he passes the flask back, it doesn't escape his notice that it seems no less full than it had been the first time, and he marvels at the magic that must lace the object. He will have to get himself one of those!

What brings you to these lands Bartholomeo? It's not exactly a secret, but normally the pirate would be a tad more reluctant to freely offer his life story to a complete stranger. As it is, the alcohol has loosened his lips. "It is dreadfully embarrassing, but I was ambushed by vagabonds just outside Helovia. Hard as it may be to believe, I was once captain of the most notorious herd around, feared and admired in equal measure and with more trinkets and weapons than any man could ever require. As you can see, I've come down in the world since then, and the bastards were able to take me by surprise and steal almost all my possessions." His jovial expression darkens, displaying the rough lines of his face and a distinct hardening of the warm green eyes. It isn't his weapons he misses so much as his more sentimental objects, like Carlisle's sash. That has no monetary value to anybody but himself, so to have lost that truly rankles with him.

"The thieves fled into Helovia and scattered to the four winds. I intend to hunt down each and every one of them, reclaim my items, and remind the scoundrels why they used to call me the Scimitar." He stomps a hoof decisively, flicking his wild mane and rolling his eyes. "What of you, Tarik? A shipwreck may have brought you here, but what has convinced you to remain?"

B A R T H O L O M E O
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@Tarik

Tarik Posts: 32
Dragon's Throat Stallion
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 :: 7 (immortal)
Odd
#8

Tarik could not - nor did he bother to - hide the grimace that spread across his handsome mug at the mention of edible sea urchins. "Ugh." He grumbled under his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly as he imaged what that sensation might be like.

Tarik grunted in response to the man's second comment. As an immortal, Tarik had spent his fair share of time being a hoarder. He'd seen endless troves of gold, held incalculably precious swords and daggers, and been wealthy beyond the imagination of most. But so what? He'd come by his wealth honestly, and then, in what he liked to think of as 'other lives' (for it was easier to segment his life that way), he'd stolen it. He'd won and he'd lost, and in the end, it didn't really matter.

Vagabounds just outside of Helovia...Now that was certainly interesting. Tarik had always found the circumstances of his ship's crash ... well, more than a little strange. He'd been a captain for decades, and never had rocks so badly surprised him and caused so much damage. Had it been an ambush, like the one this man spoke of? But had something gone wrong on their end, such that they managed to sink Tarik's ship, but not assault those who survived the crash? With a nod of his head, the viking stored that bit of information away, mentally reminding himself to tell Ralik about it whenever he saw him next.

"If you do intend on tracking them down, I would be glad to assist you. I wonder now if these men of whom you speak might have played some part in the wreck of my ship.." Something dangerous and amused glistened in Tarik's eyes, as if he already knew the ending to this story. Perhaps he'd already lived one like it.

As the subject turned to Tarik and why his stay in Helovia had lasted as long as it had, the man merely shrugged his tattoo'd shoulder. "I believe that I have kin here ... but it has been so long ... I am not sure. So I am here to look and see." He paused, and then a devilish grin spread across his face. "When we first arrived, we were greeted by the most beautiful women, who took us home with them to their Dragon's Throat. Beaches, sun, warrior women, and an abundance of alcohol. And so perhaps I will not be too quick in my search for family, eh?" Tarik winked, and took another drink from his flask.

@Bartholomeo

tarik
There's a feeling I get, when I look to the west, 
and my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen
rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who standing looking. 

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE
Snow
#9


Even through the alcohol-induced haze and relaxation, the pirate can take note of Tarik's words and find his interest piqued by them. Could it be that the vagabonds who attacked him had not been mere opportunists, but men with a vendetta, men with a history? Pirate hunters, perhaps? Bart has fallen foul of those mercenary bastards before now, leaving him with a docked tail and a tattood shoulder for his troubles, and now Tarik mentions it it does seem suspicious that they should decide to attack him of all men. With his sheer armoury of weapons and swaggering attitude, it would have taken a brave thief to think of taking him on, when there were easier prey out there - that leads him to think that it could be targeted.

This realisation makes his flesh crawl, and his drive for vengeance increases tenfold. "Now that you mention it, perhaps that is the case. It seems a tad coincidental that we should both be attacked around the same time, especially when we are men of a similar lifestyle....pirate hunters, maybe?" He pauses for a moment to frown. "Either way, your help would be appreciated. I did not see much of them, as they attacked at night, but they each had a crooked white star on their faces and wore lightweight leather armour on their shoulders and legs." Again, now he thinks of it, that is rather suspicious. Thieves wearing armour? Surely they should value stealth and being lightweight more than protection? It is certainly something to contemplate, and the stag files it away to ponder in more depth later.

He grins as the other man mentions being greeted by beautiful woman. Yes, Helovia did seem rather spoiled in that aspect, with attractive broads as far as the eye could see. Bart definitely approves, and his tipsy eyes twinkle with amusement. "I am sure your family will understand the delay." He pictures Aelfwine and Tilney's faces if he revealed he'd been slow finding them because of the trail of women warming his bed, and can't help but chuckle at the mental image that provides.

With a sigh, he looks to the driftwood. All this conversation is well and good, but the logs won't move themselves! "Shall we get this shifted?" he questions, then begins to force his weight against the topmost piece of wood in order to move it from the depleted pile.

B A R T H O L O M E O
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