*I've decided that I'm going to make another character for the Autumn Country- the only characters I have at the moment are permutations of Helianth. I have two ideas, but I can't really decide between the two- so, which one do y'all think will be more fun to bring here?
A follower of Mother Moth who uses silk to create all manner of things that are cozy, comfy and warm...
...or a groundskeeper who tirelessly works on maintaining the gardens of the Keep of Painted Leaves?*
*I love both of those ideas! I’m particularly fond of the idea for a follower of Mother Moth, since, of course, she’s my character. I can provide you with more information about her if you wish.*
*Thanks, I'm glad you like them! I'd love to know more about Mother Moth for if I go with bringing one of her followers here- keep it as true and respectful to the source material as I can.*
*alright, I’ll send you a PM with some details about Mother Moth!*
They're good ingredients, but not prepared as expertly as they could have been. Gourmet rations. Only last for a week or so, so he can't be that far from where he restocks. However, the crickets are fresh and prepared better than the other items. He's not eating any himself, so it's likely he captured them for her.
"Carnivorous?" He pours her a glass of filtered water from a can, leaving it between them so she can reach for it without getting too close to him. "That's good to know. I like to talk over food. Makes me feel more comfortable. Direct violence and eating shouldn't mix, and most creatures understand that instinctively. This way, the brain gets out of the 'I need to kill' state. It even works on people. I go out to eat after each contract so I can chill out."
He gets a can of coffee for himself. "It's nice to meet you in person."
“Yes, I am a carnivore-… this time of year, anyways. I haven’t eaten in weeks…” she takes the glass of water, sipping it. “It is nice to meet you as well…” she smiles slightly. “You are an assassin or mercenary of some sort?…”
several spiders in the area flock towards her, crawling up her arms and neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, or even particularly notice.
"An adventurer. My specialty is ending violence and resolving situations. I typically pick and choose through hundreds of contracts per month to make sure I'm only taking jobs that I find acceptable. 'Kill this person as soon as possible' isn't an adventure. It's just assassination. I like to understand whatever I hunt. I stalk for up to three months, learning routines and philosophies, hopes and dreads, and choosing an approach by the end of it all. If a casualty is required, I like to strike at the root of the problem. I don't like it when things get messy. I could send limbs flying and bodies bursting, as you've seen, but that's not my specialty."
He holds a spider in his paw. "Me and this spider, we could kill each other in a heartbeat. In this state, it has a massive advantage. I could kill it, but not before it bit me and injected its venom. I have no antivenom for this species, and I don't even know what it is. We have a mutual understanding that in this moment, we could both die, don't we? But give me a month of study, and a flyswatter, and I could kill this spider efficiently, safely, and painlessly in an instant. But there's not fun, no honor, no beauty in that."
He lets the spider go. "If someone must die, let us make it meaningful. Make it dramatic and beautiful. A song of screams from the crowd, a painting of blood, brains, and organs on the walls. A life is so impossibly valuable, and I believe that if we absolutely have to kill, we should show our appreciation for that life in how we end it."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
They're good ingredients, but not prepared as expertly as they could have been. Gourmet rations. Only last for a week or so, so he can't be that far from where he restocks. However, the crickets are fresh and prepared better than the other items. He's not eating any himself, so it's likely he captured them for her.
"Carnivorous?" He pours her a glass of filtered water from a can, leaving it between them so she can reach for it without getting too close to him. "That's good to know. I like to talk over food. Makes me feel more comfortable. Direct violence and eating shouldn't mix, and most creatures understand that instinctively. This way, the brain gets out of the 'I need to kill' state. It even works on people. I go out to eat after each contract so I can chill out."
He gets a can of coffee for himself. "It's nice to meet you in person."
“Yes, I am a carnivore-… this time of year, anyways. I haven’t eaten in weeks…” she takes the glass of water, sipping it. “It is nice to meet you as well…” she smiles slightly. “You are an assassin or mercenary of some sort?…”
several spiders in the area flock towards her, crawling up her arms and neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, or even particularly notice.
"An adventurer. My specialty is ending violence and resolving situations. I typically pick and choose through hundreds of contracts per month to make sure I'm only taking jobs that I find acceptable. 'Kill this person as soon as possible' isn't an adventure. It's just assassination. I like to understand whatever I hunt. I stalk for up to three months, learning routines and philosophies, hopes and dreads, and choosing an approach by the end of it all. If a casualty is required, I like to strike at the root of the problem. I don't like it when things get messy. I could send limbs flying and bodies bursting, as you've seen, but that's not my specialty."
He holds a spider in his paw. "Me and this spider, we could kill each other in a heartbeat. In this state, it has a massive advantage. I could kill it, but not before it bit me and injected its venom. I have no antivenom for this species, and I don't even know what it is. We have a mutual understanding that in this moment, we could both die, don't we? But give me a month of study, and a flyswatter, and I could kill this spider efficiently, safely, and painlessly in an instant. But there's not fun, no honor, no beauty in that."
He lets the spider go. "If someone must die, let us make it meaningful. Make it dramatic and beautiful. A song of screams from the crowd, a painting of blood, brains, and organs on the walls. A life is so impossibly valuable, and I believe that if we absolutely have to kill, we should show our appreciation for that life in how we end it."
She takes the spider in her hands.
“You care about life. I admire that, not many do. And your dedication to your work is admirable as well… if you would prefer to strike at the heart of the problem, why, then, do you kill hordes upon hordes of ghouls?” She asks genuinely. The spider begins weaving something in the open space between her two hands: a complex web, built with care and dedication.
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
"An adventurer. My specialty is ending violence and resolving situations. I typically pick and choose through hundreds of contracts per month to make sure I'm only taking jobs that I find acceptable. 'Kill this person as soon as possible' isn't an adventure. It's just assassination. I like to understand whatever I hunt. I stalk for up to three months, learning routines and philosophies, hopes and dreads, and choosing an approach by the end of it all. If a casualty is required, I like to strike at the root of the problem. I don't like it when things get messy. I could send limbs flying and bodies bursting, as you've seen, but that's not my specialty."
He holds a spider in his paw. "Me and this spider, we could kill each other in a heartbeat. In this state, it has a massive advantage. I could kill it, but not before it bit me and injected its venom. I have no antivenom for this species, and I don't even know what it is. We have a mutual understanding that in this moment, we could both die, don't we? But give me a month of study, and a flyswatter, and I could kill this spider efficiently, safely, and painlessly in an instant. But there's not fun, no honor, no beauty in that."
He lets the spider go. "If someone must die, let us make it meaningful. Make it dramatic and beautiful. A song of screams from the crowd, a painting of blood, brains, and organs on the walls. A life is so impossibly valuable, and I believe that if we absolutely have to kill, we should show our appreciation for that life in how we end it."
She takes the spider in her hands.
“You care about life. I admire that, not many do. And your dedication to your work is admirable as well… if you would prefer to strike at the heart of the problem, why, then, do you kill hordes upon hordes of ghouls?” She asks genuinely. The spider begins weaving something in the open space between her two hands: a complex web, built with care and dedication.
He closes his eyes, listening. "Ghouls are the worst kind of unlife, in my opinion. They live only to cause harm, to glut and abuse for their own pleasure. They dull their senses with rot, reject the belief that life is sacred, and then insist that they deserve everything that they were supposed to give up. If a 30-year old man demanded his mother's milk and killed her for not providing, would that act be deserving of sympathy? Of love? Of value? These people sacrificed their souls to become monsters. They let this one putrid act define them for their whole afterlife. Heaven could have awaited them, but they chose the pleasures of the flesh, the now, over everything that will be. Such foolishness must be punished. Let them taste the fruits of their labors."
He opens his eyes, sighing. "Even a lich has more virtue. They desire life over all else, and are willing to sacrifice for it. They act out of fear. A ghoul only acts out of hunger."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
Or so we heard. Such talk is what prompted us to come here in the first place, as opposed to another part of the world. By the time we had arrived, however, I had assumed he had been found. Is this not the case?
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
Or so we heard. Such talk is what prompted us to come here in the first place, as opposed to another part of the world. By the time we had arrived, however, I had assumed he had been found. Is this not the case?
“Found? Yes… caught? No. Hunting a god is not that simple.”
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
Or so we heard. Such talk is what prompted us to come here in the first place, as opposed to another part of the world. By the time we had arrived, however, I had assumed he had been found. Is this not the case?
“Found? Yes… caught? No. Hunting a god is not that simple.”
Is it truly a hunt if all you are doing is fighting? Alas, no. My brethren are more combative than I. I delight in the hunt, the thrill of the chase; these are my pursuits. What comes after... no. Swift and decisive victory is the only way to win.
"An adventurer. My specialty is ending violence and resolving situations. I typically pick and choose through hundreds of contracts per month to make sure I'm only taking jobs that I find acceptable. 'Kill this person as soon as possible' isn't an adventure. It's just assassination. I like to understand whatever I hunt. I stalk for up to three months, learning routines and philosophies, hopes and dreads, and choosing an approach by the end of it all. If a casualty is required, I like to strike at the root of the problem. I don't like it when things get messy. I could send limbs flying and bodies bursting, as you've seen, but that's not my specialty."
He holds a spider in his paw. "Me and this spider, we could kill each other in a heartbeat. In this state, it has a massive advantage. I could kill it, but not before it bit me and injected its venom. I have no antivenom for this species, and I don't even know what it is. We have a mutual understanding that in this moment, we could both die, don't we? But give me a month of study, and a flyswatter, and I could kill this spider efficiently, safely, and painlessly in an instant. But there's not fun, no honor, no beauty in that."
He lets the spider go. "If someone must die, let us make it meaningful. Make it dramatic and beautiful. A song of screams from the crowd, a painting of blood, brains, and organs on the walls. A life is so impossibly valuable, and I believe that if we absolutely have to kill, we should show our appreciation for that life in how we end it."
She takes the spider in her hands.
“You care about life. I admire that, not many do. And your dedication to your work is admirable as well… if you would prefer to strike at the heart of the problem, why, then, do you kill hordes upon hordes of ghouls?” She asks genuinely. The spider begins weaving something in the open space between her two hands: a complex web, built with care and dedication.
He closes his eyes, listening. "Ghouls are the worst kind of unlife, in my opinion. They live only to cause harm, to glut and abuse for their own pleasure. They dull their senses with rot, reject the belief that life is sacred, and then insist that they deserve everything that they were supposed to give up. If a 30-year old man demanded his mother's milk and killed her for not providing, would that act be deserving of sympathy? Of love? Of value? These people sacrificed their souls to become monsters. They let this one putrid act define them for their whole afterlife. Heaven could have awaited them, but they chose the pleasures of the flesh, the now, over everything that will be. Such foolishness must be punished. Let them taste the fruits of their labors."
He opens his eyes, sighing. "Even a lich has more virtue. They desire life over all else, and are willing to sacrifice for it. They act out of fear. A ghoul only acts out of hunger."
“You’re right… they eat and kill and hurt and it’s all for nothing. It’s just… gluttony. I don’t like to get involved in conflicts such as this, but the ghouls are seeking to turn this beautiful country into their own personal buffet… it’s disgusting.”
<Finally finished with character development! Definitely not going to play as the Hunter itself, because it'd literally be like the Gun ***** from Chainsaw Man, except with magical weapons.>
The followers of the Hunter have come to town, after hearing of the Autumn Country. Its essence tickled the Soul's folly, as the people there sounded interesting, while the Body thought it would provide a great challenge, and the Hands knew it would be a good place to work on necromantic spells. As for the Eye... his reasoning remains unknown, as he flies above the fields of grain.
The eye, flying above great fields of wheat and Barley, comes across a person. With tanned, freckled skin, reddish brown hair, bright, candlelight amber eyes, sharp teeth, and a crown made of woven wheat, the prince of the Harvest dances with a scarecrow, animated with harvest magic. The Prince waltzes through the field on cloven hooves, his mantle of decaying autumn leaves flowing in the wind. He wears fine, expensive clothes and a wealth of amber jewelry, and the wind swirls around him, carrying him through the country with Grace.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
Or so we heard. Such talk is what prompted us to come here in the first place, as opposed to another part of the world. By the time we had arrived, however, I had assumed he had been found. Is this not the case?
“Found? Yes… caught? No. Hunting a god is not that simple.”
Is it truly a hunt if all you are doing is fighting? Alas, no. My brethren are more combative than I. I delight in the hunt, the thrill of the chase; these are my pursuits. What comes after... no. Swift and decisive victory is the only way to win.
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
He closes his eyes, listening. "Ghouls are the worst kind of unlife, in my opinion. They live only to cause harm, to glut and abuse for their own pleasure. They dull their senses with rot, reject the belief that life is sacred, and then insist that they deserve everything that they were supposed to give up. If a 30-year old man demanded his mother's milk and killed her for not providing, would that act be deserving of sympathy? Of love? Of value? These people sacrificed their souls to become monsters. They let this one putrid act define them for their whole afterlife. Heaven could have awaited them, but they chose the pleasures of the flesh, the now, over everything that will be. Such foolishness must be punished. Let them taste the fruits of their labors."
He opens his eyes, sighing. "Even a lich has more virtue. They desire life over all else, and are willing to sacrifice for it. They act out of fear. A ghoul only acts out of hunger."
“You’re right… they eat and kill and hurt and it’s all for nothing. It’s just… gluttony. I don’t like to get involved in conflicts such as this, but the ghouls are seeking to turn this beautiful country into their own personal buffet… it’s disgusting.”
He nods. "Perhaps we'd better have a talk with their queen. As a walking WMD, I think I could convince her to change her approach to something less... destructive." He takes a sip of his coffee. "How are you feeling, by the way? We discussed some heavy topics."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
“The King IS the lamb. And… if you tried to capture the lamb… the ghouls and their dreadful allies would try and kill you, and the Cult of the Barley king, as well as the Autumn Court- and therefore, me- would force you to give up the lamb so that we may sacrifice it.” he says, now looking right to the Eye.
He closes his eyes, listening. "Ghouls are the worst kind of unlife, in my opinion. They live only to cause harm, to glut and abuse for their own pleasure. They dull their senses with rot, reject the belief that life is sacred, and then insist that they deserve everything that they were supposed to give up. If a 30-year old man demanded his mother's milk and killed her for not providing, would that act be deserving of sympathy? Of love? Of value? These people sacrificed their souls to become monsters. They let this one putrid act define them for their whole afterlife. Heaven could have awaited them, but they chose the pleasures of the flesh, the now, over everything that will be. Such foolishness must be punished. Let them taste the fruits of their labors."
He opens his eyes, sighing. "Even a lich has more virtue. They desire life over all else, and are willing to sacrifice for it. They act out of fear. A ghoul only acts out of hunger."
“You’re right… they eat and kill and hurt and it’s all for nothing. It’s just… gluttony. I don’t like to get involved in conflicts such as this, but the ghouls are seeking to turn this beautiful country into their own personal buffet… it’s disgusting.”
He nods. "Perhaps we'd better have a talk with their queen. As a walking WMD, I think I could convince her to change her approach to something less... destructive." He takes a sip of his coffee. "How are you feeling, by the way? We discussed some heavy topics."
“Perhaps…” she considers. “Oh, I am well enough… after a couple of years here, I am used to such… dark matters being common discussion.”
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
“The King IS the lamb. And… if you tried to capture the lamb… the ghouls and their dreadful allies would try and kill you, and the Cult of the Barley king, as well as the Autumn Court- and therefore, me- would force you to give up the lamb so that we may sacrifice it.” he says, now looking right to the Eye.
And if we simply kill the lamb where it stands, without a ritual?
*alright, I’ll send you a PM with some details about Mother Moth!*
"An adventurer. My specialty is ending violence and resolving situations. I typically pick and choose through hundreds of contracts per month to make sure I'm only taking jobs that I find acceptable. 'Kill this person as soon as possible' isn't an adventure. It's just assassination. I like to understand whatever I hunt. I stalk for up to three months, learning routines and philosophies, hopes and dreads, and choosing an approach by the end of it all. If a casualty is required, I like to strike at the root of the problem. I don't like it when things get messy. I could send limbs flying and bodies bursting, as you've seen, but that's not my specialty."
He holds a spider in his paw. "Me and this spider, we could kill each other in a heartbeat. In this state, it has a massive advantage. I could kill it, but not before it bit me and injected its venom. I have no antivenom for this species, and I don't even know what it is. We have a mutual understanding that in this moment, we could both die, don't we? But give me a month of study, and a flyswatter, and I could kill this spider efficiently, safely, and painlessly in an instant. But there's not fun, no honor, no beauty in that."
He lets the spider go. "If someone must die, let us make it meaningful. Make it dramatic and beautiful. A song of screams from the crowd, a painting of blood, brains, and organs on the walls. A life is so impossibly valuable, and I believe that if we absolutely have to kill, we should show our appreciation for that life in how we end it."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
The Eye, of course, is curious. However, he knows he must be wary around such figures, ones of aristocratic wealth. He swoops in low, inspecting the Prince closer, before ultimately deciding to engage with him. His form glides to the ground, landing with a soft thump before stopping in an open spot in the middle of the field, flattening his body to the ground and looking at the Prince through the wheat, not revealing his location. His voice resonates in the head of the Prince, a smooth yet noble voice.
Hello, Autumnian. I am a resident of a distant land, an ambassador of the Hunter. I have come to see this new land and its inhabitants, and will be staying here a while. What is your name?
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
The Eye, as soon as it lands, feels… a presence all around them. The wheat growing all around him grows wild, swaying in the wind and reacting to his presence. The Prince looks to the Eye’s exact location as soon as they land but quickly looks away as if they had not sensed their presence.
Lord of Jack O’ Lanterns, Baron of Bounty, Harvest Prince! I am all of these things. What are you, then?
I... the Eye is unnerved by the Prince's keen tracking ability, as it seems to be, and is thoughtless for a second. He rises up, lacking any need to hide anymore, then addresses the Prince a second time.
I am nothing more than a scion of my lord, the Hunter. If you must know, however, it seems I was once called a "hawk." Now, however...
It raises its shadowy winged form, revealing an appearence more akin to a giant eagle's shadow than a hawk.
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
She takes the spider in her hands.
“You care about life. I admire that, not many do. And your dedication to your work is admirable as well… if you would prefer to strike at the heart of the problem, why, then, do you kill hordes upon hordes of ghouls?” She asks genuinely. The spider begins weaving something in the open space between her two hands: a complex web, built with care and dedication.
”The Hunter?” He says in a soft, melodic and elegant voice. His voice is like honey, his words like wine.
“The Hunter has sent you to my father’s country? Tell me, why would they do that? And who is this hunter? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”
The Hunter is a great and powerful being. It is the embodiment of every hunter, everywhere, and empowers those who worship it. It can not take on a physical form, so us scions are the closest it can get to humanity. We have taken it upon ourselves to show him the world past our snowy, desolate homeland.
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
“I see… well, speaking of hunters, Autumn Country is holding a hunt of our own. The Hunt for the Barley King.”
He closes his eyes, listening. "Ghouls are the worst kind of unlife, in my opinion. They live only to cause harm, to glut and abuse for their own pleasure. They dull their senses with rot, reject the belief that life is sacred, and then insist that they deserve everything that they were supposed to give up. If a 30-year old man demanded his mother's milk and killed her for not providing, would that act be deserving of sympathy? Of love? Of value? These people sacrificed their souls to become monsters. They let this one putrid act define them for their whole afterlife. Heaven could have awaited them, but they chose the pleasures of the flesh, the now, over everything that will be. Such foolishness must be punished. Let them taste the fruits of their labors."
He opens his eyes, sighing. "Even a lich has more virtue. They desire life over all else, and are willing to sacrifice for it. They act out of fear. A ghoul only acts out of hunger."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Or so we heard. Such talk is what prompted us to come here in the first place, as opposed to another part of the world. By the time we had arrived, however, I had assumed he had been found. Is this not the case?
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
“Found? Yes… caught? No. Hunting a god is not that simple.”
Is it truly a hunt if all you are doing is fighting? Alas, no. My brethren are more combative than I. I delight in the hunt, the thrill of the chase; these are my pursuits. What comes after... no. Swift and decisive victory is the only way to win.
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
“You’re right… they eat and kill and hurt and it’s all for nothing. It’s just… gluttony. I don’t like to get involved in conflicts such as this, but the ghouls are seeking to turn this beautiful country into their own personal buffet… it’s disgusting.”
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
He nods. "Perhaps we'd better have a talk with their queen. As a walking WMD, I think I could convince her to change her approach to something less... destructive." He takes a sip of his coffee. "How are you feeling, by the way? We discussed some heavy topics."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
“The King IS the lamb. And… if you tried to capture the lamb… the ghouls and their dreadful allies would try and kill you, and the Cult of the Barley king, as well as the Autumn Court- and therefore, me- would force you to give up the lamb so that we may sacrifice it.” he says, now looking right to the Eye.
“Perhaps…” she considers. “Oh, I am well enough… after a couple of years here, I am used to such… dark matters being common discussion.”
And if we simply kill the lamb where it stands, without a ritual?
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)