Good to see you, Blackthorn!

Can't say as I disagree with you, Breebles! As much as I love the show and it's "core characters," I think they've definitely run out of directions to go with it... Seems like the past few seasons have been a bit of a "rehash" of some plot ideas from seasons 4 and 5 (Dean being Michael's vessel, etc, etc). I was happily surprised by the Scoobynatural episode in S13, though! Thought it was gonna be dumb but it was actually pretty darned entertaining! Probably because, despite the cartoony aspect, it seemed to hail back to the monster of the week episodes.

Anyhoo... if Ch'dau dies, Kith is allowed to make a fur coat from his skin if she likes... unless someone finds a way to send his fuzzy corpse back to Capasha.

@ naming #8 "Castiel." That would have been EPIC!

Right now, I'm considering changing my name to Crowley... make deals with users for their souls when they want something fixed... be a loveable little a-hole... that sort of thing.  

Thanks, dragon_soul!

Happy to have been of some help. We kind of pride ourselves on being friendly and approachable around here... Definitely helps when we get awesome new Innmates like you showing up.

P.S. I  cheese!

"Carry on Wayward Son" certainly beats out the song I had in mind....

~But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea~

...I have this ball of yarn and this dead mouse, Little Kitten. You are more than welcome to play with them whilst we wait, yes?

...Olan's looking for someone to pick up a spot in a D&D/Horrror game. No dragons (so far, anyway) but plenty of flesh eating baddies and some seriously creepy stuff. You can check out the recruitment thread here.

C'mon! I know there's somebody out there that wants to die with the rest of us... right? Join up, be a Cid McNugget, get eaten by shamblers! It'll be fun!!!

...probably about halfway through it, now. Getting absolutely slaughtered by work, though! Will do my best to get wrapped up and posted by tonight, though.

Thren's not too keen on all the attention the party's getting, right now.

I wanna play!!! I... oh... wait a minute...

...never mind... I'll be in my box...

...to have a post for Thren, today.

Pretty sure I'm all caught up on reading... Just gotta put myself in the bugger's head and get his words out (while trying to dodge work-bombs).

Here's hoping! It'd be nice to see this one through, at last! I think this is the farthest any party has made it in the various incarnations, isn't it?

...we will crush you on the down-low and bury you in kitty litter!

...they had those at a Dave & Buster's (think Chuck E Cheese for grown ups) in Columbus! I loved those things! 

P.S. Geez, Bree! If you ever do get out as far east as Montreal, look me up... I'm on the way.

It sounds a lot cooler than it is for practicality's sake. If I remember correctly, when all was said and done, that cockpit was about 16 feet long, 5 feet wide, and 5 feet high. Took up a good part of half of the garage, plus, in order for me to keep the towers from overheating I had to work in a "window A/C unit" and, even at that, you'd sweat your hoopty off inside if you played for longer than an hour at a time.

Was it fun? Hells YEAH!

Did the neighborhood kids enjoy it? Hells YEAH!

Was it practical? Ummmmm... no... not really... especially if you asked my wife.

And, I never really got to paint it beyond the base-coat of gray primer, either... kind of a bummer.

It did make for one helluva bonfire when it was dismantled, though, and the PC components got donated to a good cause, soooooo....there's that.

...all caught up, I think!

If I missed anything, let me know.

Ch'dau is more than happy to attempt to ford the stream and, perhaps, do a bit of recon before night falls but, if the leaders of the group decide to stave of the crossing til morning, he'll accept that decision. That stream might make a decent little "early warning system" either way.

Subject to the admiring attentions (and innumerable questions) of the boys, Ch’dau had all but missed the first bit of conversation between his compatriots and the woodsman. He had caught snippets of questions and answers here and there… something about how the horde of shamblers had come from the north and west… something more about a man in black to whom the dead seemed to pay no heed… and a pitiful few snippets beyond that until the two human younglings, at last, succumbed to the stress and excitement of their day. When, Keziri be blessed, the two pink-skinned cubs drifted into the realm of slumber, Ch’dau slowly wriggled himself from beneath their napping forms and crept, as quietly as he could manage, toward where his troupe and the woodsman conversed. The Capashan didn’t bother to ask questions of his own, at this point, as he imagined most of the truly pertinent ones had already been lofted by his companions and, should he have missed anything important whilst “entertaining” Arden’s younglings, someone would surely fill him in.

((OOC: Assuming that’s the case, of course&hellip)

As the afternoon crept toward evening, the party engaged in relatively short scout and search of the area around the cabin. That particular exploration did little more than lend credence to the woodsman’s testimony, though, and left Ch’dau with the sense that, while they had run the shamblers off from Arden’s home, there could very well be many more still lurking nearby, even if they hadn’t caught sight of any. Night encroached all too soon, necessitating an end to their examinations, and the party returned to the woodman’s place. When they arrive, Arden and his boys are busying themselves with hauling the dead from the cabin. The Silver Cat’s ears and tail twitch in the Kazari equivalent of a proud grin at the sight. “Those are likely the bravest human cubs I have ever seen,” he comments offhand as he peels away from his friends and moves to assist the boys in their grisly task. When the last of the twice-dead terrors has been stacked and the pile of them set alight, Ch’dau retreats from the heat and stench of the pyre with the boys following close behind.

“Have ya fought a lot o’ them things, Mister Ch’dau,” the older boy (whose name he’d learned was Jarod) asks, halfway between the bonfire and the cabin’s door.

The kazari grunts and nods; “I have rrow’ka. More than I care to count in these past days…”

“C’n I be a growl-caw, too,” queries the younger brother, tugging imploringly at one of the big cat’s fingers as he scampers along beside him.

The question evokes a soft chuckle from the Silver Cat and he scoops the little monkey up into the crook of his elbow. “Rrow’ka is not a title you are given, little one,” he explains, “it is just something you are, yes?”

“An’ I am one?”

“Yes, Brenton,” Ch’dau nods, “you and your brother, both. In fact,” the kazari continues as they reach the doorway, “given what I have seen from the pair of you, today, I think, perhaps, Rrowl would approve if I honored you with titles that can be given.”

“Really?” the boys chorus, staring up at the cat-man in awe even as he crouches down and sets Brenton back on his feet.

“Indeed,” Ch’dau chuffs, squaring the boys up to stand side by side before him. He rests a massive paw on the older boy’s shoulder; “From this day on, you will be known as Kh’ur Jarod…” his other paw rests, now, on the younger boy’s shoulder, “…and you will be known as Kh’ur Brenton of the Stalking Ghost Clan.”

Both boys grin widely at the presentation of their names but little Brenton’s face is quick to screw up into a quizzical expression. “Wha’s a kur mean?”

“Kh’ur,” the kazari corrects with a chuckle, “is a title that means ‘honored warrior’ in the language of my folk.”

“So, I’m a warrior?” Brenton prods, his grin and his brother’s, too, widening all the more.

Again, Ch’dau nods. “You will be once we have completed the ritual, rrow’ka,” his eyes tick from one boy to the next, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” squeaks Brenton as Jarod nods enthusiastically.

“Very well,” Ch’dau’s paws lift from the boys’ shoulders as he rises to his full height and folds his arms across his chest. “Kh’ur Jarod, Kh’ur Brenton; do you swear to face each battle with honor…”

The boys blinked, first, at Ch’dau, then at each other, then back to the cat-man, and they both nodded slowly. “We swear.”

“…Will you swear, with that same honor, to defend your Clan and kin to the last…”

“We swear!”

At this, Ch’dau unsheathed his falcata and gently rested the flat of the blades on each of the boys’ shoulders. “Do you swear these oaths, not only to me but, also, to your Khan, and to Rrowl, Lord of Battle and the Hunt?”

“Yes,” Brenton squeeks.

“We do,” Jarod nods, his excitement a bit more restrained but no less visible than his little brother’s.

“Well done,” the big kazari chuffs, lifting his blades from the boys’ shoulders, “Now, honor your ancestors, and show me your war faces!”

For a brief instant, the boys both looked utterly confused, as if neither of them had any idea what a ‘war face’ might be. Then, a light of realization sparked behind young Brenton’s eyes. He bears his teeth, doing his best to mimic the snarl he’d seen on Ch’dau’s face when the kazari had first stormed into his room, then throws his head back and “RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWRRRRR!!!”

Jarod grins and follows suit.

Chuckling, Ch’dau sheathes his blades, then reaches out and tousles each of the boys’ hair in turn. “Warriors if I have ever seen them,” he laughs, shooing them inside, “Go now, little ones, and get your rest. Khr’a only knows what challenges you might face on the morrow…”

((OOC: Okay, enough playing with the furless cubs… on to the next bit!))

The breaking of the next day’s dawn brought an end to the routines of keeping wary watch and finding fitful rest. As had become the routine since he and Kith had fallen in with the cleric of Therassor, the rising of the sun was quickly followed by Gib’s invitation to prayer before breakfast. Ch’dau attends, of course, even though his supplications are offered to Therassor’s Kazari counterpart, and, once the troupe has gathered for their meager morning meal, the battle-cleric broaches the topic of the party’s plan going forward…

"Northwest takes us deeper into the furthest regions of the Kingdom," he states. "I would have thought we'd find ourselves marching towards Sendria but here we are. I am attempting to recall maps of the area that I've seen but even with this image in my head, I don't know how far we are from any of the major landmarks that I might remember. I'm afraid that I've no further insight into what might lie ahead."

“Mmmm,” Ch’dau grunts around a meager mouthful of meat he’s managed to pick from his repast, “I, too, would have imagined our course leading us to Sendria’s borders. Whether or not I am happy that it doesn’t, though…” A non-commital shrug finishes the sentence.

"Sir," Kith uncharacteristically turns to the woodsman and politely addresses him, "you must know this area well. What have we to expect in our journey to the northwest?"

"Woods, mostly, though na too thick,” Arden replies from behind a faint frown, “Game trails here and there.  A stream lies a 'alf day that way.  There be some cliff faces on tha other side 'o tha woods, mebbe a couple days off?  A few caves an' such there, as well.  Then, more woods for leagues."

“That’s something, at least,” Kith says, turning her eyes back to Gib.

"I would suggest being consistently watchful all the while moving to support one another as we progress. Kith might do well to scout ahead a bit provided we can find a means for her to communicate back to the rest of us without alerting any adversary of her position." Kith nods her agreement to that plan, and Gib continues, "So far, we've had Shinara watching over most of us—" he pauses for a moment, his eyes slightly losing focus, before finishing his thought, "—but we cannot allow this foolhardiness to continue or we'll soon be whittled away into nothing."

"I don't mind scouting ahead, I'm much quieter without you armored lot beside me," the rogue half-Syl offers them a sardonic grin. "Perhaps we can work on a bird call or something of the sort. Though," she thinks aloud, "I haven't heard or seen many since this blasted fog swallowed us all." She shrugs, "If we can't think of anything, I can simply return to you if I find anything of interest. I am not the type to charge in, as you know," she turns that small grin to her large cat friend. "Though if I do end up in trouble, please feel free to charge in as wildly as you like."

Ch’dau’s ears twitch and his tail flicks in a combination of amusement and affection as his gaze settles on Kithran. “For you, little kitten, I would charge in as wildly as your Capashan cousins.”

"You're right, Kith," Gib states grimly, "there are few enough nature sounds that a bird call will probably be inappropriate. Be safe and return to us with any discoveries. Check back every so often so that we know you're not lost to us and please, make the intervals reasonable."

“Quite,” the kazari concurs. His expression takes on a more serious affect as his gaze pans from one face to the next, then, and sighing, he offers; “I would suggest paying close and cautious attention to whatever of these caves Kith might discover along the way. It would seem to me that such places might provide harbor to these shambling s#!ts. We would do well to either avoid them altogether or, should that not be possible, clean them out, one and all, before moving on to the next…”

((OOC: Any further input or discussion on this matter, here&hellip)

Leave is taken, and the group sets out with Kith scouting ahead.

It becomes quickly apparent that the woodsman's estimation of distances maybe skewed by his experience with the area; it takes nearly a full day to reach the stream he spoke of.  Of course, the ground is soft, the group is cautious, and the territory is unfamiliar.

Arden did speak true; the underbrush is fairly thin in most places, but the silence of the wood is absolutely oppressive.  Frrom time to time, a twig or branch cracks, and, more than once, someone swears to having seen movement just in the periphery of vision... but never is anything spotted directly in the accursed fog.  Of the black robed man, there is no definitive sign; anywhere footprints are encountered, though, many of them are obviously those of the undead horde.

As the light begins to fade, the party reaches the stream.  It is perhaps eight to twelve feet wide in most areas, sitting recesssed beneath banks of clay and tree roots some two or so feet down.  A few rocks jut from the water, causing the only noise you have heard all day aside from the wind and the occassional snap or a branch.  The water itself appears to be no more than a foot or so deep.  The darkening sky here is only visible though a few small cracks in the tree canopy above.

Ch’dau paces a short, clipped patrol route along the bank of the stream, cursing the gathering dark and, to a lesser extent, the eyes of those party members who might have difficulty seeing in it. Rest and caution were needed, of course, but, given Arden’s estimations, the Silver Cat had hoped to have been farther along than they were. The stream looked as if it might be easily forded, after all, and, if he could take Kith and Aranwen, both of whom had eyes accustomed to seeing through the dark as his, they might manage a bit more scouting ahead. Doing so, though, might mean leaving the others succeptible to attack from any direction and, all in all, given the enemy they faced, that didn’t seem as good an idea as it might sound.

“What say you, Khatun Aranwen,” the big kazari asks, pausing his pacing for a moment to regard the bladesinger, “Are we to make camp on this side of the stream or do we cross, first, and scout the other side before we call an end to the day?”

...what Olan said!

The one time I built a PC strictly for gaming was the same instance in which I built a full scale mech cockpit in my garage, so I'm afraid my input might be overkill... plus, this was for MW3, so you cand deduce how long ago that was.

To me, it sounds as if you have a pretty good handle on things (and that your SO might be a bit of a handy resource). Building a PC isn't as hard as it's made out to be... irritating, sometimes? Absolutely!... Difficult? Naaaaaahhhh!!!

...I posted just to prove I still can!

Nothing that's gonna move us forward, really, just a little backpost sort of deal to the woodsman's cabin. Y'know, in an attempt to get my head back in the game... and how could I not play out ol' kitty-puss getting mauled by the tiny pink-skins?

Anyhoo... more later concerning "current events."

“You look as if you wish to chastise me, friend,” Ch’dau chuffs in response to Gib’s disapproving glower, “Go on, then,” he breathes, leaning heavily against the gore spattered wall, “I shall wait here for a moment and hear it.”

Pausing in lifting his wineskin to his lips, Gib narrows his eyes and shakes his head, "And what good will it do?" Slamming his open wineskin into the cat man's chest he notices the small spray of water that strikes his companion's furry chin with little amusement. "Drink something and rest while I look over your injuries."

The Kazari manages a faint shrug, his ears and whiskers twitching as water from the proffered skin splashes his chest and chin. “Likely very little,” the cat-man concedes, his rumbling chuckle muted by a swallow of water, as the battle-priest’s gaze turns, momentarily, to the common room… There are some truly fine warriors amongst you monkeys, Ch’dau muses as Gib calls out for Cedric to tend the woodsman’s wife, but, even the finest of you tend to think overmuch when it comes to battle, just as you believe I do not think enough…

The cleric of Therassor’s eyes seem to reflect grim thoughts as they drift back to the Kazari’s wounds. Whatever those thoughts are, though, Gib keeps them to himself as he inspects the cuts and bruises beneath the Silver Cat’s fur. “Come with me,” the warrior-priest orders after a moment, hooking a hand around Ch’dau’s elbow. Guiding more than anything else, Gib assists Ch’dau to stagger back into the cabin’s common room and, with the big cat’s tail swishing happily (if weakly) behind him, he props the Kazari against a wall. A satisfied (if pained) purring rumbles in Ch'dau's chest and the Silver Cat of Coria sinks slowly to the floor.

Grabbing his wineskin before it falls from weakened hands, Gib inadvertently sprays the silvery-furred feline with water. "Serves you right," he chides as he takes a swig and then places the stopper in the nozzle. "You seek death."

“I seek honor,” Ch’dau corrects, lifting a paw to wipe away yet another splashing of water, “if it is in death that it is to be found, so be it.”

"I will ask Therassor for another miracle on your behalf, friend,” the priest returns, “You have survived your foolishness by his design and maybe he will continue to show you favor. Be not dismayed if it is not the case, though." Gib looks his friend directly in the eyes. "But if it is, you must remember the grace he's shown."

“I will remember,” Ch’dau nods humbly before Gib calls upon the healing powers of Therassor, “Thank you, my friend.” His eyes close as the healing magic sweeps through him, knitting rent flesh back together and assuaging the associated aches and pains. Momentarily lost in relief, the Kazari hears the woodsman express his gratitude and the clip of Gib’s boots on the floor as he walks away, but he reacts to none of it. For now, he’s content to sit and rest and allow Therassor’s grace to soothe his battle-weary frame…

"'Enooooough,'" Kithran’s voice, light and mocking, tickles at Ch’dau’s ears and stirs him from his respite, even before she playfully kicks one of his bloodied legs, "'Roooooooooooooooar!'"

His eyes flit open and, as they fix on her, a purring chuckle escapes the Kazari as the willowy woman sinks into a crouch beside him.

“Basking in the glory of your victory, cat-beast?” Kith asks, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“Perhaps just a bit, Little Kitten,” he replies, the tip of his tail flicking in amusement, “It has been a few hours since our last, after all.”

"Apologies that I could not share in that glory with you, but a certain bladesinger was in need of a little backup. My condolences that you have once again missed your chance to join the, what was it? Eternal Hunt? Maybe next time," she pats his large shoulder, "we'll just have to keep trying."

“Indeed,” the kazari chuckles, a massive paw closing over her hand as he leans over and lightly presses his forehead to hers, “Should all else fail, I have no doubt you could pick the locks and sneak me in, yes?”

“I--,” Kith begins. Whatever words were to follow, though, are left unsaid as, at that moment, the woodsman’s sons appear beside her.

Ch’dau knows of the roguish woman’s distaste for children, so it doesn’t surprise him in the least when she jumps up and skips away. What does surprise him is that these two human cubs are approaching him at all, let alone so eagerly. At first, he can manage nothing more than to blink in bewilderment at the boys… Brave little monkeys, aren’t you? He can’t help but think. Where are your parents? Have they not told you that Kazari eat human children?... Then, the smaller of the two reaches out a hand as if to actually touch him and the cat-man’s eyes go wide. “Wha… what are you doing,” he asks, unaware that he might have actually recoiled from the lad’s reaching hand.

“Ther’ssor’s man said I could pet ya,” the smaller monkey says, his tiny hand coming to rest just between Ch’dau’s eyes, little fingers scritching away as he continues, “yer a good kitty fer savin’ m’ brother…”

“I…” The Silver Cat’s expression seems to be being molded into something between confusion and annoyance by the boy’s attentions. “I am not a kitty… I…”

“‘E’s a K’zari,” the older boy interjects, his demeanor a bit more timid than his brother’s…

An obviously baffled Ch’dau blinks at the older boy, offers some semblance of an acknowledging nod, and then turns his gaze to where the others are gathered across the room. He’s not certain, but he thinks he sees an amused smirk tugging at Gib’s moustaches.

… “Thanks fer savin’ us, Mister K’zari,” the elder boy continues, snatching the cat-man’s attentions back, “Would it be a’right if I pet ya, too?”

Pet me?.. The Silver Cat blinks, again, because, at the moment, that seems to be the only reaction he can manage… Pet me? I am a Kazari, not a barn cat! I… I… Oh, Bak’chu’s balls!... The kazari’s chest heaves and a resigned sigh whooshes from behind his pointed teeth. “Very well,” he nods to the older boy as the younger one practically climbs into Ch’dau’s lap and starts scritching at his chin…

“Gooood k’zari. Gooood k’zari,” coos the young one, stroking at Ch’dau’s whiskers.

“Stop that… I…”

“Ya got a real name, Mr. K’zari,” queries the older one, his hand moving from petting the cat-man’s head to inspecting one of his flicking ears.

“I am called Ch’dau, little rrow’ka,” the Kazari answers, “Could you not do…”

“Wha’s a growl-caw mean?”

“It means ‘brave one’ in the language of…”

“Do ya ever wear real clothes? Hows come ya ain’t got no armor? Wha’s them funny knifes called?”

I told you that I would remember Therassor’s grace, friend Gib, Ch’dau sighs, but I shall remember this, as well.

...it might take Team Leader a minute or six to get back on the page.

"Lick that wall!"

Sneaking some time today to read back over more recent posts and remind myself exactly where we are and what we're doing. With any luck, I'll at least get a post started.

Darn tootin'!!!

I look FANTASTIC in pigtails, gingham, and ruby slippers!

The last time I told them that, they made me a manager!  I'm afraid that, if i do it again, I'll wind up as President and I really don't want that job! 

...I joined the Inn because a random cyclone dropped it on my hat. Then, when I dug out from under it, I found myself in a strange land, accompanied by curious creatures, who followed me on a quest to slay a wicked witch... I think....

I may be confusing the details of my joining with the plot of the Wizard of Oz.