You are posting, at least, right? Slow is better than not at all.

Great round of posts, gang!

The Nicked Shill wasn’t unlike many other small inns to which Ch’dau had been permitted entry before. A number of long tables flanked by benches predominated the well-lit common area and the patrons clustered about those tables seemed mostly to be local folk, farmers and laborers and the like. It was a simple, provincial affair; the smells of stale sweat, wood smoke, and simmering food hung in the air like the conversations of the locals who were gathered at the tables. Unlike the conversations, though, the ambient odors didn’t diminish when Ch’dau and his companions stepped across the Nicked Shill’s threshold. Once boisterous discussions quickly quieted as suspicious gazes turned to regard the newcomers and, when those eyes fell on the kazari, the ambience shifted quickly from apprehensive to angry…

“Who let a monster in here,” one voice demanded.

“Maybe you should go get the Watch,” another suggested with scant subtlety.

And so the conversations swelled, again, with similar slights and epithets flavoring the air for a moment. Being accustomed to such receptions, and given that it was only words and not actions lobbed against him, Ch’dau shrugged the comments off with practiced indifference. To his surprise, however, there seemed to be at least one amongst the locals who had little tolerance for the turn in talks.

“Ya sorry lot cut that out now,” a deep baritone voice boomed over the others, “ya hear me? That be no monster – ‘es a kazari! Not only are they a damn sight better warriors than most o’ those what drift through ‘ere, but ya can take one at ‘is word.”

Ch’dau’s curiously surprised gaze found the burly, bearded man who had come to his defense and inclined his shaggy head in a faint nod of thanks.

“You have coin, cat man,” the large man asked loudly, a meaty finger pointing at Ch’dau.

“I do,” the kazari rumbled in answer.

“Are ya here ta cause trouble,” the human pressed.

“Only to eat,” Ch’dau replied, “and to escape the weather for a time.”

“Right, then! Nya, get the kazari an’ ‘is friends sommat ta eat an’ drink,” his bearded benefactor bellowed as he produced a heavy cudgel from behind the counter and, leaning on it, finished his admonition, “The rest o’ you lot mind yer own business or leave – now!” The place fell into rebuked silence, then, and, for a moment, it looked as if none would take the Inn’s apparent owner up on his invitation. However, after an instant, two men, both in the livery of the town watch, rose to their feet, doing little to mask their displeasure as they angrily take their leave.

The Silver Cat’s level gaze follows the two guardsmen out the door but is called back at the appearance of the young serving woman. “Welcome to our inn, travelers,” she smiled, directing them to a near empty corner table, “Special tonight is pork stew with peppers…”

Ch’dau followed the girl and his friends to the table, his ears keen on the menu that the befreckled brunette recited but his gaze sought out the brawny proprietor, again. He eyed the man curiously, wondering not only how he knew of the kazari but, also, how he’d come to speak of them with the respect he had. Have I fought beside this man, he mused, trying to find a memory of the bearded face in the depths of his mind, or, rather, has he encountered others of my kind? That last prospect intrigued him and, by the time he found himself claiming a seat at the table, Ch’dau had resolved himself to seek the man out and speak with him should the opportunity be presented.

His attention was drawn back to the serving girl after a moment; his companions had ordered their meals and the young woman was awaiting his. “The stew, little one,” he requested, “more pork than peppers, if you please, and an ale.”

It was then that Ch’dau took note of the others at the table; a man and a woman, both as foreign to Crandel as the Kazari and his friends by the looks of them. The cat-man responded to the male’s narrowed gaze with an equally hard look of his own, though, his hands never strayed toward his peace-knotted blades. After a moment, the stubble-faced man seems to relax, his hand drifting away from the hilt of his weapon as he offered a curt nod which the kazari mirrored. His slit-eyed gaze flitted to the woman, then; unlike her companion, her attentions to the party seemed more curious than cautious and, following his cursory appraisal, Ch’dau let his eyes drift away from them both as he awaited the return of the serving girl.

The girl returned quickly enough and dutifully placed their orders in front of them before slipping away, again. Ch’dau’s gaze follows her, for an instant, then skims over the rest of the room before finding it’s way back to the bowl and mug before him. The big cat lifts the mug, first, and drains a healthy portion of the ale from it before he sniffs at the contents of the bowl, picks a few peppers from the broth, then sets upon the rest of the stew hungrily, stopping only long enough to grunt an acknowledgement when the blonde woman greets them and makes her introductions. He eats in relative silence, listening as the conversation continues around him but adding nothing to it, himself, save for an occasional glance and, now and again, a muted snort or rumble in his chest. Aranwen seemed to have the situation well in hand, after all, and the foreign female – Davena, she had named herself – seemed most interested in the bladesinger, anyway.

The conversation in the common room has fully returned to a normal level; the locals seem to have forgotten that the group exists.   The serving wench returns to check for any additional requests, notices Aranwen and Davena in deep conversation, and gives a sly smile and a wink as she leaves.

A soft chuckle escaped the kazari at the serving girl’s expression… Indeed, Ch’dau mused, his eyes flicking toward Davena and Aranwen for a second, it would seem our syl friend may find herself in a warmer bed then the rest of us, this night… Then, as if he’d just remembered his earlier thought, his gaze snaps quickly back to the retreating serving wench. “Girl,” he called, hefting his mug and rising to his feet, “a moment, please?”

((OOC: Assuming the girl pauses and acknowledges him as opposed to running away screaming.))

“First,” he drained whatever was left in his mug in a single pull and then held the empty out to her, “another of these.” As her little hands reclaimed the mug, the cat-man continued in a softer tone; “Second; the bearded man in the apron who quieted the crowd when we arrived, might I speak with him?”

Awesome, Blackthorn! You're getting really good at this.

I'll try and post soon. Dealing with some personal/family stuff today so no guarantees. 

... before you object to the kazari paying your toll (if you're so inclined) he is doing so for a number of reasons:

1. He considers you all friends and is appreciative that, in the time you've all travelled with him, very few of you (if any) have ever exhibited the kind of prejudice he's become all too familiar with.


2. Slipping the guard a Royal allows the guard to pocket a bit of coin for himself and his family and, hopefully, will grease the wheels where, at least, this guard is concerned and, perhaps, lead to a friendlier/more open reception should we pass this way again.


3. Ch'dau's not rich by any means but, I've been led to believe that he currently has more coin on him than a good deal of the rest due to his mercenary days, so he's more than happy to pay the toll in order to allow his friends to keep what coin they have for other things.

#CatLivesMatter

...but I had to try.

In all actuallity, Ch'dau is impressed by the little guard's bravery and, as such, has decided to pay the toll for all of them (also by way of thanks to his friends for their loyalty)... If i recall properly, one Royal is equal to 12 falchions, so the offered gold should cover the toll for all of us and leave the guard with an extra silver for himself, correct?

An honor, my furry flanks, Ch’dau thought, snorting softly in the wake of the guard’s justification, it is a fine levied in the face of fear, no more, no less.

Still, the Silver Cat could not help but be impressed by the sentry’s steadfastness and a faint chuckle followed the irritated snort. There had been plenty of towns which had refused him admittance, at all, over the years and Ch’dau could easily recall camping alone outside the walls of many a city while his companions enjoyed the comforts to be found within. So, despite his annoyance at the custom, the kazari knew all too well the truth borne in the guard’s words.

“Very well,” the cat man chuffed, withdrawing his hand and dropping the three silvers back into his purse, “five it is.” His luminous gaze let go of the guard for a moment, peered into the leather pouch cradled in his hand, and his fingers followed. When they emerged, again, there was a single, golden Royal pinched between them.

“You honor your king and country, rrow’ka*,” he said, offering the coin over to the stalwart sentry, “This should cover the toll for us all, yes? And provide something extra in recognition of your boldness.”

((OOC: *rrow'ka = "brave one" in kazari))

It had been nearly two hours since they had left the tormented troupe of Lysorans behind them, fed and funded. The mist had thickened in that time, it seemed, and brought the full of the night’s darkness with it as it encroached. The strange sounds and shadows, too, had persisted, perhaps even increased, as they travelled this last leg of the road to Crandel and, each time the strains of maniacal giggling echoed around them, the kazari felt his joints ache, recalling what a single bite and scratch from the chittering monster had done. Ch’dau’s vision was keen in the dark and, as they marched, his watchful gaze swept from side to side, ever vigilant for another attack from the undead creatures but, thankfully, none came. At last, the muddy track had brought them to their destination; the sturdy wooden palisade of Crandel seeming to materialize from the mists, it’s gate and it’s guard preventing the party from going any farther.

“Right, then!” The guard called out, nervously gripping his spear and lifting his lantern to peer through the dark; “Who goes there? State your business!”

“Good sir, we are travelers,” Aranwen responded diplomatically to the guard’s challenge, “and in need of shelter from this gods-forsaken weather.”

Satisfied by the bladesinger’s answer, the guard seems to relax a fraction. “Fair enough,” he said, his spear lowering as he moves a step closer to examine the road-weary group, “Ye may enter the town of Crandel, but cause no trouble. The road toll is one falchion each…”

The sentry’s gaze met Ch’dau’s just then and, for an instant, it seemed his words had failed him. But only for an instant… “Sweet Mother Miellyah,” he murmured under his breath before swallowing nervously and finding his voice again.

“The road toll for normal people is a falchion each,” he reiterated, the grip on his spear tightening once more, “The beast will pay five falchions and agree to keep ‘is blades in peace knots while inside these walls. Do we understand one another?”

A short, rumbling sigh escaped the kazari, then, and he wordlessly began binding his blades. This was not the first time he’d encountered such prejudice since his arrival on Antaron’s shores nor, he suspected, would it be the last. He had just begun to tie the peace knot over his second blade when Aranwen stepped to his side in a noble gesture of defense.

“Beast you say,” the bladesinger challenged, “There is no one I would trust with my life more than this beast, as you call him. He is honorable and true. The town is safer because of his presence. However, I would be careful not to trample that honor. He will not forget such transgressions.”

Aranwen’s defense of him prompted Ch’dau’s tail to swish happily behind him and, as he finished tying the last of the knots over his weapons, he rested a one massive paw on the Sylvari’s shoulder by way of thanks as the other reached for his coin purse. “All is well, Aranwen,” the big cat rumbled, his hand lifting from the elf’s shoulder and moving to dip into the pouch of coins nestled in the other, “I am not unfamiliar with this beast tax.”

Ch’dau’s eyes gleam with reflected lantern-light as they fix on the guardsman and his fingers come out of the pouch with three silver coins pinched between them. Affecting some semblance of a human smile (a thing that his own people might take as a challenge given the bearing of teeth) he offers the coins over to the monkey-faced soldier. “Three,” he rumbles from behind his fangs, “A falchion deducted for each of these ridiculous knots you wished me to tie. Agreed?”

He senses the guard’s trepidation, almost as thick as the mist, as he waits for the man to take the proffered coins. “The good folk of this town have naught to fear from this beast,” Ch’dau assured the hesitant sentry, still from behind the toothy smile, “it is a good offer, no?”

((OOC: Not going for any truly overt intimidation, here, but, given the smile, there is perhaps some subtle bit in play. The display of teeth intended to show the guard just how silly it is to require that Ch’dau bind his blades. He’s not so much threatening as haggling. ))

*lays face down, limbs spread* Might I interest you in a nice area rug, instead?

...Well, Ch'dau wouldn't be beyond offering the pilgrims a share of his rations (I figure he can purchase more upon arriving at Crandel if need be or, barring that, he can hunt). Also, if there were any other towns or Inns along the road behind them that the Lysorans might come upon, perhaps the big cat would be generous enough to offer a coin or two to provide them with a noght out of the weather and a hot meal. Having said that, though, I'm not entirely certain he'd come to those decisions on his own... more like if one of the others were to suggest it, he'd happily chip in (at least where the coin is concerned... the rations he'd part with willingly enough. He's been hungry, himself, after all, and isn't so dim as to know that a full belly makes for a better fight)

Seems we haven't heard from GrinNoCat in a bit... have we lost Midge, already? Did the little one fall in a puddle? Is he stuck betwixt the toes of one of the fleeing zombies? *knock knock knock* Helloooooooooooooo????

To me, it reads more like a prologue to a much larger tale rather than as a story unto itself. It's like one of the characters is setting things up for the reader to dive into a more complex and detailed story by "painting the world in broad strokes" before letting them immerse themselves in the tale that's to come and discover/explore the intricacies using this, perhaps, as a map of some kind to direct them through the narrative.

As to the "been done before" commentary you've received - Yeah, elemantal powers and such certainly have been done before. In fact, they're pretty common themes in a LOT of sci-fi and fantasy fiction, particularly notable in Japanese manga/anime and Chinese story telling, whether it be written, cinematic, or otherwise (also, in lots of myth and legend from all parts of the world). So, yeah, it might have been done before and, just as likely, it will be done again. The key, there, is to put your own spin on it and make it your own in order to make it stand out from everyone else who has taken a run at those particualr tropes.

"In poor taste?" - Hmmm... not really seeing that, myself. Perhaps you chose the wrong audience to read it when those comments were made? It's certainly dark and, likely, not everyone's cup of tea, but I don't see it as being in poor taste, at all. It's not like someones going around kicking puppies or eating babies or anything, right?

All in all, little sister, it's a really good start! Take what you've got here and expand on it. Give your characters and organizations more depth and detail, weave in some "personal trials and tribulations" and explore how they mesh into or affect the greater tale, etc. Like I said, you've got a good start, don't let negative commentary/criticism stop you. 

It didn’t surprise Ch’dau in the least that a number of his companions showed concern in regard to the Lysoran pilgrims’ distant fate...

 The deity Solanis, to whom Cedric was devoted, was the god of Light and Life, after all, so it made sense that the frumpy little human would tilt in the direction of providing healing and continued protection to Lysora’s parishioners; he likely saw it as ensuring that their light and lives would continue, at least, until the hajjis* were borne to their ultimate destination.

Gib’s god, Therrasor, too, embodied ideals which would certainly prompt the warrior-priest to give consideration to the Lysorans’ continued protection beyond his own goals and comforts; in his human mind, the righteous and honorable thing to do was to, at least, offer.

Even Kithran had conceded that these men would die without blades to protect them, though she seemed to share more than a little of Ch’dau’s own pragmatism when she appended her appraisal with the words “they have already died.” This practicality of thought was likely one of the reasons he got on so well with the half-sylvari thief (life-debt notwithstanding, of course).

The mages had been more or less silent on the matter, thus far, but the alternating looks of horror, disgust, concern, and trepidation that flitted across each of their features, spoke enough to the kazari’s eyes that their words were unnecessary.

…Crouching in the huddle of his companions, Ch’dau watched and listened as the discussed the matter. Aranwen drifted back and forth between their clusters more than once in order to engage with the Lysoran leader but, at last, returned to report all she’d gleaned from the bearded follower of the Blue Lady. “I know the mind of a few of you on this matter,” the bladesinger offered with a pointed smirk in the kazari’s direction, Now, I would like to know everyone’s opinion on the path we should take. Do we accompany the pilgrims as far as they’ll have us? Do we head directly to Crandel? Is there another option we have not yet considered?”

For an instant, felinoid eyes followed Sylvari ones from face to face in their small counsel, awaiting the input of his native Antaronian companions before offering his own. As each did so, Ch’dau’s gaze flitted to where the Lysorans prayed over their fallen and back again, trying to consider options that he might not, were he in Capasha. After a time of listening to his friends’ considerations, the kazari rose from his crouch and heaved something of a sigh. “As you have said, Aranwen,” the cat grumbled, “you know my mind on this. I say we leave them to their own. The road behind us has been quiet and dull unto now and that is the road ahead of them. I think they neither want nor require our protection and, likely, with their females gone, they are hoping these creatures abandon their pursuit of them in favor of us.” The man-beast offers an almost apologetic glance in Kith’s direction at that statement but it is only a glance and it is fleeting… He would die before he allowed her to be taken… He shrugged his massive shoulders, then, and, by way of compromise, chuffed out what seemed a fair compromise in his mind; “If it is truly your intent to see these men to their shrine, I say we take them with us to Crandel so that Midge and Atharis do not delay their summons. Then, once their counsel has finished, if such is your order, brave Sylvari, I’ll not argue escorting the hajjis to their shrine.”

((OOC: * hajjis = “pilgrims” in the Kazari))

...but, as Aranwen has noted, I'm sure you all know Ch'dau's mind on this one. Let the Lysorans fend for themselves or, alternatively, force them to follow us back to Crandel (as will be proposed in my coming addition).

The cat votes we continue on our original path with or without the bedraggled hajjis in tow.

Okay, so I went ahead and tacked on another post regarding Ch'dau's reaction to any thoughts or talk regarding escorting the Lysorans... Couldn't help myself... Heard the thing playing out in my head and had to get it written down!

Anyhoo... feel free to jump in and/or place the kazari's commentary anywhere in your own posts as you see fit... 

His apologies rendered, Ch’dau releases Kith from his grip and allows his attentions to turn back to the others. As expected, Gib, Cedric, and Aranwen are moving among the pilgrims, tending the wounded and asking questions of their leader…

“How far is your destination,” Gib’s voice reached the kazari’s ears first, “and will you truly be safe there?”

“The shrine is perhaps three days from here,” the pilgrim’s leader replied, continuing on with no small amount of ambiguity as to his party’s potential safety. “The road ahead must be safer than the road behind us,” he surmised in the end, “All we can do is have faith… and keep moving.”

Aranwen followed up the cleric of Therassor’s inquiries with her own, then; “How long has it been since these fiends first started attacking? Have you any idea where they may have come from or what could have provoked these attacks? Perhaps something strange occurred just before the attacks started?”

The bladesinger’s line of questioning seems to pluck at the frail priest’s emotions more than Gib’s had. “We have endured this for four nights, now,” he began in a choked voice, continuing on to summarize the assaults he and his followers had endured. By the end of his reply, the pathetic wretch was shaking and his sobs were scarcely controllable; “We are simple folk!  We seek only to honor the Blue Lady!  We have harmed no one, taken nothing, done nothing unusual at all!  We stick to the road, camp at night, eat the food we brought with us.  Why would these monsters trouble our path?”

Because you are weak, the Silver Cat managed not to snarl aloud, and the weak are easy prey! Unable to stomach much more of the moans and groans that ululated from the Lysorans, Ch’dau turned away, a low growl trapped somewhere between his chest and throat, and pulled his hood back over his head as he stalked a few paces up the road, leaving the sniveling priest’s final words at his back...

((OOC: I’m assuming there will be some discussion amongst our own party, here, as to what aid we might/will provide them. Ch’dau will skulk silently on the edges of that particular conversation, however it unfolds, until… ))

“…I think these people need our help,” Cedric stressed.

“Let them help themselves,” Ch’dau rumbled, the repressed growl tinging his words as he swipes a paw dismissively in the direction of the disheveled group of priests, “They haven’t the courage or honor to bury their own dead and they flee from battle like scared rabbits! Even if we were to escort them, should another attack come, they’d likely skitter right into the jaws of their doom!”

The kazari’s growling had risen along with his irritation and, in that instant, very nearly escaped from behind his pointed teeth… but not quite… Instead, it came out as yet another derisive snort as the big cat’s eyes tore away from the sobbing adherents of the Blue Lady. “Besides,” he added, trying to tamp down his frustration as he gestured in the direction of the party’s mages, “Atharis and the little one are expected in Crandel by their order… In hours, not days… That is where our duty lies.”

I don't know that Ch'dau would "be in favor" of escorting the Lysorans to their shrine, to be honest. He's had enough of this road, for one, and won't relish the thoughts of spending an extra week on it just to "babysit a group of weak, cowardly priests," for another. He'd much prefer spending another hour or so en route to Crandel where he might get out of this weather, find a nice, bloody slab of meat, and a dry place to rest.

Now, if the consensus in the party is that we do escort the pilgrims to their shrine, Ch'dau will begrudginly comply but is likely to be more than a little cranky about it.

Defenitely gives us some RP fodder to work with in the game thread, though, so, if anyone would like to bring the issue up in game, feel free. I'll be there to put in the kitty's two coppers!

And there goes Oz with a post! Shweeeeeettt!!!

Nice post, Blackthorn! Well done!

...posted!

FYI - since the game started, Ali and I have decided that Kith was instrumental in freeing Ch'dau from his capture in Sendria and, as such, is Ch'dau's first and closest friend in this little party of ours. He doesn't necessarily always approve of her methods all the time but, given that she "saved his life," he's honor-bound to her and, in the time they've been travelling together, has come to consider her as much family as anything.

Speaking of which... Ali, expect a PM from me soon regarding all of this and we can work out details as you see fit.

Now... let's party!

Edit: Should also note that the Rrowl revered by the big kazari is that Capashan equivalent of Therassor/Bakloran (much the same way the Vidarak amalgamate the two war gods).

The kazari beast leapt into battle and, while exceedingly pleased to be free of the endless monotony of the march, also, regretted his boredom fueled impetuousness almost instantly. As he sidestepped the scattering Lysoran’s and waded into fight the mists parted and revealed the true horror of what he faced…

These dead are… already dead, he realized with no small amount of shock even as he drove a blade through the gut of one of them and, simultaneously, relieved it of it’s head, What sorcery is this?!

…He flicked the remains of that first vanquished foe from his blades even as he set upon the next but, even as he closed on the monstrosity of twice-dead meat, couldn’t help but recall the horrors he’d seen in Sendria and, given their proximity to that vile place, couldn’t help but think that that closeness must have something to do with the corrupted corpses he now found himself facing. It was in this moment that he realized that, in his battle-lust, he had forgotten about his dear Kith. Even as his closed on his next target, he let his gaze flick away to search for the girl, the tip of his tail flicking in a fractional instant of happiness and relief as he spots her gutting another of the unholy terrors that had sought to flank him. Praise the claws of Rrowl, he thought, as he forced his gaze to let her go and return to the next rotting horror descending upon him, I should never forgive myself were they to take you, little kitten.

With another roar, driven by battle-frenzy and anger at himself for not having assured the thief’s safety by charging off so rashly, he fends off the damned creature’s attack and, in retribution, hews the thing in two with the next swipe of his blade. Knowing that Kith was close, now, the snarling cat was set to turn on the next rotting foe, then, but had made the mistake of losing sight of the chitterer, only to realize, too late, that the thing was already upon him. A sharp pain shot up his arm where tooth and claw had sunk into his flesh and, a scant breath later, a malevolent, fusty chill spread as quickly through his body as had his bloodlust only moments ago. He tried to fight it, of course, but, the more he did, the quicker it seemed to spread and, in an impossibly short time, the big kazari found himself unable to blink, let alone move or fight. He was frozen stiff in the heat of battle and it both terrified and infuriated him. Rrowl was not the sort of deity to respond to pleas for protection on the field and so, as Ch’dau fought against the unnatural immobility inflicted upon him, he sent a silent prayer out to his war-god that his companions fight honorably and their blades strike true… And, should it look futile, Kithran, you run and think nothing of how I might be prone say it will dishonor you.

As futile as he knows prayers to his god to be, and as frustrated as it made him to bear still witness to the end of the battle raging about him, the Silver Cat cannot help but be relieved that the encounter ended in his party’s favor. Between the battle prowess of his martially inclined companions and the spells available to those of less war-like vocation, the rotting soldiers and their giggling leader are quickly enough vanquished. He still fought against the strange stiffness that had befallen him but, at the same time, took some bit of peace in the knowledge that Kith was safe and his other friends, too, had come through the fray with little more than scratches and bruises. Still immobile but able to feel the cursed rigidity, slowly seeping from him, Ch’dau watched as Gib and Cedric tended the Lysoran wounded, fighting all the while to hurry along his return to this damnable stone-state… I’ve not felt this helpless since I was but a cub at my dam’s teat, he growled behind an unmovable jaw, I dislike it!

Soon enough, the rigor afflicting the Capashan beast’s body begins to diminish and, though it aches and pains to do so, Ch’dau forces himself to move, snarling in frustration and, perhaps, some bit of pain as he, at last, manages enough range of motion to flick away the gore that still clung to his blades. A rumbling, angry growl follows as the kazari manages to lift a foot and bring it down hard on the head of the half-rotted corpse nearest him, grunting with some petty satisfaction as the skull crumpled and cracked under his toes. Growling at the effort it takes to do so, he wipes his blades off on the tattered remnants of his fallen enemy’s clothes before sheathing them. As he rose stiffly to his feet, he great blinking eyes sought out Kithran and, again, the tip of his tail flicked happily at seeing that she was well. Any words he might have been prepared to speak to her, though, were set aside when Gib’s admonition reached his ears…

"I realize that these past days have been stale," he begins as he approaches his warrior friends, "but, perhaps, in the future, we might at least strategize a little before rushing into battle. Like we did when bringing justice to those bandits? That would be most appreciated."

… “Quite,” Ch’dau answered, dipping his head by way of acknowledging the mistake he’d made, “My apologies, friend Gib. I should have known better.”

Thumbing the blood from the scratches and punctures on his arm, then, the kazari’s eyes find the party’s rouge, and his feet aren’t far behind in getting the big cat to her side. He licks the blood from his paws before resting them on her lithe shoulders and pulling her closer in something akin to an embrace. “I’ll not leave you at such a disadvantage, again, either, little kitten,” he purred softly enough for only her to have heard, “I owe you more than this, yes?”

((OOC: Room here for anything from Kith, be it a short conversation or a simple rolling of the eyes, a playful swat, and a “stupid kitty!” Up to the Princess.

Assuming that anything following this brief interaction between Kith and Ch’dau coincides with Gib asking the Lysoran’s about their destination, etc… Ch’dau will stick close to his little thiefy buddy and, otherwise, follow whatever orders are given/decided upon between Aranwen and Gib. Backposts and such as necessary of course.))

Ch'dau would likely refuse any "divine healing" of minor wounds, anyway (although, where Kith is concerned, he might be prone to demand it for her on occassion).... he feels he owes the sneaky little thing his life, after all (or part of it, at least).

Post in the works.

Yeah but ol' kitty-puss ain't gonna admit to being "paralyzed"... Stiffened sounds less mewly.

I'll see what I can do about a post before I head to the base in the morning.

Made sure I had enough data on my phone to beat my hotspot capability to death, too!

And, Olan, how did I just know Ch'dau was gonna get stiffened in this encounter? Hmmmmmmmmmm????

My version might appear sooner than you think. Given what I'm actually doing with this test cycle, it might behoove me to take a sketchbook to stave off boredom between people needing me for anything.