Oluth

Oluth

BASIC INFORMATION

Given Name: Oluth
Full Name: Oluth Shadowbones
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Class: Independant
Occupation: General magical practitioner, gladiator
Feral or Cultured: Mostly feral but has learned some cultural norms.
Demeanor: Calm. Watchful. Straightforward.
Hobbies: His magic is his passion.


QUIRKS

He can often be seen looking at seemingly nothing.
Loves making small skeletal golems and leaving them to their own devices.
Has perfect recall and can sometimes get lost in his memories.


Overall Personality
Tends to be laconic and watchful, but will speak at great length if the subject is right. His face is usually drawn down in a scowl and his expression is most often grim.

Likes Women - Minotaur are renowned for their appetites, Oluth is no different. Books - Despite the reputation that minotaur have garnered over the years, not unearned, there do exist some intellectuals.

Dislikes Pretension - He just, doesn't have the patience for it. Men - While not something concious, minotaur can get VERY territorial.

RAPHLETUS

BASIC INFORMATION

Given Name: Raph
Full Name: Raphletus
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Class: Slave
Slave classification: General, research, low-level magic.
Feral or Cultured: While growing up in civilization, he was not one for the higher courts.
Disorders: Anxiety.
Demeanor: Nervous. Intelligent.
Hobbies: Books, and recently, gardening and bonsai.


QUIRKS

When he's nervous, which is often, he will begin to ramble and will sometimes continue to talk, moving rapidly from subject-to-subject until interrupted.
Will often wring his hands if he is nervous but not allowed to speak.


Overall Personality
Tends to be nervous and shy, preferring to watch those around him rather than be the center of attention. However, Raph is fiercely intelligent and if prodded is happy to talk, width both depth and breadth, on a wide variety of topics. He is also equally curious, which can often get him in trouble.

Likes Conversation - For all his nervous energy, Raph really does like to have an intellectual discussion. Unfortunately while possessing the faculties, his Master lacks the motivation to provide this Books - Raph loves knowledge of every kind and as such will consume new books with voracious abandon.

Dislikes Strong personalities - Raph is a sensitive soul, bombastic or aggressive people unsettle the poor creature Cold - Raph has lived a long time for a mouse, too long he has noted, and the cold tends to make his joints ache.

Society of the Nomadic Minotaur

I have managed to survive for almost two years alongside the aggressive species known to many, as the Minotaur. I admit that I find myself both fascinated and terrified of these great beasts in increasing measure. You may notice, as you read, that I have not signed this work, nor do I ever mention my name. This is with purpose. I do not believe who I am to be of consequence. In this journal I will extoll to you, dear reader, any and all secrets I have managed to glean. THAT, is what is important.

I will begin by bringing up a stereotype that many have heard about minotaur. That is that they are incredibly stupid. This stereotype is not ENTIRELY undeserved. Their culture very certainly idolizes physical strength over intellectual pursuits. Those who are intelligent, are in fact looked down upon most often. However, there ARE intelligent individuals. Some frighteningly so. The leader of the Rot Gut Nomads, Leader Gormun, was one such individual. I was only permitted to speak to him on three occasions. Once when I was given permission to accompany the troupe, once when he came to me to make a purchase, and again when they made a raid and he approached me, seemingly at random.

The first occasion, I was just barely not killed on the spot. Only the promise of more women, screamed at the top of my lungs, managed to attract his attention. He spared my life in order to speak to me. I explained that while I could not actually procure more women, I could make it easier for them to tame the women that they bring in, taking it from months, down to weeks. The other minotaur laughed, or got insulted, but Gormun simply watched, and listened as I explained the alchemical concoction to him. It was an aphrodisiac of no small potency. I was lucky. My source on these minotaur had told me that this might peak their interest, but it was not a guarantee. After several tense moments of silence, Gormun, to a roar of disapproval, told the minotaur holding to release me, and he took me to his cart where we negotiated terms. Gormun was a ferocious negotiator, not letting me get anything on him, all without using physical threats. I was thoroughly impressed. Not only Did Gormun seem to understand the usefulness of such a concoction, as a term of our agreement, I had to tell him every ingredient of the tincture. As I did, Gormun demonstrated a surprising level of alchemical knowledge. I dared remark on this at one point, to which Gormun looked at me. No, not at me. At my remark, Gormun stared directly through me, as though seeing every intention and motivation for my presence there. After several moments he looked away and gave simple response of, and I am paraphrasing, "It is good to know that which is important." Infuriatingly vague.

The second instance was during a raid. I was hidden among branches of the trees. Suddenly Gormun's rumbling voice spoke from below me. Much to my chagrin, I had not heard him approach, despite the autumnal, leaf-strewn floor of a deciduous forest. He asked what I thought of the battle. I decided honesty was best. I said that I felt that the minotaur attack was disorganized and ineffective and that only their brute strength and unearthly fortitude prevented them from losing more. Gormun shook his head, telling me that I clearly had not been watching closely enough. He invited me to play a game. He told me to name all the buildings that had been destroyed, and those that were left intact. Confused, I searched the chaos. I could tell little difference between the buildings that had been destroyed, seeing as they all had at least two walls missing. It was then that I watched one of the minotaur crashing through the structure of what appeared to be a small home. The angle I was at allowed me to see straight through the home, and know that there was another hole in the opposite wall. The minotaur turned and bellowed threateningly. That's when I understood. The family inside fled, out into the open. Out into the open where the militia was. That was their game. The minotaur were intentionally sowing chaos to keep the militia from truly organizing. Their fortitude allowed them to take the small strikes from an archer here and there or the odd stab of a sword, while they stirred the noncombatants into a frenzy. Then, eventually, it was too much and the militia had to split focus. I turned to look at Gormun. "Why show me this?" Again he gave me that look as though laying bare my soul. Deep black eyes stared deeply into my essence as he spoke, "I understand what you are, and respect is important." Again, infuriatingly vague.

My last encounter with Gormun was, suspiciously, the same night that I had to flee their troupe. He found me scribbling away at my manuscript within the confines of my wagon. Several days prior I had had the opportunity to examine a deceased minotaur. (A casualty in their latest failed raid.) I had managed to dissect the specimen, well, I managed to remove his hide, and was in the middle of diagramming the musculature beneath when Gormun, unannounced, flung the drapes coving the entrance to my wagon aside. I very nearly died of fright. Gormun said nothing for several moments before he held out a pouch. Upon examination of said pouch I found it contained a large quantity of ludveignian silver crowns. "I am purchasing the rest of your aphrodesiac." I was, to say the least, quite surprised. He recieved several vials every month, that was our deal. He had certainly never purchased any, though some of the other minotaur had done so. I took the money without counting it, simply accepting that as payment no matter how much he had actually paid me. I went to my stores and pulled down a leather case. I held it in front of him and opened it, showing him the twenty-odd vials nestled into individual pockets. Closing the case I held it out to him, but he did not take it. He merely motioned me to follow, which I did without further question. From what I had learned of him through his interactions with the other minotaur, that was best for someone in my position. He walked for several minutes before stopping next to a seemingly random wagon. It was well into the night, and on the otherside of the wagon a roaring fire blazed. He looked down at me with that piercing gaze and took the case from me before finally speaking, still staring through me, "Our deal was most lucrative, for the both of us." And he strode off, leaving me uncertain. I was just considering running after him when I heard something disturbing from the fire on the other side of the wagon. "I hate that we're on rations again." "Cram up about it Cowpie." "You cram up Muck Mouth." "No, you scrawny lump, YOU cram up. We're tired of your whinging about it. All you do is make us even more hungry when there's nothing we can do about it." "Well, what about that scrawny rat that's been following us around. He's not much, but no one would wonder why he disappeared." There was silence for several moments then. I was frozen in place on the other side of the wagon. I'm certain that my complexion must have been veritably waxen. After several more moments of silence, I heard the three begin to move and was immediately sprinting as fast as I could into the woods at the edge of camp. I have never run as fast, before or since.

And so I found that while the vast majority of minotaur are just as stupid as their reputation would indicate, there are those who are above and beyond their peers. As I investigated their troupe, I realized that every position of influence was filled with these. I had several long in depth conversations with Shaman Luud about the proper usage of Atvarian Ash Flowers. While the Warchief and I talked for hours about the famed orcish berserkers. He had never met any, but was intensely curious as he had heard the stories.

For the most part, every minotaur had the same job to do around camp. They were all warriors. They all had varying amounts of knowledge of horses and animal husbandry, cooking, first aid, carpentry, basic metal working, and even sewing. Basically any skill that they might need in order to keep themselves moving. Somewhat uniquely, individuals rarely specialize.

Reader, the minotaur are, at once, the most painfully stupid and brutally devious creatures I have ever observed. Physically, they are monstrous, and not just because of the way they look. Monstrous strength, monstrous stamina, monstrous constitution, monstrous appetites. My time there came to end as I began to fear for my life. My conclusion of these creatures is this, avoid them at all costs.

Society of the Tribal Minotaur: Chapter One You may notice, as you read, that I have not signed this work, nor do I ever mention my name. This is with purpose. I do not believe who I am to be of consequence. In this journal I will extol to you, dear reader, any and all secrets I have managed to glean. THAT, is what is important. I apologize, dear reader, but I must assume that you have read my previous manuscript on the nomadic minotaur, previously believed to be the only minotaur civilization, else I would be forced to reiterate far to many observations. And so I will resume my observations where those in my last manuscript left off, my flight for my life. I had been wandering for nearly three days, I am not much of a naturalist you see, and was well and truly lost. Then much to my horror, when stumbling through some underbrush, I pushed through the other side only to come face to shin with a minotaur. I tried to remain stoic, but I'm afraid I may have made a poor showing of it. "The Scholar." As the behemoth's voice boomed down from on high, the word he had chosen struck me, breaking me free from my stupor. You see, I had been called many things during my time with the nomads, but scholar was not one of them. Most of them could not conceive of a being whose sole purpose in life was to learn. This one understood what I was, which was indeed intriguing. My terror ebbing slightly, I was able to gather my wits enough to see that this was someone I recognized, though I had never learned his name. The minotaur looked down upon me for several seconds but as I opened my mouth to speak, perhaps plead for my life, he turned. He began moving again, his massive strides taking him quickly away from me. There I stood, mouth slightly open, hand upraised as he trundled away. The urge to follow, and the urge to flee conflicted within me. It took me only a moment to realize however, that if I let him get away, I would continue to meander through the forest until I was eaten or died of exposure. I scampered after the beast. He was not trying to move quickly, else I suspected that I would never have caught him. As it was I was at a jog just to keep up. Admittedly I am quite a small thing, to one stride for him was many for me. We traveled like this for hours, long after nightfall. I could barely see in the near absolute darkness that was the forest floor on a moonless night. I was tripping and stumbling over roots and branches and was barely keeping up when finally the behemoth stopped and sat down heavily. How had he been able to move with such confidence? My answer came swiftly, or perhaps, the hint at the answer, and the reason why this particular minotaur quickly became an entity of great... dread. You see, the beast turned his great head, and his eyes burned with power, a low, angry red, that stopped me in my tracks. Those glowing red eyes bored straight into me and gripped my heart. He glared at me for several moments before speaking, in a great, rumbling voice. "Why are you following me Scholar?" Again I opened my mouth to answer, but this time I found my voice seized in my throat, those eyes I admit, unhinged me to a degree that I find embarrassing. Swallowing my nerves, I spoke, "I am lost. You appear to know where you are going." He was silent for several moments before speaking. Those glowering eyes were all I could see in the blackness of the night. "I have no quarrel with you Scholar, but nor do I have any love. Follow me if you wish, but I will not assist you in any way." With that he turned away, and did not speak again that night. This was a good representation of our journey as a whole. The minotaur, whom I came to understand was named Oluth, was often terse, even laconic. In fact, it was rare I got more than a handful of words out of him in a day. As we travelled, Oluth offered exactly none of his supplies to me and I was forced to scrounge what I could from the forest. Not being a woodsman, as I have mentioned previously, this led to quite a few... discomforts, but I managed to survive. We had been travelling for over three weeks when finally Oluth deigned to speak to me at length. Perhaps I managed to strike just the right topic. You see, Oluth may not have been talking, but I certainly was. I have found, in my time, that I ramble when I'm nervous, and Oluth certainly unnerves me. Oluth, for his part, was extremely patient. Never once did he raise his voice to me even if I had been talking for hours. Truth be told, he was a frustratingly stoic character, but I believe I have already spoken on that. This particular night, the moon shown down upon the clearing in which we rested and Oluth had forgone whatever magicks lit his eyes with that unsettling light. I had been prattling on for well over four hours about the subtle differences between the burial rituals of the eastern and western lizardfolk tribes. Once I had exhausted that topic of conversation, I happened to wonder aloud what culture of people we were going to run into first. "Minotaur." The suddenness of his speech, along with the baritone gravel of his voice, surprised me and set my heart to beating it's way out of my chest. After a moment of recuperation I spoke up, horror beginning to color my voice. "You mean we're just heading to a different troupe? I just barely escaped the last one." My head fell into my hands and I shook my head, "Oh goodness. Whatever am I going to do?" I was truly distraught. I had wrongly assumed that Oluth was leaving the company of minotaur, perhaps to instead go raiding the countryside. I simply needed to follow him until civilization reared it's comfy head. If he was just heading to a different troupe, then I would be in even more danger than I had been in the last since I did not have anything to trade with the leader of this troupe in order to assure my safety. I was just beginning to really settle in for a nice long panic when Oluth spoke again. "We aren't heading to another troupe. We're searching for the Long Horn Tribe." I paused, unsure of the difference until I realized that he had used the term tribe instead of troupe. Could this mean? "A settled tribe? Not a nomadic troupe?" I asked, non-believing. Oluth nodded. I was stricken. I had heard absolutely nothing about this. At the time, the academic community at large considered Minotaur society exclusively nomadic. My mind was reeling. A new thought entered my mind, one which I tried perhaps a dozen times a day for the rest of my travels to banish and utterly failed. "I must see them." It took several moments, and my travelling companion's motionless stare, to make me realize I had said the thought aloud. There was a long moment between us before Oluth finally rumbled. "Truly a scholar. A foolish scholar, but one truly." His gaze finally broke from mine as he looked out into the darkness. That dark red glow suddenly flared in his eyes and he looked about before the glow faded away. It still sent chills down my spine. The rest of our trip was spent in much the same fashion. I prattled on. Oluth said little, or nothing. This morning seemed like every other until He watched Oluth come to a halt ahead of him. After catching up, I saw what he was looking at. We had come to a cliff. The forest came right up to the edge. Down at the bottom of said cliff, lay a village. From this distance it looked like any other, but over the next few years, I would come to learn that it was unlike any I had encountered before.

Society of the Tribal Minotaur: Chapter Two My first day among the tribal minotaur was an enlightening one. In general, their society is much the same as their nomadic cousins. All of them trained in combat and warfare so that each and every one would be considered a warrior, but not necessarily a soldier. One distinction between the two societies is specialization. Every member of the troupe seems to be able to fulfill almost every role, but in the tribe, the specialize far more. Being settled gives them far more time to hone skills that constantly being on the move denies them. Just in the first hour of being in town, I saw what seemed to be a tailor, a butcher, a candle maker, a shaman... there was even a farrier! He was actually putting some... I want to say horseshoes, as that was effectively what they were, onto a customer right outside his shop. I did have to bring my excitement down a notch though as I followed Oluth. After my initial amazement at this development, I began to realize that it was only amazing because of the comparison to their nomadic cousins and the fact that it was previously thought not to exist. In reality, they were far behind most other civilizations. My excitement tempered somewhat, I was able to look at their society with far more impartiality. All that I stated before was indeed true, but there were definite signs that they were still uncivilized. For one; they didn't use currency and instead bartered for goods and services. Which, admittedly, was not surprising. Currency took a fair bit of infrastructure and interconnectivity between tribes that I would have been floored to have found here. And their bartering only lasted as far as either party could trust the other not to deceive or bully, which was not very. I plainly saw one minotaur take a leather vest and stuff it into his bag while the shop owner was distracted. A second patron saw, plain-as-day, and said nothing. Yet another customer, with whom the tailor was distracted, was cuffed over the head once, twice, thrice, before the tailor took twice as much smoked meat as the customer had been offering. Stealing and intimidation were not only accepted, they were encouraged. The nomadic minotaur was strangely more advanced in this regard. While they had no currency of their own, they understood it's use and value to other species. "If one can take it from you, it was never yours to begin with. That's how the Long Horns work. Your shop isn't going to fly here." Oluth bass nearly startled my skin from me. I looked up at him with worry in my eyes. I had no idea how I was going to survive here, and I had to survive here. There was no way I could survive the forest for that long on my own. I cast my gaze around as I continued to followed along with Oluth's mammoth gait. I was uncertain where we were headed, but, for the moment at least, Oluth was my only protection, and I was loath to let him out of arm's reach. Shortly after though, I saw where we were headed. There was a long building, bigger than any other. From the decorations adorning the threshold, several heads in various states of decomposition and several weapons embedded into the outer wall, I could only surmise that this was the chieftain's home, or perhaps just his place of business. Oluth knocked loudly on the front door which was opened shortly, to reveal a quite beautiful, human woman. She wasn't as beautiful as many of the slaves that I had come to see during my times among the Minotaur, but she had to be at least twice as old as any I had met. She actually struck me as odd. I could clearly tell that she was older, my best guess put her in her fifties, maybe low sixties, but she still seemed quite pretty. Something about her irked me and I could not understand why. I will reveal why to you the why now, as the conversation in which I learned this particular detail was years later. In fact, the woman was the chieftain's First Wife (Which I will discuss later.) and had been for over ninety years. I never learned her actual age. After crossing the threshold I found myself trying to force my body to occupy the same space as Oluth's leg, as a massive boom shook the building and a bellow reverberated through my bones, "I WILL NOT BE UNDERMINED BY A CHILD!" There was the chieftain. He certainly cut an intimidating figure. He was huge, not terribly surprising, but one got a nagging feeling when looking at him. It were as though he had been deflated. He was huge and still terribly muscled, sure, but it seemed as though he were... deflated, somewhat. It only took me a few moments to understand. He was old. He was the first elderly Minotaur I had ever encountered. The nomadic Minotaur were so violent I never heard of one living more than seventy or eighty years. I will tell you his age, as I learned this at the same time as I learned the age of his first wife. At my time of meeting him, he was over five centuries old. When I learned of it, I was aghast. Their longevity was amazing! The only thing holding it back was their own society's inherent violence. Even without his size and age, he was an impressive male. He had long straight horns, one of which was cracked down most of it's length, and a long beard, braided and adorned with bones and other trinkets. Chains made of bone dangled from his shoulders and neck, these were similar to tokens worn by the cheiftain of the nomads and were symbols of his station. Each cheiftain made them from finger bones of defeated enemies. This cheiftain's chain was several times his own height in length and hung in long loops almost to the floor. Standing before him was a young bull, his fists clenched so tight I could see the veins standing out on his forearms. He roared in frustration as he pivoted on a hoof and stormed past us. Our eyes locked as he stormed past and I was struck by the icy blue color. And then he was gone, and a great wave of tension flowed out of the room. oluth, for his part didn't seem to flinch at the drama before him. Once the blue-eyed bull had left Oluth stepped forward his shoulders back and his eyes forward. "Chief Long Horn!" Oluth yelled, almost seeming angry. I knew he was not though. This was a very basic ritual. The supplicant would play at a challenge and allow himself to by cowed by the wise chieftain. "Control your tone, Newcomer! What business have you here?" Oluth played the part flawlessly. He bowed his head slightly and took a half step back. It was just enough submission to show that he had no interest in a true challenge, but not enough to be misconstrued as true weakness. "I come seeking a livelihood. My time among the Wanderers has taught me much, but if I am to continue my craft I must remain in one place for longer periods of time than I can while travelling with my parent troupe." The chieftain was taken aback. His tone was much softer and a tad more suspicious. "It is not often we get Wanderers choosing to settle down. Far too often it is your kind who lure strong Long Horn hands away. You will have to earn your keep here just as any other. Just what is your craft?" Oluth smirked and clasped his hand onto his forearm. A tattoo there glowed a bright, dull red, looking eerily like luminescent blood. My stomach lurched. It was the same unsettling color of his eyes when he would use this magic to see in the dark. The glow flowed off his arm like a mist, aimless, shapeless, until he pointed directly at the chieftain. The mist was not aimless then, instead shooting across the distance between them. The chieftain cried out, his hands going to the pair of waraxes worn at his hips. They were out and drawn as the mist struck him. No, not him, his chain. The mist sunk into the bones just as the cheiftain started moving towards Oluth, axes poised to strike. Then the chain moved, it jittered in place then suddenly slithered like a snake, tangling itself around one of the cheiftain's hands an then continuing to writh and squirm in place. The cheiftain stopped, his attention drawn away from Oluth, who stood stock still and not making any move to defend himself. The cheiftain glanced at Oluth, then down at his hand. The bone snake uncoiled itself from the cheiftain's hand and settled back around his shoulders before shuddering and releasing red mist into the air. And then it was still. The cheiftain looked from Oluth to his bone chain and back again before settling his waraxes back into their loops. "I see. Perhaps you will be of value to the tribe." He took several steps backwards until he stood back on the slightly raised dias from which he conducted business. That was sugnificant. He refused to turn his back on Oluth, which was a great sign of respect. "Know that you are not of the Long Horn Tribe. You are merely allowed to reside here." He paused a moment before glancing at me and back to Oluth. "And what is that creature with you?" Oluth looked down at me, his dark red eyes staring unblinkingly into my own. "He is my slave and as my property is under my protection." The chief nodded and waived his hand, dismissing us. Oluth stepped backwards five steps before finally turning his back on the chief. It was a respectable distance. I however did not move. I was still staring up at where Oluth had been moments before. I could feel my heart beating it's way out of my chest and my knees turning to jelly. It took a barking order from Oluth to get me moving. I was in no better shape outside. I was a slave. This had not been intended.

Society of the Tribal Minotaur: Chapter Three

We were there for nearly seven years. I am ashamed to say, that I fell into my new role fairly easily. Oluth was a kind master. For the longest time, I convinced myself it was an act. That I was merely playing a role, and Oluth playing along to keep me safe since without his protection another minotaur might claim me. The illusion did not last as long as I would have hoped. I can not bring myself to detail the moment that my place became clear. It is too damning to what little pride I still have in myself to share them with the world. Only know that it happened and that it was not the worst thing to ever happen in my life.

For the most part, my life was somewhat routine, or at least, it became that way. Some of my routine chores were... distasteful, at first. Oluth managed to procure from Chief Long Horn the rights to every other minotaur that perished in the village. The cost of which was never made entirely clear to me. Many cultures would find this practice repugnant, but the minotaur are a very pragmatic culture. They find no solace in death. Their species is a cursed one in their eyes. Poseidon's grudge would follow them until the very last day of the very last minotaur. To them, his meant that no matter how many rites or prayers were performed, their dead would find that their only resting place was in Hades. I would come to find out later that this also meant that most minotaur staunchly refuse to voyage onto the sea, as any expedition onto the waves was doomed to failure. And so in order that their deaths not be entirely senseless, they bury their dead among their tree farms to better fertilize their crop. Oluth somehow convinced the chief to give him every other body, rather than bury it.

. . .