Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The Veldt

Blackthorn's tail switches idly across the backs of her hind legs as she listens to Knollstomp's response, and she gives him a little nod in response to his own when he finishes his instructions. "That might work," she says, thinking over his suggestion about the plant roots while she continues popping tubers off the stalks in her basket. "We'll look for those. The scouts might keep a lookout on their way, too," she adds, glancing over at Grizzlehide. East--it has been a while since they've been on the eastern Veldt, hasn't it? She hopes they find something.

For a good battle, right. A small smile crosses Blackthorn's face at Grizzlehide's question. Some of the warriors are genuinely uninterested in the herd's stories (and plenty, of course, are a little too devoted to them, bound up in the glory and missing the allegory), but she's always felt that Grizzlehide appreciates both their appeal and their value. The latter of which he outlines in his next words. She flicks an ear at Doak's sulky answer, then looks back at Grizzlehide. "It is time for a storytelling," she agrees, flipping through the more relevant tales in her head. "Maybe the song of Blueflower and the hunt for the green river. It'll give the foals an idea of how the move might go, and it's got a good strong chorus." There'll be high-pitched voices butchering it all over camp for the next few days, but that'll help them remember the important parts a bit better.

Doak watched Blackthorn's exchange with the other male. He can sense her distaste for him, but he is used to it as all the other had to get used to his foreignness as well. It did not bother him, however. Truth be told her sourness toward him only served to make him avoid her, which was probably her intent. However, he was cowed by Knollstomp and he felt this group was speaking over his head anyhow. He was still too new to the herd's dynamic to fully understand. Besides, it seemed that all of these centaurs had grown up together, or at least knew each other for a rather long time period.

Doak was young. And he had come to this herd from another far north. However, when his birth herd had disbanded it was largely due to lack of food and poor weather conditions in the changing climate. He got to his hooves and shook his hind end free of dirt, flicking his tail as well. The diminutive stallion then gave a small nod to excuse himself and took Knollstomp's advice: He would go back out and look again for food.

"Blueflower, you say?" Grizzlehide's ears twitch as he raises his eyebrow in contemplation, "I can't say I've heard that one... Of course, I'm not so sure if I will be able to make it tonight, what with all the training and such." As he speaks, he shifts his eyes away from Blackthorn, knowing full-well that he will be there to hear her story; he cannot help but twitch nervously in moments like these. He then turns to Knollstomp, shifting his stance from guarded, but casual to ready and upright - no longer uncomfortable .

"Either way, my chieftain,I am a bit concerned about our warriors' training. Since we have had no real wars in so long, there are quite a few who have never seen combat. All of their experience is with blunted sticks as spears and trees as enemies. I fear they take too much time hunting, when that is not their job. I am aware of the necessity, but It has been a long while since we were last attacked, and I can't help but feel it won't last much longer." As he finishes, he lets out a snort and strokes his beard, wondering how Knollstomp feels about this.

"Look at me when you talk and stand up straight," Knollstomp says immediately after Doak finishes. "You are no less proud than the rest of us, even if you are a foreigner." He snorts. "And don't pout; it's unbecoming. And where are you going? I want you to hear the storytelling tonight. Since you weren't foaled with us, you have a lot of catching up to do..." He gives the younger stallion a wary and pointed look: it's clear the chieftain doesn't really want him running off again alone, especially with night soon to be falling.

That said, he returns his attention to the elders, folding his arms in thought and letting them converse. East... he was born when the herd was far in the east, and he has vague memories of its thick redwood forests, thicker and larger than any small copse or thicket the plains would offer him. "I am intrigued to know what they find out, Grizzlehide. Keep me informed." But at the old warrior's concern over training, Knollstomp can't help but laugh. "You are like my father! They will be fine... you know we need them looking for food in these sparse times." After speaking, however, he chews his lip nervously, but only for a moment.

"I am looking forward to the storytelling, Blackthorn. I do enjoy that one... I will do my best to gather the herd." He looks over at Nightwind, "Would you assist me in informing everyone?"

( I think I got replies to everything in there! )

Doak was tired of being admonished and nodded when he was spoken to again. He felt foolish for being constantly scolded in front of the elder centaurs. He trotted off when Knollstomp was done belittling him and made for his bed area. He would still go out into the wilds for a while to see what he might be able to find to cheer up his adoptive Chieftain. He just had to make sure he would be back in time for the storytelling. He did like the stories, but it was hard to stay still long enough to hear them when he hadn't been on a proper hunt for so long.

Unnoticed by his mates, he slipped off into the wilderness, spear in hand.

Stalking the scrawny young wildebeest along the steep bank of the stream had blended quite seamlessly into chasing the creature, which was really what she had wanted to do anyway. The gnu had a broken horn, nearly ever rib in his body showing and was pawing fruitlessly at the drying stream with one large hoof. The crackle of grass underhoof had alerted it to Stargrass' presence. Its head had shot up and it had leaped for the far bank, the eager would-be huntress right behind it, prodding its angular haunches with her spear. And what a fantastic place to give chase! The grass whispers against her flanks as she churns after the gnu, ragged tail a merry banner behind her. She goes wide to cut the gnu off and drive it in the opposite direction, driving into the ground with her forelegs when the animal would show opposition to her idea. She draws even with the creature, being presented with every opportunity to deliver the killing blow, but instead gives a light tap of the spear-butt to the gnu's ribs. The animal bellows and puts forth a fresh burst of speed, causing Stargrass to grin wildly and race after it in clear abandon of any attempt at a hunt. She's chasing it for the fun of chasing it. As they leap through grass and kick up clouds of seedpods and small insects, the forms of several of her kinsman can be seen in the distance.

The gnu's nostrils widen as he smells more centaurs up ahead, but the insistence that he keep going spurs him forward. Blithely careening after him, Stargrass is oblivious to the tense, impassioned discussion about the fate of the herd. She matches the wildebeest's stride with her own for a moment, and then races on ahead, laughing gleefully into the wind at the cleverness of the contest she has spontaneously invented. However, as she pulls away from him, the gnu wheels away and runs frantically toward a small clump of trees, his direction no longer governed by a frightening, pointy stick. Winded, Stargrass slows to a trot and her ears begin to catch a bit of what is being said. Her trot turns to a slow, slow walk, and then to a close approximation of a slink as more comprehension arrives. Doak leaves with his spear to search for something to hunt. Perhaps none of them had seen that she had HAD a hunt, and had tossed it away. Perhaps. But her eyes roll nervously over to Blackthorn, for she knows that Blackthorn sees EVERYTHING. Mustering her courage, she trots the rest of the way to where the herd is gathering. "There is still food to be had! I...there is a gnu, who is gaunt and broken-horned. I saw him at the stream bed. He ran to the trees!"

Doak had of course herd the younger centaur's cries of a hunt and he took the opportunity to be the first on the scene. He picked up relatively where Stargrass had left off, finding the terrified beast in the huddle of trees. The fjord had slowed to a trained crawl, moving enough to advance, but not too fast to startle. He was more used to hunting in snowy conditions where his hoof beats were softened and therefore harder to detect. This gnu looked as if it would kill itself if he just waited. The thing was breathing so heavily and seemed about to pass out from shock. It also looked hungry, a feeling Doak could sympathize with as his stomach was rebelling against the meager amount of food it had recently received. He was used to eating mostly vegetation and the lack of hunt-able food was not causing him to starve, yet at the same time he did not want to take more than his share of gathered food.

He was moving in for the kill now, spear raised at his side, opposite arm out for aiming purposes. His muscles tightened and his arm rolled back to build momentum, but as he was about to release and get the kill, a dark form got it first. The poor gnu was overtaken by a shaggy, mossy body. The centaur's eyes went wide as his ears flattened against his skull. The creature was massive, almost as tall as the shorter Doak and covered in a mat of thick fur over nothing but muscle. It face resembled a dire wolf's but the snout was shorter and the teeth larger, the paws almost as large as it's face. Doak did not stay and wait for the thing to notice him. His patched tail could be seen fleeing the scene at top speed back to the campsite, clearly spooked but determined.

"WARG!" He tromped right into the band of elders he'd been admonished by before, having to circle aroudn them for he was moving to fast to stop in time. He hadn't looked behind him either to see if the thing had left its kill for something more succulant. "Warg..." he huffed, bending his human half over in near exhaustion. "In de trees, gotenmy kill..." In his harried state his accent started to come out thicker.

Knollstomp watches Doak go with the same strange expression on his face. He crosses his arms over his dark chest and bows his head for a moment, eyes locked on the dusty ground. He realizes how tired he is--it is late afternoon and the sun is heading for its bed in the western Veldt. Its rays seem all the more potent at this time, though the chieftain finds them pleasant today, like nestling under a thick mammoth-hide blanket in the middle of winter. He entertains a memory of his younger self, nestled against his dam's warm flank with the redwood trees standing tall all around them, the thick, coarse mammoth fur weighing him down into sleep.

Stargrass' voice forces him out of the daydream. At first his stomach floods with dread (for whenever anyone comes shouting as of late it's been bad news), but when the filly's words register, his ears perk and he can't help but inhale sharply. He is bbout to issue a command for the hunters to go to arms (though it would be a bit of extra procession, he wants to be sure they get the beast) when Doak charges up again. Knollstomp's brow furrows in scorn until he hears the young stallion speak. "Warg! To arms! Grizzlehide, assemble your best and figure out how to stage the attack! Blackthorn, tell the warriors guarding the new dams to tighten their line! You, filly--I have forgotten your name I fear," he adds, pointing to Stargrass, "fetch my spear in the largest tent! Get the shield, too!" His ears flick back at the sudden sound from outside the camp--the warg's ghastly, brutish howl. The dun's jaw sets in a firm, determined scowl. He addresses Doak, though his eyes are fixed on the spot the howl had come from. "You saw just one, Doak?" He waits for Stargrass though he is nearly on the tips of his black hooves, eager to rush forth but knowing he has to wait for his weapon.

"Perhaps I spoke to soon!" Grizzlehide shouts to Knollstomp, looking over his shoulder as he begins his stride towards the training grounds. Faster and faster he sprints, his hair flying behind him like a war banner in its own right, as if a manifestation of his sense of urgency. War is no game for Grizzlehide; while he is jovial and easygoing in peace-time, he knows a battle is nothing to take lightly.

His soldiers are all practicing spear-fighting techniques when he arrives. The few experienced warriors are teaching those who have yet to know combat; they immediately sense something is wrong before Grizzlehide even speaks - his gait alone tells them there is danger. "Warg in the Veldt!" He shouts, gesturing its direction with his arm. "Give me a spear," he grunts, wheeling himself around to face the enemy across the fields, "Stonemane, take Bloddclaw and these recruits around the right flank. Oaktail, Bonesnap, and Scarcloud - go to Knollstomp and the elders - keep them safe. I will flush the beasts out."

"THEM!?" cries a young recruit, no more than 16 winters old, "I thought there was only one!"

"Wargs never fight alone, young one," Grizzlehide replies calmly, "the rest cannot be far off." He grasps a spear lobbed to him by his old friend Oaktail. "Listen to Stonemane and you will be safe, recruits... FOR MARSHTREAD!" He holds his spear high above him, leading his fellow warriors across the fields. He does not particularly want to fight tonight, but this is his element, this is all he knows... his soldiers need him. The tribe itself needs him - he knows his duty.

Relieved and frightened in the same breath, Stargrass' flightiness lends speed to her hooves as she shies sideways for a pace and then dashes away for Knollstomp's spear. Nearly crashing headlong into the tent, she slows to a nervous walk, her hind end skittering uncertainly as she steels herself for action. Gathering both the spear and the shield, she turns and races back, her gait unbalanced by the heavy, sturdy spear and staunch shield. She respectfully hands the spear to her Chieftain, and the shield after, but something about the back of it causes her to frown. "Take care, sir," she says almost nervously, ears swiveling forward as she points to a thin structural crack on the inside of the shield. "If you take a hit in just such a way, it'll for sure buckle into you. Been hittin' it with maces?"

Stargrass in one breath realizes she has forgotten herself in the presence of the Chieftain, and has also channeled her father to quite an embarrassing degree. Stepping back a few paces, she swishes her tail nervously and tries to allow the relief at not being caught in games outweigh the anxiety of facing an enemy. Unsure where she herself falls in the category, she reflexively takes her ax from its holder and clutches it, feeling as though she ought look ready for any other task she might be put to.

"Only one that I saw," he had caught his breath and was circling nervously as Knollstomp gave out orders. They all knew Wargs did not travel alone unless sick or possibly insane. Even then, their stronger brethren usually took advantage and ate them. They were a despicable species, but they were also good at it. No doubt the creature's questing nostrils had picked up the fjord's scent and followed it.

The howl cut tension like a knife as his brethren prepared for battle. The lone beast had clearly signaled for his pack of miscreants and were likely moving in on the centaur's camp. Doak's heart raced. He was a hunter and could wield a weapon on unsuspecting prey, but he wasn't sure how well he could hold the defenses if the others failed. He pranced in place by the Chieftain, unsure of his next move as his keen eyes caught the sight of gargantuan Warg bodies breaking the edge of the treeline. There were at least six that he could count, his eyes wild with fear.

Knollstomp half-turns to face Stargrass and takes his spear hastily. "Ah, thank you..." He trails off when she comments on the shield, however, and an incredulous look passes over his face. Too stunned to speak, his eyes belatedly follow her gesture, though he must pull it closer to his eyes to see what she's pointing at. His eyes go wide when he finally notices it. He looks thoughtfully between her and the shield a few times as he snugs it onto his arm. "You," he decides, "are Rainstealer's filly. No, you are not in trouble. Thank you for the warning, though do ward your tongue in the future. And," he adds, quite firmly, "you will put that ax away immediately. Gather up the foals who are still wandering and bring them to the center of the camp for protection."

The chieftain is still fingering his shield as he listens to Doak, nodding to the younger stallion after, though his eyes lock upon the horizon. "Will you raise arms with us, Doak? Though their flesh is rangy and foul, they are still edible, and you are a hunter." Hazel eyes turn and fix upon Doak's blue ones, shimmering and wild with anticipation. "Come on!"

With that, he rears and brays an ancient, primal war call that mimic's Grizzlehide's. His dark hooves claw at the air. "For the herd! Charge!" As he hits the ground he leaps forward and charges toward the thin trees that the wargs were appearing from. The pack is decent sized, a full six of the huge and hated beasts, but they have overcome mightier adversaries before. True, they were better fed then... as the chieftain thunders through patches of waist-high grass and dodges craggy outcroppings, he pushes these thoughts from his mind and concentrates on the spear in his hand. He is vaguely aware of Grizzlehide's warriors flanking him, the sun beating on his back, the rough haft of his father's spear, and the scolding he's sure to get from Blackthorn for risking his neck like this. The wargs are charging in a V formation towards the herd's warriors, a particularly large smoke-furred beast leading them... though he notices a scrawnier one at the rear, as well.

He had never fought one of these creatures before, and the whites of his eyes were visible all around the blue. He shied away when Knollstomp's attention was diverted but he knew he had to steel himself. He could not fail in the herd's moment of need. They had accepted him into this herd without too much questioning; they could probably exile him just as easily if he didn't perform in this crisis. His molted hooves dug into the soft ground as he pranced and debated on how to proceed. It was true that these things could be eaten. but frankly he wasn't sure why they would want to eat such ugly meat.

The warriors and the chieftain had just made contact with the head of the V and fighting erupted in the field. Doak took a deep breath, pawed a final nervous rut in the ground and began his own charge. He did not scream out a battle cry, nor head directly for the battle. Instead, he made an arc around the side of the fray and shot his spear into the side of one the flanking beasts. He completed his run and pulled an axe free of another warg who was still moving to his amazement and he was soon lost in the heat of battle.

His troops make it into the fray as Grizzlehide gallops around the left flank at a wide arc all alone. His seasoned warriors join the battle just as planned - with Oaktail and Scarcloud defending the elders, while Bonesnap fights alongside Knollstomp. Stonemane and Bloodclaw indeed strike the right flank, immediately slaying one of the foul beasts at the side of the "V" formation. Stonemane strikes first, piercing it just where the back leg meets the body, severing the tendons and making it stumble in the grass. Then comes Bloodclaw's swift spear, it plunges into the writhing beast's skull without hesitation - they know what dangers these creatures pose if shown any mercy. The young recruits stay back a little, scared to enter the fray but also afraid to show their fear in front of the chieftain.

A few moments later, Grizzlehide comes charging from behind the pack. He readies his spear to strike at the smallest one since it is closest to him, but just as he leans forward to thrust at it, it squirms between his legs and disappears behind him. He shouts to the reluctant recruits, who were watching his every move and saw exactly what had happened. "Kill it!" he yells, gesturing for them to hunt down the supposedly fleeing warg. Grizzlehide then sprints to catch up to the battle, spear at the ready to strike at his next opportunity.

Knollstomp meets the wargs like a thunderclap. He leaves the giant grey to the more skilled warriors and instead plunges his spear into a blonde female's shoulder, causing her to froth and snarl and shriek like a thing possessed. The combined momentum of the two beasts leads the spear to become stuck feet deep in the warg's flesh. For half an instant, the chieftain's mind blazes with thrill and joy and glory--the stab was deep and assuredly fatal!--until he realizes that the warg isn't stopping. He brays in terror as he is nearly overcome by her, like he was nearly overcome by a playful Doak just a pleasant hour before... and he dodges in the same manner, rearing onto his hind hooves and kicking his fores at the beast as she barrels by, his spear embedded in her shoulder. He manages a good, solid stomp to her back ankle until she is lost in the fray.

Now weaponless, the stallion returns to all fours and dances for a moment. He yanks a hunting knife from his belt and begins another charge in the direction of the wargs' flanks. He notices that several other warriors were also passed by, and he waves to them, gathering them in a knot of hooves and streaming tails. The wargs' spearhead has dissolved into a lumbering and bloody mess, so Knollstomp feels a grim sense of satisfaction as he leads his own into their rear!

Given her aging eyes and the distance at which Stargrass had played with the gnu, Blackthorn hadn't been able to see the young mare's playful and insincere chase of the gnu. The way Stargrass slinks up to the group, though, certainly catches Blackthorn's eye. That's guilt in that walk--confirmed when Stargrass rolls her eyes nervously at Blackthorn. She turns a stern look Stargrass' way, on principle, and determines to catch her alone as soon as possible. That relatively minor affair, however, is quickly eclipsed when Doak reappears, babbling about a Warg.

She nods sharply at Knollstomp's order, pausing only a moment to watch the others begin to respond before turning and trotting towards the closest of the dam-guards. He's near enough that she can keep one ear on the goings-on of Knollstomp and the warriors. "There's Wargs in the Veldt," she tells him. "You're to tighten your line and keep a heavy guard." He nods, turns, and shouts to the two on either side of him, and she sees the loose circle begin to tighten, closing in and becoming smaller as they move close enough to each other to provide support and some who had been taking breaks hurrying back.

Leaving them to their duties, Blackthorn rears up, forefeet milling in the air as she uses the extra height to look around the camp. The gatherers are rushing arms to their warrior kin, or hastening to the circle for their own protection; one or two who hunt or scout as well are arming themselves and joining the camp-guards. Well enough. She hears Knollstomp's order to Stargrass and flicks her ears in an acknowledgement that he won't even see, then shoulders past two of the circle-guards to step in among the dams. They and their foals are restless, understandably frightened by the uproar; the foals don't know what's going on, but they're all skittish, and their dams do understand too well what danger Wargs can pose at a time of encroaching famine. Once she's sure they've got all the foals, she might do well to distract everyone with a story. Or tug Stargrass' ears for that guilty look earlier.


((I am sorry for taking so long to reply. I'll be faster from now on, I promise!))

His speared warg rounded on him almost immediately. After lifting the axe off the other beast, it was all Doak could do to get out of the way of gnashing jaws. He tucked to the side and balanced himself on his fore hooves in order to kick the beast with his back ones. The edges of his sharp hooves cut into the beast's ribcage opposite the embedded spear. Apparently, this was not enough to put the thing down. As he kicked, the warg caught some of his tail hair and pulled. Doak was knocked off balance and landed flank first in the mud. He scrambled to get back on his hooves as the beast recovered and closed in on him. Blood dribbled from his maw due to internal bleeding, but the warg was intensely interesting in how Doak might taste. The fjord, however was not. He got to his hooves and with a burst of power leapt away from becoming a couple pounds lighter in his rear. Giant fangs caught the skin of his rump and caused a wound, but it was not fatal. He ran as fast as he could to where he had somehow dropped the axe and as his adversary closed in again, Doak reared in challenge.

The warg accepted and lunged at his softer under belly, but Doak was too quick. He came down on the beast's skull with his hooves and for good measure, embedded the axe between its eyes.