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Post by Strider on Feb 28, 2011 3:17:13 GMT -5
His tongue slithered out from between his lips, tasting the air as he whipped it around in a circle. It was early morning, and the mists hadn't yet been burned off by the breaking of dawn. But, by all accounts, this was perfectly alright with him. The lizard sucked back in his tongue with a sinister grin. The marshes were a mystery to everyone except he. He had earned his place amongst the bogs and sudden drops; through trial and error, he had become the king. It was a self-title that he both treasured and protected. The rusty smell of fresh blood leaked into his nostrils, and, in a bored fashion, he turned and looked at the mangled remains of what had been his breakfast. It was his own little reward to himself -- keeping one step ahead of the marshes, even after all these years, wasn't easy. Snorting in disgust, the green-scaled lizard kicked the small bird carcass into the bog, where eventually it would be swallowed up and disappear. Flexing his claws, the lizard bent down low, then proceeded to leap high into the air. Grabbing onto the tree branch he had been aiming for, he pulled himself up until his chin was above it; then, he slowly lowered himself. Repeating the pull-ups, Jax Greenscale continued his morning workout. For, as the self-proclaimed king of the marshes, one could never be too careful.
OOC: VERY rough, sorry about that! |
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Post by Lucan on Mar 3, 2011 12:27:31 GMT -5
Sluagh carefully brushed an overhanging branch aside and hunkered in the shadow of a tree, casting a sweeping gaze over his surroundings. The white patches of his pelt around the muzzle, paws, and underbelly had been painted a uniform hue of brown that blended with the rest of his fur. Combined with the dark green cloak worn by the ferret, this created effective camouflage against most types of terrain, and this dark, overgrown bog was no exception.
"How ye holdin' up with the map back there?" the ferret addressed his only companion in an undertone. Ryfar had decided that it was best for two of his followers to be sent on this scouting mission into the marshes. One beast was apt to run into too much trouble than could be handled on his own; three or more were likely to cause too great a racket. It was no secret that Sluagh had been chosen for his efficiency and experience. Egger, on the other hand, had been chosen to provide the muscle, as well as his map-making skills. Meagre though they might be, they were more than the rest of the vermin in Ryfar's band had, apart maybe for the more high-ranking officers, who were too important, apparently, to be sent on as menial a task as this.
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Post by aurethius on Mar 3, 2011 12:53:10 GMT -5
Egger picks at his teeth with his chisel, flecking out a small hunk of old fishbone that had stuck up in there. It wasn't the first time his chisel had doubled as a toothpick... Or a backscratcher, or as an ear-cleaner, or as a fire-poker.
"It's actually goin pretty well Sir." he responds, and it was. In a marsh, the landscape changed almost daily. Rains would slough away hills, streams would be replaced overnight, tufts of grass would die and be subsumed... But some things remained the same, serving as recognizable terrain features. The tree that Sluagh had just passed under, for instance, looked solid enough. There was a rotten log that appeared to be able to last for at least a week. A boulder to their far left had moss all over it...
It helped that Egger had personal reasons for wanting to map out the outer edges of the Marshlands. Secretly, he was an avid Mycologist, though he had no idea what that term meant, and just thought of it as "I like those smelly, lumpy things what grows on dead stuff." Out here in the marshes, there were fungal species he had yet to pick and try out. He displays his piece of bark to his superior officer, displaying a decently-crafted imitation of the various trees and rocks.
"I've got most everythin' I can on here, I guess. I still can't shake the 'spookies' though Sir. This place is... creepy."
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