Man & Dog Log (Armageddon MUD)
This log was provided and recorded from the perspective of the Armaggedon MUD character, Seeker Tallis Keshmar of Irofel. Rune's character was Apprentice Flaire of Konviwedu, and this was likely one of his favorite roleplay scenes of all times.
----Log Introduction---- This event happened prior to the closure of play of Tuluk. At this time quite a bit was happening around the city, including people being rounded up off of the streets and taken. The two actors, Seeker Tallis Keshmar of Irofel and Apprentice Flaire of Konviwedu, were almost rounded up, only to be saved by their patron (and in Flaire's case, employer) Chosen Lord Rhodran Winrothol. Tallis convinced Flaire to stay in the city and to go through with the play. The play itself was composed many years before, around the time of the Copper War, by Chosen Lord Cammul Tenneshi. It was intended to highlight the cultural differences between Tuluki and Allanaki (and indeed, the supriority of the northerners). Please note that the log has been edited for flow, including taking out Tallis' instructive comments on stage direction, and the changing of one outfit to another, so the reader can better appreciate the play itself. Enjoy! ----Log: Man and Dog---- Chubby and modestly plump, this woman's form lends itself to generous, full-figured curves. She possesses an ample, voluptuous bosom and wide, curving hips; both strong features of a figure that would never be described as hourglass. Her zaftig waist is a contrast to those which are more petite, suggesting at a well-off, comfortable lifestyle. Those same soft curves are also evident in her arms and legs, the length of the latter nothing impressive, leading to a height that is average at best. Her fair-hued skin lacks any real tan or wear from weather, a clear sign of not much time spent out under a harsh sun. Naturally curly, her golden blonde hair is typically kept at a length where it forms the occasional small ringlet on its tumble down to just brush her shoulders, often covering her rounded ears. Framed by those flaxen curls, her cherubic face is composed of a set of similarly hued brows, a pair of plain, unremarkable brown eyes, a button nose with a slight upturn at the end, and a pair of expressive lips prone to causing dimples. Her ample form is flattered by the comfortable fit of the smooth, jade silk of her dress. The glass beads sparkle in the light, catching the eye, while the hand-painted swirling pattern draws it over her form. Her blonde curls have been done up into a fashionable bun. The chubby, full-figured blonde is in excellent condition.a coiling, emerald-adorned ivory ear cuff a coiling, emerald-adorned ivory ear cuff an emerald-studded leather choker a blue and purple inked band a vibrantly-colored, leather-bound instrument case two horizontally interlocking red circles a tattoo of a six-pronged star a finely crafted mandolin a shell-plated, agafari strap-sheath a pouched white silk belt a hand-painted, glass-beaded dress a jade, plated chitin anklet a pair of soft grey silk boots On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [N, E, S, W] A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling, grass-filled plain. The backdrop has been painted with vibrant tones, the grasses a russet red and dusky green. The sky glows a subdued red above the portrait of rolling grasses, with a faint smudge or two against the sky suggesting some bird of prey or kylori, aloft in the distance. The stage planks have been covered with broad strips of red and green canvas, rocks, and potted plants native to the region. From slender, silvery ropes, seperate from the backdrop itself, vibrant depictions of Lirathu and Jihae hang from the catwalks above the stage, huge against the painted sky. A round hunk of dark stone has been left in the dust. The chubby, full-figured blonde's fingers move across your finely crafted mandolin's strings, deftly plucking out a relaxing melody, to he heard across the theatre, soothing and simple. It serves as a nice backdrop, as people in the audience continue to find their seats. Finally, the music winds down, and the chubby, full-figured blonde plucks the final note, letting it hang in the air. After the last musical note fades, stepping forwards and raising your voice to project across the theatre, you recite, in sirihish: "Two men, destined to die-- As all men someday shall. Meet, per chance, amidst red sands 'Neath Krath and barren sky." Looking out across the audience, you recite, in sirihish: "Soldiers, both, of warring states-- From their armies, now lost, Resign to talk instead of fight, their inhibitions, windward tossed." Striding off the stage with a swish of silk and shimmer of beads, you walk east. Stage Right [S, W, U, Save] A sweep of blue velvet frames this small antechamber to the right side of the stage, the heavy folds of the sumptuous cloth creating a dim, stifling atmosphere, along with the many crates and racks that occupy the space, every inch of it utilized as storage. Backstage stretches further to the south, the shadowy recesses appearing crammed by as much oddly-shaped clutter as possible. The end of a rope ladder dangles to the far east of the enclosure, providing a means to access the catwalk above. A hand-sized chunk of dark stone lies on the ground here. A tortoiseshell and thornwood music rest sits in the corner. On the Stage, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok has arrived from the west, with a hunched posture. On the Stage, as he obscenely scratches his crotch, his touseled gortok mask looking everywhere as if looking for something, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in sirihish: "Drov be damned! Sands as red and hot as the inside of a kank's arse!" On the Stage, his masked eyes fixed on the would-be audience as he maintains a hunched, brutish posture, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in sirihish: "An accurate analogy I assure you, for I've known the inside of many a kank. Tis only natural." [OOC NOTE: Kanks are, of course, very much extinct by this time. When the play was orginally read to Flaire and Tallis, it was suggested that they switch out kank for inix, however it was kept the same for a variety of reasons.] On the Stage, drawling each word, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in sirihish: "A man sometimes tires of women, just as he tires of war...Which is of course why I'm stranded here. My battalion, two hundred strong, was ambushed by a dispatch of -twenty- enemy soldiers." On the Stage, with a graceless wave of his left hand, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in sirihish: "Like fire they spread through our ranks, tearing our formations and casting my comrades to the ground. Rather than fight such a hopeless battle, I fled!" On the Stage, opening both of his arms as he projects his strident, brutish voice and then digs his thumb on his inky-black leather vest, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in sirihish: "Highlord be damned! All I care about is my own hide!" On the Stage, maintaining his beast-like posture as he taps his chest loudly, taking a step towards the audience, his dumb voice properly projected, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in sirihish: "I am a coward, to tell the truth. But at least I'm numbered among the living!" On the Stage, The stage is for some moment filled with silence as the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok's head continues to look around, his gait graceless as he takes a few steps around, suddenly his eyes stop at something to the east. On the Stage, The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok startles several steps back and emits an epicene bark, tripping and falling on four legs like a dog! On the Stage, as he continues to boggle to the left of the stage on all four like a dog, shouting in complete panic, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "What's that in the distance atop yonder dune! A Legionnaire of Muk Utep! Oh no, oh no, oh no! I'm finished!" On the Stage, As he remains on the floor like a dog, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok covers his head with both of his hands, the shaggy hair of his mask filtering through his fingers. On the Stage, raising his head as he remains on all four, sitting like a dog with his bottom on the floor, his gortok-masked eyes pointing to the audience, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in southern-accented sirihish: "Unless... Yes, unless I lay an ambush." On the Stage, in a loud stage whisper, pronouncing each word slowly, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "I shall blend with these very dunes...And when he passes unsuspectingly, I'll stab at his back! Ha ha!" On the Stage, Quickly jumping up and assuming a stout-like, hunched position, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok rigidly laces his hands around dagger and rears it on top of his head. [OOC NOTE: Tallis has gone off to change from her presentation outfit into her outfit of a Legionnaire of the Sun King] Chubby and modestly plump, this woman's form lends itself to generous, full-figured curves. She possesses an ample, voluptuous bosom and wide, curving hips; both strong features of a figure that would never be described as hourglass. Her zaftig waist is a contrast to those which are more petite, suggesting at a well-off, comfortable lifestyle. Those same soft curves are also evident in her arms and legs, the length of the latter nothing impressive, leading to a height that is average at best. Her fair-hued skin lacks any real tan or wear from weather, a clear sign of not much time spent out under a harsh sun. Naturally curly, her golden blonde hair is typically kept at a length where it forms the occasional small ringlet on its tumble down to just brush her shoulders, often covering her rounded ears. Framed by those flaxen curls, her cherubic face is composed of a set of similarly hued brows, a pair of plain, unremarkable brown eyes, a button nose with a slight upturn at the end, and a pair of expressive lips prone to causing dimples. The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory looks relatively fit. a sunburst-crested baobab helm an epicene mask of unblemished ivory a sunburst-crested wooden collar a blue and purple inked band a sunburst-emblazoned woodsplint vest a pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint sleeves a white tembo-hide bracer a white tembo-hide bracer a tattoo of a six-pronged star a shell-plated, agafari strap-sheath a pouched white silk belt a long, hooded red and white tabard a pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint leggings a pair of knee-high, tooled brown leather boots With an easy, elegant gate, armor an unblemished white to match the mask, a sun-emblazoned tabard prominantly displayed, you walk west. On A Broad, Sweeping Stage [N, E, S, W] A great deal of labor appears to have gone into making this stage appear to resemble a picturesque scene in the middle of a rolling, grass-filled plain. The backdrop has been painted with vibrant tones, the grasses a russet red and dusky green. The sky glows a subdued red above the portrait of rolling grasses, with a faint smudge or two against the sky suggesting some bird of prey or kylori, aloft in the distance. The stage planks have been covered with broad strips of red and green canvas, rocks, and potted plants native to the region. From slender, silvery ropes, seperate from the backdrop itself, vibrant depictions of Lirathu and Jihae hang from the catwalks above the stage, huge against the painted sky. A round hunk of dark stone has been left in the dust. The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok is standing here. - he is carrying a sizeable leather backpack. Walking with that graceful, effortless stride, the female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory moves a few paces onto the stage, before pausing to stare directly at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok. You look up at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok. The man you are looking at is tall, thin, has blond hair and is relatively young. His face is diamond-shaped with his chin forming a straight line across his mandible. His eyes have a strange pigment, a mix of hazel and gold. His short blond hair is styled in some sort of short pompadour, with the edges combed around the ears. His stubble beard is charmingly groomed and maintained. The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok is in excellent condition. The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok is using: an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok an inky-black leather collar an inky-black leather vest a tattoo of two crossed scimitars a pair of inky-black leather sleeves an inky-black leather bracer an inky-black leather bracer a pair of inky-black leather gloves a black-trimmed, pouched dark green belt a blossom-clasped brown belt-pouch a vicious claw longknife a black, hooded militia dustcloak a pair of inky-black leather leggings a new pair of high, snug black boots The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok remains dune-like, his obsidian knife erected on top of his hunched, brutish figure. After staring a moment, the female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory resumes walking, moving in a slow circle around the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, looking him up and down, before coming again to the front of the stage. Greatly bemused as you looks right at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, you ask, in sirihish: "What in Krath's name are you doing with your arms stiff, pointing at the sky like a buffoon?" As he stands hunched, with his obsidian knife on top of his masked, tangle-haired head, articulating each word with brutish slowness, his eyes looking elsewhere, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "You speak to no-one, sir!" With a soft, derisive snort and shake of your head, you say, in sirihish: "No one /worth/ speaking to, I suppose. But the question stands." Flustering as he shakes his head, shooing you away, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "Nothing stands! Nothing but dunes in this desert! Pass along! Pass along!" Head once again tilting slightly to one side as you masculine visage faces the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, you ask, in sirihish: "Pass along? And what of that most conspicuous dagger? If I so decide to...Pass along...Will that dagger not find its way into my back?" As his hands still hold his obsidian knife on top of his gortok-masked head and his hunched shoulders, his inky-black leather vest covering his brutish posture, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in southern-accented sirihish: "No." Folding your arms easily across your sunburst-emblazoned woodsplint vest, you ask, in sirihish: "No?" Trembling his head sideways in negation as he remains rigid, his obsidian knife being held upright on top of his unbent and graceless body and masked features, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in southern-accented sirihish: "No..." Remarking idly, arms continuing to stay gracefully folded across your chest, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "A strange dune, the kind that talks." Impulsively replying, remaining rigid, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "They all talk!" Unfolding your arms and letting them drop casually to your sides, you say, in sirihish: "Is that so? Then it is safe for me to...Pass along...And I shall do just that." Resuming that graceful, effortless stride, the female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory walks directly past the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok and his dagger, until your back is presented as a tempting target, exposed and vulnerable. The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory smoothly turns and steps aside as the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok whoops, moving outside of the reach of his dagger, and sticking out a foot directly in his path. Tripping due to your obstructing foot, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok stops using his obsidian knife, as he falls to the ground with evident clumsiness. As it drops from his right hand due to his fall, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok drops his obsidian knife. Easily plucking it up, you pick up an obsidian knife. It is very light. Easily hefting your obsidian knife, you exclaim, in sirihish: "There... On all fours, like the dog that you are!" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok ungainly scuttles himself on all four, as he emits a well-projected gasp, noticing the knife on your hand. Curling your hand around it, you brandish your obsidian knife. With a quavering voice as he pathetically drops to a side like a dead dog, his gortok masked head looking up at you, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "Go on then! Run me through! Make it quick!" The smooth, carved perfection of your masculine face tilting at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok in momentary consideration, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I don't think I will..." Befuddled, still lying on the ground like a beast ready to be killed, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "What?" Easily, resting the dagger-wielding hand on your hip as you regards him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I said I don't think I will. You're a much more entertaining specimen alive then dead. I've seen my fair share of dead Southrons." The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "You're not going to kill me?" With an encompassing gesture at the bleakness of the stage, you say, in sirihish: "I figure since both of our deaths are inevitable in this vast waste, that I should derive a bit of enjoyment out of your stupidity before the birds come to pick at my bones." Drawling as he pronounces each word with brutish slowness, gracelessly waving his hand, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "Inferiority? Bah. I'll have you know if I held that dagger, I'd run you through! And I'd survive, eating your flesh till I found my way back to camp!" Tone dry, as you lifts your obsidian knife, giving it a toss, and catching it, you say, in sirihish: "And I'll have you know that you held this dagger not but a moment ago and managed to lose it in a pathetic display of cowardice and oafish haste." With an insisting tone, stomping his foot, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "I'd still have eaten you!" With a derisive snort, you say, in sirihish: "Of course--you're a barbarian! No better than the disgusting ankle-biters of the Grey." Rubbing the back of his head, the shaggy hair of his mask moving as he does so, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Ankle-biters?" Gesturing with your obsidian knife to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok's scarred, bloated-veined face, you say, in sirihish: "Creatures just a bit less homely than yourself." [OOC NOTE: A reference to halflings, which at the time the play was written, unhabited the Grey Forest. After the Deluge, they were later replaced by Kryl. The play was done with all of the original language.] Rolling his head as he falls to his knees, his inky-black leathered gloved hands pulling his hair as he suddenly raises his brutish voice, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Ohhhhhhh...Just kill me, damn you! Spare me your words, Northerner!" With a sigh, as you lifts your obsidian knife, pose subtly changing as you shifts into a combat stance, you say, in sirihish: "I suppose I will grant a dog its final wish..." Cowering as soon as you approaches him, lowering his gortok-masked face to kiss your boots, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Please, Sir! Please! Have mercy! I'm the lesser man! I'm the lesser man! I'll tell you anything! --" As he continues to kiss your boots submissively, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "I'm a coward and a crook! I'd sooner eat my own dung than a lavish meal! Let me live that I may entertain your curiosities about my savage ways!" Easing back with relaxed poise, stepping back to place your boots out of reach of the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok's offending lips, as it were, you say, in sirihish: "Very well." As his gortok-masked, tangle-haired face rises to look at you, his voice unpleasantly loud, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Thank you, Sir! Thank you!" Lifting a single finger as you regards the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, you say, in sirihish: "But there is one thing you must do for me." Pleading as he remains on four like a dog, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "What is it? I'll do anything!" Lifting your chin fractionally as you looks down at him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Admit that you're a dog and not a man." Feeling distracted, you think: "I'm wearing a silk belt, that's awkward for this part." Shaking his head from side to side as he clambers to his feet and assumes a hunched stance, pushing himself with his hands, almost failing, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "That I shall not do! I am no dog! I am a proud man of the South!" You think: "I don't think anyone will notice." [OOC NOTE: I believe the belt was silk because we couldn't find a good belt that would let you sheath things, in time for the play. Nobody ever commented on it.] Looking at him for a long moment, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Very well." His voice once again filling with fear as he looks up at you, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Are you going to kill me then?" With a gentle shake of your head, ivory gleaming in the light of the stage, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "No. Because I am a civilized man, I'm going to prove to you that you are in fact more dog than man." You sheathe an obsidian knife. With an encompassing gesture at the stage, with the backdrop of crimson sky and red sands, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "It shall be my last victory before the sands bury us both." Growling as he carelessly waves both hands in complaint, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Alright! I'll play this game of yours, Northerner. But I assure you, I am no dog!" With a pointed wave of a hand in front of your face, as if trying to banish a foul reek, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Why then do you stink as one?" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: ">All< Allanaki men smell as I do! It is how we attract our mates! They know us by our very distinctive reek." Skeptical at best, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You have a woman? You're an abhorrence to the ocular sense... And the olfactory." Pointing to himself, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Aye. I have a woman. Although she's no more pleasant than these... Winds." Gesturing around ungraciously with both hands, his tone brutish and blunt, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Gritty, harsh and twice as loud. Good to fuck though." Mask unchanging, but voice giving the distinct impression that if it wasn't carved of bone, it would be showing a grimace, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Oh horror... *You* /Copulate/?" Nodding his tangle-haired head firmly as he gestures a sweeping motion with his left hand, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Aye! it is my nature! As with any man or beast!" You ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Ah! Then you admit it?" Tilting his head to a side, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Admit what?" Chin tilting up fractionally, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "That you are indeed a beast and not a man as you so fallaciously claim!" Lifting his head a bit as if pondering something, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Well...One could argue all men are beasts." With a soft snort and shake of your head, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "One southern dog perhaps. No man of /Northern/ blood bears semblance to any beast." Stomping his left foot with annoyance, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "I am no dog!" The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory pauses a moment, tapping the lower lip of your carved, masculine features in thought, as you looks the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok over. You ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "How do you take your mate?" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Why do you ask such a question?" With an easy rolling shrug of your shoulders, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Curiosity, of course. How do you take your mate?" Proudly tapping his bum, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "From behind, of course." Triumphantly, snapping and pointing at him, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Ha! Like a dog!" Sighing as he shakes his head, insisting, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "No! It is a practical method!" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok approaches the audience as if to monologue, pride visible in his brutish movement. As he continues to drawl his speech, gesturing to the teeth of his gortok mask with his fingers, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in southern-accented sirihish: "The Southern woman is simply too hideous to gaze upon. Her teeth are jagged and gnash when she grows excited." Gesturing from his mouth out as if something was coming out of it, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says, in southern-accented sirihish: "Her breath...Stinks of rotten meat. Her features...Bulge with brutish unsightliness. And thusly! She is taken from behind, where a man need not look upon her face." With a slow shake of your head, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I pity you..." Wryly, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Though I hadn't supposed a dog cared much about aesthetics." Waving both hands, puffing some air through his mouth loud enough for the audience to hear, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Bah! How then does a Northern Man take his woman, hmmmm?" You say, in sirihish: "Face to face so that he may admire every bit of her beauty. All Northern women are beautiful by comparison--even the 'sidless whores." With a surprised tone, tilting his head to a side, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Face to face! Does she not use her teeth to bite?" With a soft snort, and shake of your head, you say, in sirihish: "Nay, she may only use her lips to kiss." Reacting to your words with a very confused tone, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "To...Kiss? What pray tell is a kiss?" With a sudden snort of laughter at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, before responding, you say, in sirihish: "It is a delicate thing indeed." With a sincerely hopeful tone, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Like the bludgeoning of a bone-knobbed mace?" With a roll of your eyes that may not be noticeable to the audience at large, though the sarcasm in your voice is plain, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Yes, something like that..." Happily, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "If such is the case, I -kiss- my mate each and every day until she is bruised and bloodied, and when I've finished she quite aptly returns the favor!" After simply staring at him for a moment, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "....Again, I pity you." Growling, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Damn you and your pity." Regarding him, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "To pity is to be human. Have you no pity for those less fortunate than yourself?" Laughing as if you had said some very amusing joke, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Pity? For those less fortunate? Than myself? Ha-ha-HA!" Again with that slight tilt of your head as you studies him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "When a fellow man is wounded, do you not take pity in his condition?"" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Of course not! A wounded man is a worthless man! A dead man!" Shaking your head a bit, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "And what about camaraderie? Brotherhood?" Waving a careless hand at you, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Bah! I care only for myself!" Dryly, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "As selfish as a dog... And even dogs prefer packs to a solitary life." Pointing at you, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Your -logic- is for the dogs!" Nodding, speaking as if to a small child, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Exactly! You being the dog." With a irritated sigh as he lowers his masked face, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Damn you, Northerner." Continuing, ignoring his words, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "If you care only for yourself, what of your precious Highlord?" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Tektolnes?" You say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Yes, that foul monster." Snarling, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Damn him too." Spreading your hands, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "But doesn't he protect you? Bind your people? Give you hope?" Tilting his head back as if your had said something crazy, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Hardly! He kills and tortures us for entertainment." Dryly, you say, in sirihish: "Perhaps he's doing you a favor." The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "The only good he's done was the construction of our arena." Easily shifting your weight, still standing in an effortless, straight-backed pose, you say, in sirihish: "Tell me of that." (The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory briefly subtly rolls your shoulders, too--standing for so long is harder, it seems, then it may first appear.) Trying to straighten his posture, which only hunches him more, his tone filled with pride, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Blood sport is the only thing we Allanaki's enjoy. It is our only form of entertainment." Not sounding all that terribly surprised, to be honest, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Really?" Nodding several times, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Mmm Hmmm." You ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "No art? No poetry? No music?" Confused, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Why would we care for all that dribble!" With a grand gesture of your arms, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Because they are some of man's finest achievements!" Pointedly, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "They serve to separate us from the beasts of the world." Gesturing with his hands as if they were claws, his tone suddenly filled with strength, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "The only thing that puts a smile on my face is blood! A man swallowed whole by a hungry beast! Now that's entertainment!" Even more bluntly, as if to make it easier for him to understand, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "The sport of /dogs/." Casually dropping himself on all four like a dog, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "This is absurd." Watching from your lofty height, standing with both feet on the 'sands', you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "The truth is absurd?" Moving on all fours like a dog, his gortok-masked chin tilted up which only serves to highlight his dog posture, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "It's not the truth! I am no dog, damn you!" With a soft 'tsk', you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You've already proven that you are, you know." As if he was stating a fact, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Because I hate the Highlord?" With a so-so wobble of an ink-starred hand, you say, in sirihish: "Well..." The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Do you not hate your ruler?" With a sudden startled laugh, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Hah! You can't be serious." (The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory is not really startled, of course, but the timing and delivery makes it seem as if you was.) With a demanding voice, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "You've asked many questions of me! It's my turn!" With a roll of your wrist, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Very well, ask it again." With a gesture of his hand as he seems to be filled with disgust when he mentions the last sentence, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Do you not hate your ruler? Your -- Muk Utep." Simply, words ones of absolute certainty, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Quite the opposite. I love him with all my heart." Canting his head to one side and then to the other, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Love? What is love?" You feel like the best moment in your life was being before Him and His Radiance. [OOC NOTE: Tallis was witness to Muk Utep once, when he was in the Tuluki Arena. She got to feel His Presence, and it stuck with her for the rest of her life.] With a derisive snort, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Something you will never understand, dog." Insisting, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Try me!" You say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Love is an unconditional feeling of respect and admiration that one holds for another." Pressing a fist over your heart, and the tabard with a radiant sun emblazoned boldly across it, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "One would be willing to give his own life for the person he loves." Tilting his head back as he bursts into laughter and snorting, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Ha ha! Self sacrifice? Love! Kank shit!" Simply, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I didn't expect you to understand." After a moment of thought, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "So you'd die for your Sun King?" The answer itself without any hesitation, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Yes, without hesitation." Casting a brief, wistful, aching glance out over the audience, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I have that much love for my ruler and his peoples, and my home, the Ivory." You feel an ache in your chest--the Ivory means so much to you. You think: "Such appropriate lines for these times..." Pointing at you as he laughs once again, this time louder, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "You are a fool!" Attention returning to him, you ask the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Am I?" Finally stopping his laughter, as he rises from his dog position to his hunched full height, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Yes! Why should any man die willingly for someone else?" Voice strong, as you takes a bold step forwards, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Because of what Muk Utep has done for me and all the others I love. He has protected me. Given me the most beautiful city known to Man, to call home." Gesturing a one and then a three with his right hand's fingers, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "I've told you once, Northerner, and I've told you twice: I am no dog!" [OOC NOTE: This line was delivered too early and should have come after Tallis' line] Visage catching the light of the stage so it gleams brightly, hands at your sides so that the sunburst on your chest is plain and clear to see, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "He has made life in this world liveable--I would rather die than live like an Allanaki dog!" Dimissively, with a flick of a few fingers, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Of course you are." (The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory briefly gives the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok a disapproving squint.) [OOC NOTE: Tallis isn't very pleased with Flaire's line delivery. She keeps going and just hopes nobody notices. Nobody actually does notice, amusingly--At least not anyone who says anything.] Actually annoyed, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "How? How am I a dog? You have yet to prove it!" With a shake of your head, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You are mistaken. It is already proven." With a very confused tone, his face and expressions veiled by his gortok mask, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "What?" Without malice, as if simply stating facts, as you looks over his scarred, twisted muzzle, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You are as ugly as a dog, and look more natural on four legs than you do on two." Tilting his head as if irritated, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Bah!" With an elaborate, pointed fanning of a hand in front of your face, you say, in sirihish: "Not to mention you stink worse than any dog or gortok I've ever crossed..." Raising his left arm and sniffing the area, his gortok mask actually touching it, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "I see nothing wrong with that..." Continuing with the list, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You're selfish and barbaric as only a dog can be." Raising his index finger, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "But..." Advancing on him with a bold step, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You mate like a dog! And you have no honor or respect for your fellow man!" As if this was the worst of all, the final condemnation, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "You hold no faith in your own King!" As he takes a step back, defensively, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "But I'm..." Interrupting him, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "An artless, honor-less, filthy, disgusting, unloving, disloyal...DOG!" Shaking his head as he drops to all fours, seeming more comfortable to retreat like that, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "No! No! But..." Forcefully, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "YES!" As he drops to a side like a dead dog, tearing his tangle hair with a crying voice, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish: "Oh cruel fate! Oh horrible truth! You have shown your wretched face at last! Tis' Truth! You are right! I am more dog than mannnnnn!" Easing back a little, you say, in sirihish: "Victory, at last." Still pulling his hair pathetically, pleading, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "What can I do? Please help me! Is there any cure?" Eyeing him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I know of one..." The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok asks you, in southern-accented sirihish: "You do?" With a wise nod, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "I do..." Stooping down to pluck up a rock from at your feet, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "In fact, I have it right here." The female wearing an epicene mask of unblemished ivory holds out the rock in your hands, which is as big as a cupped palm. As he leaves his hair and rises to his full height, although his posture is hunched, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok says to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "That's the cure? It looks like a rock you just found." Just looking at him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Looks can be deceiving." Groping for the object in your hands, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Give it to me! Give it to me!" Briefly holding your round hunk of dark stone juuuuust out of his reach, you exclaim to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Are you sure? You seemed so content as a dog!" As he continues to try and reach for the rock which is held in your hands, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Damn you, Northerner! Give me the cure!" Lowering the rock a little, offering it to him, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Very well, then." As he quickly snatches the rock and presses it against his chest, the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok exclaims to you, in southern-accented sirihish: "Ha ha! You fool! Once I take this cure I will be able to defeat you as a man! See you aren't as clever as you think you are! Prepare to die, Northerner!" As he snatches it, you give your round hunk of dark stone to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok. The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok swallows the rock, and then he begins to cough, first slowly and then as if trying to vomit something. He falls on all fours. With a snicker and shake of your head, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "And there you have it! Back on all fours like the dog you are and will always be." Dryly, you say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "In your dying moments, know this. What you've swallowed was indeed a rock I plucked no more than a moment ago from the sands at our feet." The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok continues to cough, holding his throat as his face begins to redden. You say to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok, in sirihish: "Since I had already proved that you are more dog than man, I found it only necessary to prove at last that you have the brain of a dog as well." With a mocking applause as the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok sputters and chokes, you exclaim, in sirihish: "Congratulations. Choke on your own stupidity and die proudly as a full blooded dog!" The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok coughs and coughs. After a moment, he sputters his last breath, his obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok remaining with an unchanged expression. He does not move anymore. Brushing your hands together, then looking out across the audience, you say, in sirihish: "My job is done. This foul creature lies dead at my feet. And soon, I shall surely perish as well." Casting a disgusted glance at the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok's still form, you say, in sirihish: "Though I could survive on his remains long enough to make it back to camp, I would rather end my life in the sands than taste of that fetid flesh." Spreading your hands, you say, in sirihish: "I shall now walk so that I may die with dignity as far away from these tainted sands as possible." Firmly, looking directly at the audience as you addresses them, you say, in sirihish: "But take care in remembering ... The only good Southerner is a dead Southerner." You say, in sirihish: "They are dogs -- The lot of them. And if they only knew their place, their extinction would come all the quicker." With a proud, upward tilt of your chin, you exclaim, in sirihish: "Never fear them, for they are inferior creatures. Leave the grovelling to the dogs--Hold your head high as men and women of Tuluk!" Turning smoothly, walking with that graceful, effortless gait from the stage, you walk west. [OOC: Tallis changes to her narrator outfit again here.] On the Stage, The tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok remains still and dead. Walking directly to the center of the stage, ignoring the dog's crumpled form as she looks out across the audience, you walk east. In a loud, carrying voice as you looks out across the audience, you recite, in sirihish: "And so, two men, destined to die-- As all men someday shall, Lay still with nary a breath in their breasts, 'Neath Krath and barren sky!" Laying out one hand, then the other, as if indicating a pair, you recite, in sirihish: "But of those unfortunate two, whose bones the red sands now hide, One man greets Drov as a lowly dog, the other, with honor and pride!" Turning and walking off the stage, you walk west. Returning, heading to the dead dog's form, you walk east. The chubby, full-figured blonde sticks out a hand, offering it to the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok. First, the tall, stubbled, blond man stops using his obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok. The tall, stubbled, blond man rises to his full height, now back-straightened, with the help of your hand. The tall, stubbled, blond man bows with you to the audience, a wide smile filling his expression, clasping your hand. You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish: "Good play." The audience applaud and cheer raucously. The tall, stubbled, blond man smiles at the clapping and cheering audience, his obsidian mask of a gruesomely twisted gortok held with his left hand. Realeasing his hand and stepping aside, gesturing to him, you exclaim, in sirihish: "Give it up for Apprentice Flaire, who had the challenging role of trying to be a faithless dog--truely, a part that needs work to assume!" Gesturing to you, the tall, stubbled, blond man says, in sirihish: "And for Seeker Tallis, who has been the main organizer of this marvelous event, always leading the practices! Her role was as demanding as mine, considering the level of acting required." The tall, stubbled, blond man smiles to you as he claps his hands to you himself. The chubby, full-figured blonde beams at the tall, stubbled, blond man, and takes another bow. The crowd continues to clap and holler. Raising your voice, you exclaim, in sirihish: "A few thanks. First, to our patron Chosen Lord Rhodran Winrothol, who sponsored this play!" The tall, stubbled, blond man claps loudly and proudly. Nodding to the balcony, you exclaim, in sirihish: "Truly, a patron of the arts. Thank you, Chosen Lord!" The amethyst-eyed, golden-haired woman sends you a telepathic message: "Well done Seeker." [OOC NOTE: This is an Irofel Master Bard, so it's an EXTREMELY big compliment to recieve, not just in knowing that they were there to watch, but also that they took the time to Way and deliver a compliment.] Spreading your hands, you exclaim, in sirihish: "A thanks to Faithful Lord Hederai, who could not attend today, but who graciously did a script reading for us! A round of applause!" You notice: For some reason, a teardrop skims the tall, stubbled, blond man's left cheek. The tall, stubbled, blond man claps his hands loudly. Lifting a hand, you exclaim, in sirihish: "At last but certainly not least, to the writer of this play, the famous Chosen Lord Cammul Tenneshi, later Chosen Lord Kassigarh! What you have seen tonight is a historic piece, written in the times of the Copper War!" The tall, stubbled, blond man continues to clap, attempting to maintain the same level of intensity. You think: "I should have thanked the Legions." You say, in sirihish: "And not to be forgotten, the Sun'S Fury--it is thanks to the recently departed Sergeant Aldren that we have such fine costuming for our Man. Now--" Gesturing, you exclaim, in sirihish: "It was a pleasure to have you all! If you wish to continue the festivities, please make your way to the great Ghatti Teahouse. We shall be there shortly, give us actors some time to refresh ourselves!" [OOC: After this they all go for the afterparty. Woo!]