OOC:We should do something special on 400th page...like drinking Jorimel to half-death and getting her to blab out the rest of the stories!In the name of the Machine God...happy pageniversary!
Liriasol lay comfortably enough along a moss-covered branch. The limb was sturdy, and it barely swayed with the dipping of the tree in the light breeze that came at sunset. He watched the game trail. He did not have to wait long. Whatever the Humans did to the planet, they hunted the area seldom or perhaps not at all. The first animal along the trail was followed by six or seven snuffling young, their shorter legs stumbling to keep up with their mother who lowed in flat tones until they all skipped into line. Liriasol did not take the shot. He would have claimed that it made no sense to do so, that Kurnous didn't provide only to waste six or seven future dinners, that it was a poor huntsman too lazy to properly thin the herd. Muttering something sentimental about there being enough orphans already he hissed at the female, and the sound set her and her brood galloping away down the track. In any case, he reasoned, where there was a female herbivore there would be males, and these were likely bigger and better eating. He settled back on his branch. Judging by the raised crest of coarse fur on the back of the next dapple-spotted beast to happen along, and the slight tusks protruding from its mouth, he was right. Looking at the size of it, it would provide enough to provide for the whole of the tiny improvised tribe, with some for the next day. Liriasol shot it between the eyes. Leaping down from his branch he made sure the animal was dead before taking it to the side of the stream. The messy business of gutting and cleaning ought to be done away from the camp, to keep from attracting predators of both kinds. He cut off the head and the hooves, leaving the shin-bones intact for carrying. Since they were not planning on staying he made a present of the offal to some future scavenger. The Wanderer wasn't sure he could persuade the Aspects that anything from the inside of an animal was food anyway, though one never knew. In a moment of paranoia he checked the mouth for poison glands. There were none, but he'd seen very similar, equally harmless-looking herbivores that could drop an Eldar with even a small nip. He hesitated over the hide. It was a good size, rough-furred, supple if he tanned it with the brains. Liriasol had heard that each animal was endowed with enough brain-matter to tan its own skin, which he had to agree probably held true except when you got to the huge herd-dragons of the Exodites. But since they were travelling light, he cracked open the skull and left it on a rock as a kindness to some passing creature. It made the kill look more like the work of Kroot, anyway. Wrapping up the prepared quarters in the skin, he made his way back towards the little encampment. Here, the Wanderer was presented with a dilemma. He didn't want to come crashing through the jungle, but neither did he want to get shuriken to the head from some over-vigilant Aspect's trigger-impulse. He needed to approach in a way that warned of who it was without raising a general alert. Taking a deep breath of the clean, cold jungle air, Liriasol began to sing.
[ "OOC:We should do something special on 400th page...like drinking Jorimel to half-death and getting her to blab out the rest of the stories!In the name of the Machine God...happy pageniversary!" It's my real world birthday on the 31st. But by then we could be ten, twenty pages on. I say we seize 200 pageniversary and celebrate it for all it's worth!!! But strictly no getting me drunk and prising stories out of my brain ]
OOC:I can always get one of my Tech-Thralls to lobotomize you and pry out the stories anyway...but that would be...hmm...how do you say it?..er....YES!..."inhumane".And i dont think Sephiia the Poet would forgiving me for virtually "killing" one of our greatest RPers :3 *the feels!*
"... unless we meet in secret, our love can never be, So I kissed her under the arbour, where nobody else could see." The last verses of The Exodite Chieftan's Daughter died away as Liriasol stepped into the camp. He was met with a troubling sight. Kara'shanwe sat still, slumped, tears coursing down her cheeks. The Corsair was busy making hot tea. The big Reaper kept watch, a hand on his gun. Visethianne lay on his back, an agonised expression on his noble features. "What in Khaine's name happened?" Liriasol sprinted over to the fireside and knelt by the wracked Avenger, his eyes darting to Kara'shanwe, trying to keep them both in vision at once as he checked their mission leader for injuries. "Is anyone else hurt?"
[OOC After. That makes sense to me. Does it make sense to you? Do I need to edit? My brain is escaping. Also, no! No tiny story-seeking robots Nino, you are not putting nanites in my tea! ]
