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Dread Marches in Sion - Act 1: Scene 1
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7129057" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p><strong>Shelladda - Grasses & Blood</strong></p><p></p><p>The stench of bloody death. Shelladda stood amongst the aftermath of a massacre, overwhelmed trying to make heads or tails of it all. A primitive woman, who'd led an often solitary life in the wild, wasn't blessed with knowledge of dark magic, nor the motive that had ended these poor souls.</p><p></p><p>What she did have, was empathy and wisdom. An ability to whittle down to basics and gauge truth through what she witnessed and felt in her heart. She saw things simply, and oft this was a blessing in itself.</p><p></p><p>Death as such, was part of living. She knew the unbreakable link between the two and understood the needs of both. Yes, she'd witnessed death countless times. The hunting to survive. The work of herding and butchering to support their tribes. The need to establish rules and punishments as communities grew, tribal wars and misgivings too. Never though, had she seen such wanton killing as this. It appeared as brutality, plain and simple. One race's violence fueled by hatred alone. If there was more to it, she didn't know.</p><p></p><p>Shelladda's was a life of simplicity. Simple to those who didn't need to live it perhaps, with their razor-sharp weaponry, elite tactics, scrolls and modern ways. She was a wanderer, a friendly face in many of the villages though she never stayed long. The world around her was changing, yet just like a bison, she was firm and resolute in the path of her existence. She cared little for the concept of settling down, nor did she aspire to marriage, children and all that follows. She was too old for that anyway. Instead, the woman roamed here and there among nature's friendship, slowly gaining a reputation for her healing hands and warming spirit among her kind.</p><p></p><p>Shelladda lived hand-to-mouth as best she could, yet the cold clutches of currency and commercialization had also had their way. A people who once bartered or traded were becoming monetized. Coin. It was changing everything. Even in the wilderness the old ways were slowly being unlearned. In order to survive, she'd had to adapt. Still though, it was a good life, visiting peoples who respected her skills with their flocks, packs and herds. She had a knack with animals, her ability to both understand and heal bringing trust and friendship wherever she walked. Coin. She was running low, but it didn't worry her.</p><p></p><p>The scene was like a great black cloud. An ominous symbol that her way of life was truly under threat.</p><p></p><p>In an old fur cloak upon simple underclothes of woven field-grass, stood with spears strapped to her back and a blade by her side, Shelladda began to sing.</p><p></p><p><em>From the fields we arose and from the land we return,</em></p><p><em>our blood with the soil to grow trees and ferns.</em></p><p><em>Hand in hand we watch Karfulu as she cuts,</em></p><p><em>laying trenches for our youth, our seedlings and nuts.</em></p><p></p><p>Soon, it would be time to walk. A visit to the Omoro. The concept of relaying her testimony to them was as if a great weight had been strapped upon her back. But she was Karfulu's! She would carry! She would walk! She would tell them what she knew! This was the way of her people.</p><p></p><p>As much as she wished to leave this hell immediately however, she knew further respect than this was due. She'd depart when she was certain, knowing without a doubt that all before her had been branded on her mind.</p><p></p><p>She turned her head to the light breeze in the air. She narrowed her gaze and scanned everything once more. </p><p></p><p><strong>(Spot:</strong> = 10<strong>) </strong></p><p><strong>(Listen:</strong> = 24<strong>)</strong></p><p></p><p>This, she told herself, she would never forget. Their kin would request details and truth. She would do her best to learn what she could.</p><p></p><p>[sblock=Shelladda Stats]<span style="color: #000000"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000000"></span> <table style='width: 100%'><tr><td><strong><img src="http://www.dawnindustry.com/Temp/Shelladda.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></strong></td><td><strong>SHELLADDA </strong><em>- a big woman with a big heart and some small ideas</em><strong><br /> <br /> Sheet: </strong><a href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1034457" target="_blank">http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1034457</a><strong><br /> Level</strong> 4, <strong>Init</strong> 1, <strong>HP</strong> 32/32, <br /> <strong>AC</strong> 18, <strong>Touch</strong> 11, <strong>Flat-footed</strong> 17, <strong>Fort</strong> 7, <strong>Ref</strong> 3, <strong>Will</strong> 9, <strong>Base Attack Bonus</strong> 3 <br /> <strong>Spear: </strong>+7 to hit (d8+3)<br /> <strong>Scimitar: </strong>+6 to hit (d6+3)<br /> <strong>Spells: </strong>5/4/3<br /> <strong>Ruddah (Animal Companion): 37HP, AC13, INT +0, SPD 40, Gore +8 to hit (1D8+9)</strong><br /> <span style="color: #0000FF"><br /> </span></td></tr></table><p> [/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 7129057, member: 6799460"] [b]Shelladda - Grasses & Blood[/b] The stench of bloody death. Shelladda stood amongst the aftermath of a massacre, overwhelmed trying to make heads or tails of it all. A primitive woman, who'd led an often solitary life in the wild, wasn't blessed with knowledge of dark magic, nor the motive that had ended these poor souls. What she did have, was empathy and wisdom. An ability to whittle down to basics and gauge truth through what she witnessed and felt in her heart. She saw things simply, and oft this was a blessing in itself. Death as such, was part of living. She knew the unbreakable link between the two and understood the needs of both. Yes, she'd witnessed death countless times. The hunting to survive. The work of herding and butchering to support their tribes. The need to establish rules and punishments as communities grew, tribal wars and misgivings too. Never though, had she seen such wanton killing as this. It appeared as brutality, plain and simple. One race's violence fueled by hatred alone. If there was more to it, she didn't know. Shelladda's was a life of simplicity. Simple to those who didn't need to live it perhaps, with their razor-sharp weaponry, elite tactics, scrolls and modern ways. She was a wanderer, a friendly face in many of the villages though she never stayed long. The world around her was changing, yet just like a bison, she was firm and resolute in the path of her existence. She cared little for the concept of settling down, nor did she aspire to marriage, children and all that follows. She was too old for that anyway. Instead, the woman roamed here and there among nature's friendship, slowly gaining a reputation for her healing hands and warming spirit among her kind. Shelladda lived hand-to-mouth as best she could, yet the cold clutches of currency and commercialization had also had their way. A people who once bartered or traded were becoming monetized. Coin. It was changing everything. Even in the wilderness the old ways were slowly being unlearned. In order to survive, she'd had to adapt. Still though, it was a good life, visiting peoples who respected her skills with their flocks, packs and herds. She had a knack with animals, her ability to both understand and heal bringing trust and friendship wherever she walked. Coin. She was running low, but it didn't worry her. The scene was like a great black cloud. An ominous symbol that her way of life was truly under threat. In an old fur cloak upon simple underclothes of woven field-grass, stood with spears strapped to her back and a blade by her side, Shelladda began to sing. [I]From the fields we arose and from the land we return, our blood with the soil to grow trees and ferns. Hand in hand we watch Karfulu as she cuts, laying trenches for our youth, our seedlings and nuts.[/I] Soon, it would be time to walk. A visit to the Omoro. The concept of relaying her testimony to them was as if a great weight had been strapped upon her back. But she was Karfulu's! She would carry! She would walk! She would tell them what she knew! This was the way of her people. As much as she wished to leave this hell immediately however, she knew further respect than this was due. She'd depart when she was certain, knowing without a doubt that all before her had been branded on her mind. She turned her head to the light breeze in the air. She narrowed her gaze and scanned everything once more. [B](Spot:[/B] = 10[B]) (Listen:[/B] = 24[B])[/B] This, she told herself, she would never forget. Their kin would request details and truth. She would do her best to learn what she could. [sblock=Shelladda Stats][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR][TABLE="width: 800, align: left"] [TR] [TD][B][IMG]http://www.dawnindustry.com/Temp/Shelladda.jpg[/IMG][/B][/TD] [TD][B]SHELLADDA [/B][I]- a big woman with a big heart and some small ideas[/I][B] Sheet: [/B][URL]http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1034457[/URL][B] Level[/B] 4, [B]Init[/B] 1, [B]HP[/B] 32/32, [B]AC[/B] 18, [B]Touch[/B] 11, [B]Flat-footed[/B] 17, [B]Fort[/B] 7, [B]Ref[/B] 3, [B]Will[/B] 9, [B]Base Attack Bonus[/B] 3 [B]Spear: [/B]+7 to hit (d8+3) [B]Scimitar: [/B]+6 to hit (d6+3) [B]Spells: [/B]5/4/3 [B]Ruddah (Animal Companion): 37HP, AC13, INT +0, SPD 40, Gore +8 to hit (1D8+9)[/B] [COLOR=#0000FF] [/COLOR][/TD] [/TR] [/TABLE] [/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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