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<blockquote data-quote="Stormrunner" data-source="post: 1954275" data-attributes="member: 13471"><p><strong>Stormrunner</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>She Who Loves To Gallop Through The Wind And Rain </strong> (short form "Stormrunner" or "Stormy")</p><p></p><p><strong>female centaur</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>height:</strong> 5'10" at withers, 10'2" forehooves to top of head</p><p><strong>weight:</strong> about 1600-1700 lbs</p><p></p><p>Stormrunner is of the Hardsruthor, or "Northern Centaurs", a larger and heavier sub-race. While standard centaurs have the lower body of a light warhorse, Hardsruthor have the horsebody of a heavy warhorse, with the humanoid torso larger and more muscular to match. (Higher Str, lower Dex.) They also have shaggy tufts of fur on their lower legs (like a Clydesdale) and forearms. Their hair grows in a Mohawk-style strip over the top of the skull and down the spine of the upper torso all the way to the withers, like a horse's mane, and they have horse ears rather than human ones, though their faces are otherwise humanoid. They have a set of humanoid "naughty bits" between the forelegs in addition to the equine ones between the hindlegs; for illustration purposes, assume Stormy's frontal pubic hair is thick and shaggy enough to keep things PG-13.</p><p></p><p>Stormy's hide is a dark chocolate brown, and this coloration extends to her upper body as well. Her mane, tail, shagtufts, pubes, eyebrows, lips, nipples, fingernails, and hooves are all a pale cream color. She tends to favor green, gold, and white in her jewelry and bodypaint. She wears her mane long and flowing, with many thin rat-tail braids scattered through it, each ending in a tiny carved fetish (see below). Her tail is trimmed a little shorter, so it doesn't drag or get too many burrs in it, but is also mostly loose, with the exception of two braids tipped with three large blue-painted wooden beads apiece - these indicate her clan. Her eyes are hazel-green. While not flat-chested, she does lead an active lifestyle and her breasts are not the "cantalope-globes" depicted by some artists - the Players Handbook illo for Ember the monk is probably a good reference. Not being human, her facial features don't really match any real-world ethnic group, but she has a prominent ("Roman"/Native American) nose and cheekbones, and full ("African") lips.</p><p></p><p>Stormy's people are gymnophiles - that is, while not strictly nudist, they prefer to wear as little as possible. Thus Stormrunner is normally clad only in harness and jewelry, plus any items listed below, with a little bodypaint for extra decoration. Much of her gear is decorated with intricate spiral patterns reminiscent of Celtic knotwork.</p><p></p><p><strong><u>How she got her name:</u></strong></p><p><em>(Note: her name changes several times in her lifetime; this is standard practice in her culture. Just keep in mind that Ouzel, Red Legs, and Stormrunner are all the same person.)</em></p><p>Born to a small herd on the edge of the great northern plains, she was given the child-name of Ouzel, for like the small water-bird she was inquisitive, energetic, and easily distracted. Ouzel grew up strong and healthy, and something of a tomboy, insisting on tagging along with the colts as they hunted small game - a habit the colts grudgingly accepted after finding that she could outrun and outfight most of them. It was generally felt that upon reaching adulthood she would probably declare herself <em>berdasha</em> ("transvestite" - a mare who wears masculine jewelry and paint, and engages in traditionally male activities such as hunting and warfare. Male equivalent is <em>berdasho</em>, generic/plural form <em>berdachi</em>. Note that <em>berdachi</em>-hood is completely independent of sexual preference - while Stormy happens to be bi, just because someone is <em>berdachi </em> doesn't mean they're necessarily gay/bi/lesbian). This, plus her exceptional intelligence and inquisitiveness, attracted the attention of the Herd Shaman (<em>berdachi </em> often display either unusual talent for, or strong resistance to, magic), and Ouzel became the old mare's apprentice.</p><p></p><p>Ouzel proved adept at her studies, but also continued to hunt and explore whenever she had free time. Still, her restlessness grew. She didn't want to lead the life of a traditional mare, but the role of <em>berdasha</em>-stallion was almost as circumscribed, and the mantle of shaman would carry more responsibilities than freedoms. She hungered for something more, but was unable to express just what it was she wanted.</p><p></p><p>The autumn she was grown, the old Shaman called Ouzel to her side. "You have studied well, and learned all that I have to teach you. Only one final test remains, the most difficult and dangerous of all. You will die."</p><p>"If I fail, you mean?"</p><p>"No, you will die, and go to the Land of the Dead. There you will be judged, and if you are found worthy, you will return to life with the sacred knowledge, that which cannot be taught but must be retrieved anew by each initiate."</p><p>"And if I am not worthy?"</p><p>"Then I will sing the funeral songs for you, and find a new apprentice. But we will speak more of this later, for the test will not come until the Long Night of winter. Now it is the autumn festival, when trees change their leaves, animals change their coats, and a certain young filly must change her name, be mounted by the Herd Stallion, and become a full-grown mare. The best hunters are going on a far hunt, to bring back much meat for the feasts, and your colt friends will follow them, to learn and to help with the skinning and carrying. Go and join them - it is your last chance to experience the freedom of childhood before you take on the responsibilities of an adult."</p><p></p><p>So Ouzel joined the hunters, and as befitted the Shaman's apprentice, led them in the chants to appease the animal spirits. The spirits were pleased, and after several days they returned laden with meat. However, they were delayed several hours by the need to hide from a flight of griffons, and it was well past sunset by the time they approached the camp. In the darkness they stumbled over the gnawed corpse of a young stallion. Stashing their loads in a gully they approached the main camp stealthily with bows drawn, and surprised a pair of gnolls, filling them with arrows before they could cry out. Peering over the final ridge, a scene of horror met their eyes. The camp was a shambles, the bodies of the entire herd spread among the wreckage, along with a score of dead gnolls. Several dozen live gnolls moved through the wreckage, stripping, skinning, and butchering the corpses of centaur and gnoll alike. The bonfires that had been prepared for the celebratory dances now roasted the flesh of their families.</p><p></p><p>Something snapped inside Ouzel, and with a shrill scream of rage she charged over the hill, the startled stallions and colts following her half-instinctively. The gnolls, caught completely flat-footed, gaped in surprise at the screaming charge - gapes that became shrieks of agony as they were speared, shot, and trampled. The centaurs had thundered almost all the way through the camp by the time the hyena-folk rallied enough to send a shower of arrows and javelins after them, managing only to kill the hindmost colt and wound several stallions before the galloping centaurs disappeared into the darkness. Behind them, twenty-some-odd gnolls lay writhing in their death throes.</p><p></p><p>A half-dozen gnolls gave pursuit, but the fleeing centaurs doubled back and ambushed them, wiping them out as well. The group then paused to bind their wounds and discuss their options. Ouzel's legs were crimson to the knee with mud and blood, both centaur and gnoll. With the Herd Stallion and Herd Shaman both dead, she declared herself adult, and took the name Red Legs, vowing that she would never wash the blood from her legs until every gnoll in the pack was dead. A split quickly developed; Red Legs and several of the younger stallions wanted to continue to punish the gnolls, while the older stallions, realizing that with only one surviving mare the herd was no longer viable, were in favor of fleeing to a friendly herd and joining them, perhaps returning later with reinforcements to reclaim the lost territory. In the end, the older stallions took the colts and left: they never returned, and she later found that they never reached the neighboring herd either - whether they fell prey to more gnolls, adventurers, or some other monster is unknown.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile Red Legs led the half-dozen younger stallions in a series of lightning raids over the next few months, steadily whittling down the numbers of the gnoll pack, who came to greatly fear her. For their part, the gnolls were not helpless and started laying traps and ambushes of their own. One by one Red Legs' companions fell, until only she was left. In one final desperate assault, she galloped out of the sunset into the last pitiful remnants of the gnoll pack, and slew all but one, a female who, wounded, fled the early stages of the fight. Herself wounded, Red Legs tracked the gnoll-bitch's blood trail through the deep snows, grimly pursuing her through the longest night of winter, and at last bringing her to bay atop a steep bluff. There the she-gnoll railed at Red Legs, calling her a monster and a murderer. In the course of her rantings, much became clear. The gnolls were not so much invaders as refugees: the reason they had been so disorganized at first was that they were not a single pack, but the tattered remnants of many packs, driven from their homeland by an invasion - of centaurs. The thought that her own kind might be even partially responsible for the past few month's horrors was too much - screaming at her to shut up, Red Legs speared and trampled the gnoll bitch into a red ruin in the snow.</p><p></p><p>Her oath was fufilled; the last gnoll of the pack was dead. Now what? She had expected to feel some sort of joyful triumph, but instead she felt hollow and empty. Mechanically she began to skin the dead gnoll for a final trophy - and discovered that the bitch had been pregnant, the pups crushed to death by Red Legs' pounding hooves. As hardened a killer as she had become, the sight of the pitiful little bodies still tugged at Red Legs' maternal instincts. What had she become? When had she stopped thinking of justice, or even revenge, and become filled only with hatred and the blind desire to kill? The she-gnoll was right - she had made herself into a murdering monster, even more so than the ones she sought to slay. And for what? Her herd was destroyed, her friends and family all dead. She had nothing left to live for.</p><p></p><p>With a cry of grief and despair, Red Legs leaped over the precipice. She bounced several times on the way down, and hit bottom with a bone-shattering crunch. After her legs had stopped kicking, there was a long silence, until the first small scavengers cautiously ventured from their hiding places to sniff at the cooling corpse.</p><p></p><p>Red Legs journeyed to the Land of the Dead, and was judged. Of that judgement she does not speak.</p><p></p><p>Wind stirred the grasses - and something more than wind. Gnawed and shattered bones drew together, slithering and rolling back into their proper places. When the skeleton was complete, it began to clothe itself in flesh.</p><p></p><p>She awoke to the touch of rain on her face. For a long time she did not move, becoming once again used to the feeling of lungs breathing, heart beating. Slowly, gingerly, she began to move. There was no pain. She was whole. She was alive.</p><p></p><p>She rolled over and struggled to her feet. The snows were gone - around her the long grasses whipped in the wind of a gathering spring storm. Thunder boomed, and she felt its vibration deep in her bones. She was alive.</p><p></p><p>The rain began to fall in earnest. Casting off the tattered remnants of her gear, she gave a great whoop of exultation and broke into a wild gallop across the plain, arms flung wide and face upturned to the lightning-stitched clouds, as the rain ran down her naked body, washing away the blood and horror of the past, washing her clean. She was alive!</p><p></p><p>She fashioned new gear, and journeyed south, to the lands of the two-leggers. There she found many adventures (including a riddle-contest with a dragon) and many new lovers (including a mermaid and a celestial unicorn). But she never forgot that moment of rebirth. From then on, she was Heyan-tekolli-heh-menitskaaya, Mare Who Loves To Gallop Through The Thunderstorm. </p><p></p><p><strong><u>Visible gear</u>:</strong></p><p><strong>Fetishes</strong> - similar to Quall's Feather Tokens, but in much more variety, ranging from tiny figurines to miniature masks to abstract symbolic shapes. Stormy creates and uses these in place of potions, and keeps several dozen dangling from her mane and portions of her harness.</p><p><strong>Lance </strong> - A Native American-style heavy spear rather than the flared-grip jousting-style lance pictured in the PHB, may have a string of gnoll tails/ears dangling from it.</p><p><strong>Two scimitars</strong> - a matched pair of enchanted blades.</p><p><strong>Hipposandals</strong> - like the Romans used, basically lace-on horseshoes. References:</p><p><a href="http://www.romansinsussex.co.uk/level3/search/detail.asp?sitenumber=1&objectnumber=17" target="_blank">http://www.romansinsussex.co.uk/level3/search/detail.asp?sitenumber=1&objectnumber=17</a></p><p><a href="http://www.hippotherapy.be/index-fr-fr.html?url=/chevaux/physio/hipposandal.htm" target="_blank">http://www.hippotherapy.be/index-fr-fr.html?url=/chevaux/physio/hipposandal.htm</a></p><p><strong>Several soft leather pouches.</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><u>Optional extras</u>:</strong></p><p>A pair of small parfleche-style <strong>saddlebags</strong> decorated with bead/quillwork (but no saddle)</p><p><strong>Leggings</strong> - fringed and tooled leather, covering the front of the leg and laced in back, sorta like a cowboy's chaps. On all four legs, from just above the hoof to below the "knee" joint.</p><p><strong>Bracers of armor</strong> - interlaced straps of studded leather entwining both arms from wrists to shoulders. The left forearm also has a leather archery pad to prevent her bowstring from catching in her arm-shag.</p><p><strong>Composite longbow</strong> - asymmetric, like the Japanese daikyu, with a short lower limb and long upper limb, allowing her to shoot Parthian-style back over her own rump without whacking her flanks with the bow. Large box-style quiver slung from the waist and angled back along the right flank, holding about 50 arrows.</p><p></p><p><strong>suggested poses:</strong></p><p>-beheading a gnoll with a criss-cross double slash of her scimitars, while simultaneously mule-kicking another one into the air with her hind hooves</p><p>-looking innocent as she casually plants a dinner-plate-size hoof on the toe of an obnoxious bureaucrat-type human, causing him to shriek and flail and drop his paperwork</p><p>-galloping through the storm, as per her name</p><p>-emerging from the forest onto the plains, with the faces (both humanoid and animal) of spirits manifesting in the branches, grass, rocks, and clouds (very challenging to draw!) (for an example of what I mean, see <a href="http://www.bnr-art.com/doolitt/foresteyes.htm" target="_blank">Bev Dolittle's art</a> )</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Stormrunner, post: 1954275, member: 13471"] [b]Stormrunner[/b] [B]She Who Loves To Gallop Through The Wind And Rain [/B] (short form "Stormrunner" or "Stormy") [B]female centaur[/B] [B]height:[/B] 5'10" at withers, 10'2" forehooves to top of head [B]weight:[/B] about 1600-1700 lbs Stormrunner is of the Hardsruthor, or "Northern Centaurs", a larger and heavier sub-race. While standard centaurs have the lower body of a light warhorse, Hardsruthor have the horsebody of a heavy warhorse, with the humanoid torso larger and more muscular to match. (Higher Str, lower Dex.) They also have shaggy tufts of fur on their lower legs (like a Clydesdale) and forearms. Their hair grows in a Mohawk-style strip over the top of the skull and down the spine of the upper torso all the way to the withers, like a horse's mane, and they have horse ears rather than human ones, though their faces are otherwise humanoid. They have a set of humanoid "naughty bits" between the forelegs in addition to the equine ones between the hindlegs; for illustration purposes, assume Stormy's frontal pubic hair is thick and shaggy enough to keep things PG-13. Stormy's hide is a dark chocolate brown, and this coloration extends to her upper body as well. Her mane, tail, shagtufts, pubes, eyebrows, lips, nipples, fingernails, and hooves are all a pale cream color. She tends to favor green, gold, and white in her jewelry and bodypaint. She wears her mane long and flowing, with many thin rat-tail braids scattered through it, each ending in a tiny carved fetish (see below). Her tail is trimmed a little shorter, so it doesn't drag or get too many burrs in it, but is also mostly loose, with the exception of two braids tipped with three large blue-painted wooden beads apiece - these indicate her clan. Her eyes are hazel-green. While not flat-chested, she does lead an active lifestyle and her breasts are not the "cantalope-globes" depicted by some artists - the Players Handbook illo for Ember the monk is probably a good reference. Not being human, her facial features don't really match any real-world ethnic group, but she has a prominent ("Roman"/Native American) nose and cheekbones, and full ("African") lips. Stormy's people are gymnophiles - that is, while not strictly nudist, they prefer to wear as little as possible. Thus Stormrunner is normally clad only in harness and jewelry, plus any items listed below, with a little bodypaint for extra decoration. Much of her gear is decorated with intricate spiral patterns reminiscent of Celtic knotwork. [B][U]How she got her name:[/U][/B] [I](Note: her name changes several times in her lifetime; this is standard practice in her culture. Just keep in mind that Ouzel, Red Legs, and Stormrunner are all the same person.)[/I] Born to a small herd on the edge of the great northern plains, she was given the child-name of Ouzel, for like the small water-bird she was inquisitive, energetic, and easily distracted. Ouzel grew up strong and healthy, and something of a tomboy, insisting on tagging along with the colts as they hunted small game - a habit the colts grudgingly accepted after finding that she could outrun and outfight most of them. It was generally felt that upon reaching adulthood she would probably declare herself [I]berdasha[/I] ("transvestite" - a mare who wears masculine jewelry and paint, and engages in traditionally male activities such as hunting and warfare. Male equivalent is [I]berdasho[/I], generic/plural form [I]berdachi[/I]. Note that [I]berdachi[/I]-hood is completely independent of sexual preference - while Stormy happens to be bi, just because someone is [I]berdachi [/I] doesn't mean they're necessarily gay/bi/lesbian). This, plus her exceptional intelligence and inquisitiveness, attracted the attention of the Herd Shaman ([I]berdachi [/I] often display either unusual talent for, or strong resistance to, magic), and Ouzel became the old mare's apprentice. Ouzel proved adept at her studies, but also continued to hunt and explore whenever she had free time. Still, her restlessness grew. She didn't want to lead the life of a traditional mare, but the role of [I]berdasha[/I]-stallion was almost as circumscribed, and the mantle of shaman would carry more responsibilities than freedoms. She hungered for something more, but was unable to express just what it was she wanted. The autumn she was grown, the old Shaman called Ouzel to her side. "You have studied well, and learned all that I have to teach you. Only one final test remains, the most difficult and dangerous of all. You will die." "If I fail, you mean?" "No, you will die, and go to the Land of the Dead. There you will be judged, and if you are found worthy, you will return to life with the sacred knowledge, that which cannot be taught but must be retrieved anew by each initiate." "And if I am not worthy?" "Then I will sing the funeral songs for you, and find a new apprentice. But we will speak more of this later, for the test will not come until the Long Night of winter. Now it is the autumn festival, when trees change their leaves, animals change their coats, and a certain young filly must change her name, be mounted by the Herd Stallion, and become a full-grown mare. The best hunters are going on a far hunt, to bring back much meat for the feasts, and your colt friends will follow them, to learn and to help with the skinning and carrying. Go and join them - it is your last chance to experience the freedom of childhood before you take on the responsibilities of an adult." So Ouzel joined the hunters, and as befitted the Shaman's apprentice, led them in the chants to appease the animal spirits. The spirits were pleased, and after several days they returned laden with meat. However, they were delayed several hours by the need to hide from a flight of griffons, and it was well past sunset by the time they approached the camp. In the darkness they stumbled over the gnawed corpse of a young stallion. Stashing their loads in a gully they approached the main camp stealthily with bows drawn, and surprised a pair of gnolls, filling them with arrows before they could cry out. Peering over the final ridge, a scene of horror met their eyes. The camp was a shambles, the bodies of the entire herd spread among the wreckage, along with a score of dead gnolls. Several dozen live gnolls moved through the wreckage, stripping, skinning, and butchering the corpses of centaur and gnoll alike. The bonfires that had been prepared for the celebratory dances now roasted the flesh of their families. Something snapped inside Ouzel, and with a shrill scream of rage she charged over the hill, the startled stallions and colts following her half-instinctively. The gnolls, caught completely flat-footed, gaped in surprise at the screaming charge - gapes that became shrieks of agony as they were speared, shot, and trampled. The centaurs had thundered almost all the way through the camp by the time the hyena-folk rallied enough to send a shower of arrows and javelins after them, managing only to kill the hindmost colt and wound several stallions before the galloping centaurs disappeared into the darkness. Behind them, twenty-some-odd gnolls lay writhing in their death throes. A half-dozen gnolls gave pursuit, but the fleeing centaurs doubled back and ambushed them, wiping them out as well. The group then paused to bind their wounds and discuss their options. Ouzel's legs were crimson to the knee with mud and blood, both centaur and gnoll. With the Herd Stallion and Herd Shaman both dead, she declared herself adult, and took the name Red Legs, vowing that she would never wash the blood from her legs until every gnoll in the pack was dead. A split quickly developed; Red Legs and several of the younger stallions wanted to continue to punish the gnolls, while the older stallions, realizing that with only one surviving mare the herd was no longer viable, were in favor of fleeing to a friendly herd and joining them, perhaps returning later with reinforcements to reclaim the lost territory. In the end, the older stallions took the colts and left: they never returned, and she later found that they never reached the neighboring herd either - whether they fell prey to more gnolls, adventurers, or some other monster is unknown. Meanwhile Red Legs led the half-dozen younger stallions in a series of lightning raids over the next few months, steadily whittling down the numbers of the gnoll pack, who came to greatly fear her. For their part, the gnolls were not helpless and started laying traps and ambushes of their own. One by one Red Legs' companions fell, until only she was left. In one final desperate assault, she galloped out of the sunset into the last pitiful remnants of the gnoll pack, and slew all but one, a female who, wounded, fled the early stages of the fight. Herself wounded, Red Legs tracked the gnoll-bitch's blood trail through the deep snows, grimly pursuing her through the longest night of winter, and at last bringing her to bay atop a steep bluff. There the she-gnoll railed at Red Legs, calling her a monster and a murderer. In the course of her rantings, much became clear. The gnolls were not so much invaders as refugees: the reason they had been so disorganized at first was that they were not a single pack, but the tattered remnants of many packs, driven from their homeland by an invasion - of centaurs. The thought that her own kind might be even partially responsible for the past few month's horrors was too much - screaming at her to shut up, Red Legs speared and trampled the gnoll bitch into a red ruin in the snow. Her oath was fufilled; the last gnoll of the pack was dead. Now what? She had expected to feel some sort of joyful triumph, but instead she felt hollow and empty. Mechanically she began to skin the dead gnoll for a final trophy - and discovered that the bitch had been pregnant, the pups crushed to death by Red Legs' pounding hooves. As hardened a killer as she had become, the sight of the pitiful little bodies still tugged at Red Legs' maternal instincts. What had she become? When had she stopped thinking of justice, or even revenge, and become filled only with hatred and the blind desire to kill? The she-gnoll was right - she had made herself into a murdering monster, even more so than the ones she sought to slay. And for what? Her herd was destroyed, her friends and family all dead. She had nothing left to live for. With a cry of grief and despair, Red Legs leaped over the precipice. She bounced several times on the way down, and hit bottom with a bone-shattering crunch. After her legs had stopped kicking, there was a long silence, until the first small scavengers cautiously ventured from their hiding places to sniff at the cooling corpse. Red Legs journeyed to the Land of the Dead, and was judged. Of that judgement she does not speak. Wind stirred the grasses - and something more than wind. Gnawed and shattered bones drew together, slithering and rolling back into their proper places. When the skeleton was complete, it began to clothe itself in flesh. She awoke to the touch of rain on her face. For a long time she did not move, becoming once again used to the feeling of lungs breathing, heart beating. Slowly, gingerly, she began to move. There was no pain. She was whole. She was alive. She rolled over and struggled to her feet. The snows were gone - around her the long grasses whipped in the wind of a gathering spring storm. Thunder boomed, and she felt its vibration deep in her bones. She was alive. The rain began to fall in earnest. Casting off the tattered remnants of her gear, she gave a great whoop of exultation and broke into a wild gallop across the plain, arms flung wide and face upturned to the lightning-stitched clouds, as the rain ran down her naked body, washing away the blood and horror of the past, washing her clean. She was alive! She fashioned new gear, and journeyed south, to the lands of the two-leggers. There she found many adventures (including a riddle-contest with a dragon) and many new lovers (including a mermaid and a celestial unicorn). But she never forgot that moment of rebirth. From then on, she was Heyan-tekolli-heh-menitskaaya, Mare Who Loves To Gallop Through The Thunderstorm. [B][U]Visible gear[/U]:[/B] [B]Fetishes[/B] - similar to Quall's Feather Tokens, but in much more variety, ranging from tiny figurines to miniature masks to abstract symbolic shapes. Stormy creates and uses these in place of potions, and keeps several dozen dangling from her mane and portions of her harness. [B]Lance [/B] - A Native American-style heavy spear rather than the flared-grip jousting-style lance pictured in the PHB, may have a string of gnoll tails/ears dangling from it. [B]Two scimitars[/B] - a matched pair of enchanted blades. [B]Hipposandals[/B] - like the Romans used, basically lace-on horseshoes. References: [URL=http://www.romansinsussex.co.uk/level3/search/detail.asp?sitenumber=1&objectnumber=17]http://www.romansinsussex.co.uk/level3/search/detail.asp?sitenumber=1&objectnumber=17[/URL] [URL=http://www.hippotherapy.be/index-fr-fr.html?url=/chevaux/physio/hipposandal.htm]http://www.hippotherapy.be/index-fr-fr.html?url=/chevaux/physio/hipposandal.htm[/URL] [B]Several soft leather pouches.[/B] [B][U]Optional extras[/U]:[/B] A pair of small parfleche-style [B]saddlebags[/B] decorated with bead/quillwork (but no saddle) [B]Leggings[/B] - fringed and tooled leather, covering the front of the leg and laced in back, sorta like a cowboy's chaps. On all four legs, from just above the hoof to below the "knee" joint. [B]Bracers of armor[/B] - interlaced straps of studded leather entwining both arms from wrists to shoulders. The left forearm also has a leather archery pad to prevent her bowstring from catching in her arm-shag. [B]Composite longbow[/B] - asymmetric, like the Japanese daikyu, with a short lower limb and long upper limb, allowing her to shoot Parthian-style back over her own rump without whacking her flanks with the bow. Large box-style quiver slung from the waist and angled back along the right flank, holding about 50 arrows. [B]suggested poses:[/B] -beheading a gnoll with a criss-cross double slash of her scimitars, while simultaneously mule-kicking another one into the air with her hind hooves -looking innocent as she casually plants a dinner-plate-size hoof on the toe of an obnoxious bureaucrat-type human, causing him to shriek and flail and drop his paperwork -galloping through the storm, as per her name -emerging from the forest onto the plains, with the faces (both humanoid and animal) of spirits manifesting in the branches, grass, rocks, and clouds (very challenging to draw!) (for an example of what I mean, see [URL=http://www.bnr-art.com/doolitt/foresteyes.htm ]Bev Dolittle's art[/URL] ) [/QUOTE]
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