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The Ecology of the Elven Cat (unpublished AD&D 2E version)
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<blockquote data-quote="Richards" data-source="post: 2539945" data-attributes="member: 508"><p>Skunge stood knee-deep in the stream, motionless as a statue, spear poised and ready. Brokko and Grool had already given up, lacking the patience for spear-fishing, and were splashing around trying to chase one down with their hands. Disgusted, Skunge had sent them downstream so that their pathetic flounderings wouldn't disrupt his own efforts. He knew that his patience would bear fruit long before their feeble attempts. But that, he mused, was why he was the brains of their threesome.</p><p></p><p>So intent were the three orcs upon their fishing that they failed to notice the approach of Shaellin. The elven cat slid up to the far side of the stream on his belly, his ears having alerted him to the orcs' presence long before they were within sight. He recognized the harsh guttural sounds of their words, and while he didn't understand the orcish language, he didn't need to - he could learn all he needed to know by skimming their thoughts directly.<strong>[10]</strong></p><p></p><p>Shaellin was intrigued by what he read in the orcs' minds. The two downstream were typical of the orcish race: violent, stupid, and brutish; no surprises there. The lone one, however, was an intense individual, completely focused on the task at hand - very unusual in an orc, from the elven cat's experience. He would bear further investigation.</p><p></p><p>As an elven cat, Shaellin's first impulse was to rush back to the elven encampment and warn the tribe of hostile enemies. There were only three of them, though, and so far seemed intent only upon catching fish. The wood elves' camp was several miles away, and wasn't in any danger - yet. He'd follow these three, make sure that they didn't find the camp. Three orcs he could handle, but if one of them were to report the elves' whereabouts to their own nasty tribe...well, Shaellin would just make sure that that didn't happen.</p><p></p><p>A quick movement caught his eye. The silent orc raised his spear from the water, revealing a fat trout flopping on the end of it. Greedily, the other two rushed back upstream to join the first orc in ripping the fish to bloody pieces with their disgusting tusks. Shaellin entered their minds again, to see what he could learn.</p><p></p><p>"There should be some elf villages along here somewhere," Skunge told his two underlings. "We'll head upstream, and maybe we'll get lucky, grab an elf head or two."</p><p></p><p>"Yeah," agreed Grool. "Get lucky. I might wanna 'make some half-elves' while we're at it."</p><p></p><p>Brokko scratched his head and screwed up his face, an obvious sign that he was attempting to think. "Would them be half-elves or half-orcs?" he wondered aloud.</p><p></p><p>"Whatever," replied Skunge. "Me, all I care about is a severed elf head. But how could even <em>think</em> about mating with an <em>elf</em>, Grool?"</p><p></p><p>Grool chuckled, an evil-sounding snort. "Don't count as mating if I kill her after!" Brokko grunted his agreement.</p><p></p><p>"Come on," said Skunge, leading them upstream. Brokko and Grool grabbed their weapons and followed him. Shaellin, his eyes narrowed in hatred and disgust, slunk back off to the cover of the trees, all thoughts of fish now gone in the face of this threat to his people. If the orcs followed their plan, they'd come across the camp of Shaellin's wood elves. That, he would not permit.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Richards, post: 2539945, member: 508"] Skunge stood knee-deep in the stream, motionless as a statue, spear poised and ready. Brokko and Grool had already given up, lacking the patience for spear-fishing, and were splashing around trying to chase one down with their hands. Disgusted, Skunge had sent them downstream so that their pathetic flounderings wouldn't disrupt his own efforts. He knew that his patience would bear fruit long before their feeble attempts. But that, he mused, was why he was the brains of their threesome. So intent were the three orcs upon their fishing that they failed to notice the approach of Shaellin. The elven cat slid up to the far side of the stream on his belly, his ears having alerted him to the orcs' presence long before they were within sight. He recognized the harsh guttural sounds of their words, and while he didn't understand the orcish language, he didn't need to - he could learn all he needed to know by skimming their thoughts directly.[b][10][/b] Shaellin was intrigued by what he read in the orcs' minds. The two downstream were typical of the orcish race: violent, stupid, and brutish; no surprises there. The lone one, however, was an intense individual, completely focused on the task at hand - very unusual in an orc, from the elven cat's experience. He would bear further investigation. As an elven cat, Shaellin's first impulse was to rush back to the elven encampment and warn the tribe of hostile enemies. There were only three of them, though, and so far seemed intent only upon catching fish. The wood elves' camp was several miles away, and wasn't in any danger - yet. He'd follow these three, make sure that they didn't find the camp. Three orcs he could handle, but if one of them were to report the elves' whereabouts to their own nasty tribe...well, Shaellin would just make sure that that didn't happen. A quick movement caught his eye. The silent orc raised his spear from the water, revealing a fat trout flopping on the end of it. Greedily, the other two rushed back upstream to join the first orc in ripping the fish to bloody pieces with their disgusting tusks. Shaellin entered their minds again, to see what he could learn. "There should be some elf villages along here somewhere," Skunge told his two underlings. "We'll head upstream, and maybe we'll get lucky, grab an elf head or two." "Yeah," agreed Grool. "Get lucky. I might wanna 'make some half-elves' while we're at it." Brokko scratched his head and screwed up his face, an obvious sign that he was attempting to think. "Would them be half-elves or half-orcs?" he wondered aloud. "Whatever," replied Skunge. "Me, all I care about is a severed elf head. But how could even [i]think[/i] about mating with an [i]elf[/i], Grool?" Grool chuckled, an evil-sounding snort. "Don't count as mating if I kill her after!" Brokko grunted his agreement. "Come on," said Skunge, leading them upstream. Brokko and Grool grabbed their weapons and followed him. Shaellin, his eyes narrowed in hatred and disgust, slunk back off to the cover of the trees, all thoughts of fish now gone in the face of this threat to his people. If the orcs followed their plan, they'd come across the camp of Shaellin's wood elves. That, he would not permit. [/QUOTE]
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