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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jun 6, 2013 20:59:35 GMT -5
It seemed that the lock was super intimated by Klepto's Grade-A thieving skills. So much so, that it had decided to let Klepto in without hardly any effort. As far as houses in long-lost civilizations went, this one wasn't too bad. Looked like it had belonged to a merchant of some sort. Probably not a lock salesmen, and hopefully not a guy who sold pet scorpions.
The raging sandstorm outside left the thief little time to ponder the long-gone salesperson's wares. The door had burst open again, letting a sandy wind right into the house where it quickly blew around everything it could find. And now the room was filling up with sand. The desert clearly didn't want Klepto forgetting where he was.
"Gotta keep that door shut," the thief thought to himself, running over and grabbing the small snake statue on the table. He carried it back to the doorway, forcing the door shut and putting the marble statue down right in front of it. Hopefully the weight would keep the door from reopening. And if he needed to, he could roll up one of those carpets to keep sand from seeping in the bottom.
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jun 8, 2013 10:45:27 GMT -5
The statue appeared to hold the door shut, for now. The force of the storm was growing exponentially by the minute and it felt that at any moment, it would rip the old wood of the door right from its rotted hinges. Sand still found a way inside, though it was just a stinging trickle than the powerful gush that it was before the door was shut.
With the imminent threat of having his flesh rendered now gone, Klepto would be allowed to see his place of refuge in relative safety. It looked to be a home with several rooms connected to the front room which he is currently standing in. To his left appeared to be a kitchen of sort - craved from stone but rather barren except for the ratty silk partition separating hung in the doorway. Before the pony was a short hallway, at its end looked to be a bedroom of sorts but in the darkness it was too difficult to make out much more and bisecting the hallway was a doorway leading right with a soft dull beam of light shining out from within.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jun 8, 2013 13:40:48 GMT -5
The statue seemed to be making an adequate doorstop, though now Klepto was more concerned about the door itself falling apart. But there wasn't much he could he could do about that, and now wasn't the time for carpentry. The thief looked around the building he had entered, finding other rooms branching off form the one he was in. There was what looked like a kitchen (boring), and a short hallway with two other rooms.
The thief wasn't going to explore the darkened room without a light, not wanting to accidentally stumble upon a scorpion colony that might have taken up residence. No, no, he would have to find a source of light before doing any scorpion stumbling. As luck would have it, another room was emitting the soft glow of light. Realistically, it might be one of those glowy rocks Feathermain kept in his shop. But it could also end up being glowy, valuable treasure.
Klepto trotted up to the room, pushing the door open. He would have to see whether his expectations or optimism won out.
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jun 10, 2013 18:29:12 GMT -5
Optimism was lacking in this Tartarus hole, for the moment Klepto entered lit room he immediately was assaulted from behind. Without warning, the pony was struck from behind, right at the nape of the neck with some blunt object. There was not resisting, no time to react. In a moment, Klepto was alive and in the next, darkness became him. As his sight failed him, all that would be left was the roar of the sand storm outside, which gave way to complete and deathly silence.
Sometime later, Klepto would awake to find his eyes bound by a damp cloth. Blinded but not deaf, he could hear the rustling of someone else in the room with him. They were close, just a few meters away moving around, knocking metal against stone. Struggling, frightfully, proved futile as Klepto's hind legs were bound by old rusty chains that snapped and scarped against sand stone. After a few moments, the entity in the room moved close and at beside Klepto. A few soft, gentle caresses across his foreheads suggested comfort - understanding. Yet, in those taloned sweeps, a certain weakness would be overcoming. A strange, growing weakness, mixed with... a peculiar smell. A stew? A almost tantalizing scent of something cooking.
Klepto's bandages were sloughed off, revealing a griffon before him. A horrifying creature whose head was wrapped in liquid gold like a bastardized crown, his beak melted into silver with a tongue that was no longer palatable. The griffon was a monster, a monster who licked at Klepto's neck with its silver monstrosity confined in the beak. Klepto could clearly see that his forearms were being bled into a bucket at the side of the bed he was strapped too. The room itself was dusty and carved from sandstone, tool of a maniacal sort lined a nearby wall - ancient but still sharp. Meat of an indeterminable sort was lined by a tiny window, drying into jerky.
Words were written above Klepto, written in what was clearly fresh blood, Klepto's blood. They were fevered, crazed, written by a mind that had long since succumbed the the heat of the desert. "Tell me a pony story..." The face of Loci, the King of the Desert hovered over the pony, his silver beak a breath away from his face. He snapped at Klepto, then turned back to the stove top with a pot of boiling stew upon hot coals. The creature was cooking, cooking the thief to be exact. If he weren't saved soon, the poor pony would be carved to bits and consumed like a common beast.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jun 10, 2013 19:13:50 GMT -5
Klepto didn't even get the chance to see whether it was rock or treasure that was glowing in the room, because the moment he entered something struck him in the back of the head. The thief fell to the floor with a solid thud, the roar of the sandstorm his only company as he faded into unconscious. And soon enough, even that abandoned him.
When he came to, however long it had been, Klepto found himself blindfolded. Moving proved useless as he quickly discovered that he was chained down. Fantastic. And, what was that smell? Was that stew? It actually smelled pretty good.
Then someone began caressing his body, which the thief found more creepy than anything, especially since he couldn't see who was doing it. Except that didn't help much either, since if anything Klepto was more freaked out after the thing removed his blindfold. It was some sort of freaky griffon... thing... with liquid gold hardened around his head and silver coating his beak and tongue. Getting licked by it gave Klepto the heeby-jeebies.
Then he noticed the bucket, and his blood was being drained into it. And the stew, and the bird, and the chains... click. "You've gotta be kidding me!" the thief shouted, struggling beneath his bonds. Cannibals?! This was what he had gotten himself into? Cannibals weren't even supposed to be in the desert. Crud like that was strictly reserved for the jungles of the Zebralands. That was, if Feathermain had driven them all instinct. Speaking of Feathermain, where the heck was the bird? Now would be a good time for a rescue.
"Look, you hungry or somethin'? I got some munchies in my back pocket if you let me go," Klepto said, frowning as his captor walked back to the pot of stew. He then felt a drop of warm liquid land right above his eye, leading him to look up to the ceiling. "Tell me a pony story..." the thief mouthed. "You want me to tell you a story? Unchain me from this bed and get me some bandages for my legs. Then you get a story."
Klepto watched the crowned bird, waiting to see what he would do. "Would be a shame if you declined. Stories happen to be my speciality."
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jun 18, 2013 14:08:59 GMT -5
The catbird sharply turned from huddling over his bubbling stew, the wafts of steam wrapping around his silver-beak like two delicate hands. The glint in his eyes suggested hate, anger, frustration. It was clear he couldn't speak - or speak well, he instead made an unsettling rattle from deep in his throat as he shuffled over to the captive, bleeding pony. The griffon flared his wing, the other merely a wrapped stump, as his talon snapped to the note written upon the note in blood. He wanted a story, he demanded a story and the pony was skirting his demands. This - it became apparent, would not do.
The griffon drew a wooden and metal object from a nearby table that was littered old and makeshift tools. The object in his talon appeared much like Feathermain's rifle, just smaller and more integrate - it was also far newer than anything else in the little sandstone room. Unable to move, bound to the wall, Klepto was at the mad bird's mercy as he grasped the pistol by the barrel and raised to strike the poor captive pony. With one strong, sharp strike, the crowned griffon snapped the weapon upon Klepto's chest. An audible crack echoed through the pony's ears as a terrible sharp pain spread out from the point of impact. A rib or two were broken, one having pierced or least sliced a lung on his left side - every breath would be incredibly painful.
The griffon pointed again to the scribbled note once more as he tossed the weapon back onto the table he had taken it from. He turned away again, back to his boiling pot, taking a second or two every few moments to glance back at Klepto - waiting.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jun 19, 2013 22:05:35 GMT -5
The expression on Klepto's face did a one-eighty when the crowned catbird turned round to glare at him. Any sign of optimism quickly vanished, replaced by growing concern. "Uh..." The look in those eyes told the pony that his captor certainly didn't like how he had handled the situation.
"I mean, I am losing blood here, and at this rate I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stay conscious," the thief spoke as the deformed griffon approached, grabbing the metal and wooden object. "I mean, you wouldn't want me to leave you on a cliff-hanger, right? If you want a good story, you gotta let me-GAH!!"
CRACK. A strong, sharp, stabbing pain erupted from the left side of Klepto's chest, right where the bird had struck him. The thief tried breathing in, but was greeted by the unpleasant sensation of a broken rib jabbing his lung. It came with its own soundtrack: a wheezing, rattling sound that Klepto almost couldn't believe was his own. "No no no no no. Not again. Not freaking again." He had just gotten out of one disastrous lung-related injury, one that had almost taken his life. Now another? Had he ticked off some malign star, or was fate just trying to be thorough?
A volley of worded responses bounced around the pony's head. Insults, sarcastic remarks, things he wouldn't hesitate to say if he wasn't at the mercy of this psychotic griffon. But he was, as much as he hated it, and further provoking this bird was only going to earn him a deeper hole.
"I. . ." Klepto blinked heavily, slow, rattling breaths now rhythmically occupying his word-space. "You. . . want a story. . .
. . .alright. . ."
"Once there was this king. . . who lived in this big 'ole city in the desert. . . surrounded by all sorts of walls and stuff. He lived. . . by himself in this huge palace."
"This king. . . he has a sleeping disorder. Can't hardly catch a wink. . . So he hires all the kingdom's pillow makers or whatever. . . to make him the very best pillow money can buy. . . So they travel far, far away. . . for about a month. And when they come back. . . they bring the king this skinny little sheep. And the king asks. . . 'Hey. . . what's the deal with this sheep?'
"The pillow makers tell him. . . 'This is a very special sheep. . . If you feed it the kingdom's best truffles, and take care of it. . . for three years, it's wool will turn to gold. And if you. . . if you make a pillow from this wool, you'll get the best night's sleep. . . anyone's ever had."
"So. . . the king starts taking care of this sheep. . . and he feeds it the best truffles in the kingdom. It gets big. . . and fat, and fluffy. And it's wool starts turning. . . more and more of a golden color. . . The king gets so excited, he decides. . . decides to throw a festival when the sheep's wool. . . is finally ready to be sheered."
"Well, a week before the festival. . . the sheep goes missing. No one knows where it went. . . and the whole city starts going into a panic. The king. . . sends out the captain of the guard to search high and low. . . for the sheep. But they can't find it. . . The only clue they have is reports. . . of some guy in a tacky looking gray cloak running out of the palace. . . with a sheep-shaped sack on his back."
"You uh. . . you getting all this?" Klepto asked, pausing in his story to see how much the griffon was paying attention.
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jul 2, 2013 17:47:28 GMT -5
The mysterious and monstrous griffon was still huddled over his pot of foul stew, stirring away with a broken wooden spoon, his eyes still slipping around in his skull to peer back at the pony as his story was told. The griffon seemed to be enjoying the little tale as far as Klepto would be able to tell - even a creepy little smile would form at the side of his silver soaked beak when Klepto would wheeze in suffering. Was he taking delight in his story, or his suffering, but the way he would gurgle out a chuckle with every painful breath the pony breathed the later seemed more likely the case.
The griffon raised his talon to Klepto's question, rolling his wrist slowly, methodically and sinisterly. He wanted the suffering to go on and every second Klepto wasn't talking, the more agitated the vicious one-winged fiend became. With that same talon, he moved it to the stone counter beside the bubbling brew and clasped a old and long forgotten knife from a time long forgotten. It's dull and stained blade scraped against the edge of the counter in long, slow sweeps, as the griffon made to sharpen it in a diabolical display of malicious intent. He, so it appeared, wouldn't tolerate any long interruptions in the story and the narrative may be the only thing keeping Klepto alive at this point.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jul 4, 2013 10:33:14 GMT -5
Klepto watched his captor sharpen the knife, breathing painfully all the while. It seemed the griffon was getting more of a kick out of Klepto's suffering than the story itself, which was disheartening. Not that the thief could do much about it, but a little appreciation for the effort would have been nice. And besides, if the bird was only getting a kick out of the pain Klepto was in, there was pretty much a guarantee that things would get a lot worse.
He also had to wonder about the blood he was losing. How much longer would he remain conscious? And what would the monstrous griffon do to him if he passed out? Eat him probably, that's what all the signs were pointing towards. It sure didn't look like he was making that stew to share with the pony.
"So the next morning. . . the captain of the guard enters the king's throne room. . . with two of his guards carrying a big sack. . . So the king asks, 'Did you. . . find the sheep?'"
"And the guard says. . . 'No, but we did find this. . .' So they empty the sack onto the floor, and inside. . . is a thief. Like me. . . but less handsome."
"So the king asks. . . 'What the heck is this unconscious pony. . . doing on my floor?'"
"And the captain of the guard. . . tells him, 'Well, we couldn't find the one who stole. . . who stole your sheep. But we thought. . . if anyone could catch this guy, it's gotta be another thief. . ."
"So the king sits back, stroking his beard. . . until the thief finally comes to. And he says. . . 'Thief,'"
"And the thief's like, 'What's up your highness?'"
". . .and the king says, 'You know that my prized golden sheep. . . has been stolen?'"
"'Yeah,'"
"'Do you. . . know who did it?'"
"'No,'"
"The king looks down. . . at this thief for about a minute. . . stroking his beard. 'The captain tells me. . . that if anyone can catch a thief. . . it's someone who can think like a thief. Is this true?'"
". . .the thief shrugs in response. 'Seems like all the people who can't. . . aren't having much luck.'"
"The king looks down at. . . at the thief for another minute, continuing. . . to stroke his beard. 'Thief. . . if you can return my sheep within six days. . . before the start of the festival. . . I will reward you with riches beyond. . . your wildest dreams.'"
"The thief thinks about it. . . for a minute and says, 'Alright. . . but I need 50 gold pieces in advance. For supplies. . .' The king grants him the fifty gold pieces. . . and sends him on his way."
"Well naturally. . . the first thing the thief does is blow those fifty gold pieces. . . on stuff he doesn't need. . . Food, drink, a stay at a nice hotel. . . He spends every last coin."
"The next day. . . the thief finally sets out to begin his task. . . The thief knows that even this loser with the gray cloak. . . wouldn't be so stupid as to try and sell a rare golden sheep. . . in the same city he stole it from. So the thief. . . he sets out for the nearest neighboring city. . . and asks around about a a guy in a grey cloak. . . trying to sell a golden sheep."
". . .no one knows what he's talking about. . . so he goes to the next city. And on one there. . . knows what he's talking about either. . . So he goes to the next one. He does this for about. . . two and a half days, until finally. . . someone knows what he's talking about."
"The guy tells him. . . 'Yeah, the guy in the grey cloak. . . he was having a real hard time trying to sell this golden-fleeced sheep. . .'"
"And the thief asks, 'How come? . . .surely anyone would want to get their hooves on. . . all that gold.'"
"'Yeah, you'd think. . . but 'round here golden animals are. . . bad omens. Ya see, there's this sorceress. . . who lives in the mountains to the west. . . Who has an obsession with golden animals. She keeps them. . . keeps them all in this menagerie of 'ers. So naturally, no one wanted to be. . . within ten feet of this guy and his golden sheep. . .'"
"'But this guy,' the pony continues. . . 'This guy, once he hears about the sorceress. . . thinks he can make a lot of gold by selling her this sheep. So. . . he heads to her manor in the mountains to the west. . . and that was the last anyone saw of him.'"
"So that's where the thief. . . knew he had to go. And the next morning. . . he began heading. . . into the mountains."
Klepto paused in his story for a moment, catching his breath and swallowing hard. "Before I continue. . . can I get some water? Think my throats gonna give out. . . at this rate."
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jul 16, 2013 9:51:11 GMT -5
The monstrous griffon hissed at the pony's request, gurgling something which sounded like slurs, but it was so garbled from the silver that encrusted his beak and inner mouth that the pony could only guess what the griffon was trying to say. He moved over to a water basin near the stewing cauldron, taking up a old and dented pewter mug and dipping it into the water. He stepped over Klepto, then sharply snapped at the pony's jaw with his talon, clasping the stallion's jaw and squeezing it open. His claws dug into his cheeks, drawing blood. He poured the liquid down his gullet, a nasty concoction of filthy liquid that could barely be called fresh water. It tasted foul and smelled as if it had been sitting for sometime that the desert insects had found their way into it. Once the cup was empty, the griffon harshly pushed Klepto's head to the side, then cleaned the blood from his talons on the side of his mouth then scraping the talon along his beak, filing both in one quick sweep.
He shot his arm out, talon out stretched to the dried message in blood. He wanted Klepto to continue the story - after all, he would get his pony story one way or the other, the pain in Klepto's chest was testament to that. The griffon was crazed, hungry, and with the stew bubbling over, Klepto's only saving grace was his story and the glimmering hope that Feathermain was on his way.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jul 17, 2013 20:42:46 GMT -5
Klepto blinked at the hissing griffon, not even really caring what it was trying to say to him. At least it looked like it was willing to fulfill his request, though the method through which it did so was less than pleasant. The pony coughed painfully when the bird was finished, spitting some excess water onto the floor in front of him. ". . .your water really sucks."
"Okay. . . so the thief sets out the next morning into the mountains. . . looking for this sorceress. Well, after. . . after spending most the day climbing up the pass, he finally reached. . . this big 'ole castle with a whole buncha giant, pointy spears. . . sticking up around it. And on one of those spears, he saw our friend. . . in the stupid gray cloak, dead as a door nail. . . So he knew he was in the right place. . ."
"The thief, not seeing any other way in. . . knocks on the big wooden door. . . and is greeted by this big ugly troll. The troll. . . sniffs him for a few seconds, letting the thief get a big whiff. . . of his nasty troll breath. Then surprisingly. . . he steps aside and lets the thief inside. . . Which is pretty convenient since the thief. . . hadn't come up with a contigency for smelly trolls."
"So. . . the thief gets a look at just how ritzy this castle is. This sorceress. . . she has everything. Paintings, vases, busts. . . tapestries, swimming pool, you name it. Not only that, but she's got. . . dozens more trolls just standing by, waiting for orders. . . Guards I guess. The troll who greeted the thief takes him down the. . . the main hall, to this big empty room. And waaaay at the other end. . . is the sorceress sitting in this ornate throne-thing. She looks a little on the old side. . . pretty unassuming."
"The sorceress asks. . . 'Who are you, and why did you come here?'"
". . .and the thief answers, 'Oh, I'm just a pony. . . and I came to take a look at that collection of yours. . . of golden animals. Sounded pretty neat.'"
"'Did you?' . . .the sorceress asks. 'I don't often get company, let alone someone. . . interested in my collection. I do like having guests.'"
"'That uh. . . that guy on your fence seems to indicated otherwise. . .'"
"'I apologize if he intimidated you,' the sorceress says. . . 'But he was a thief. And I simply can't stand thieves.'"
"'Right, right. . .'"
"'You will view my collection. And then you will stay for dinner.' . . .and with that, the sorceress leads our hero to her menagerie. And inside. . . he sees all these animals with golden fur, feathers. . . whatever. There's a golden tiger, a golden peacock, even a golden fish swimming in a pond. . . And of course, there's the king's golden sheep. . . it's fur all fluffy and just two days away from being ready to shave."
"But what really catches the thief's attention. . . is a pony. A beautiful unicorn with a mane as golden. . . as everything else in the room. 'She's the pride of my collection. . .' the sorceress tells him. The thief nods in agreement."
". . .the sorceress gives him the grand tour. She makes sure he gets to see. . . every last animal in her collection. From the tiniest. . . golden butterfly to the large golden warthog. 'So. . .' she asks, 'Which is your favorite?'"
"'Well I really like. . . that sheep over there,' the thief comments."
"'Ah yes. He's the newest addition to my. . . collection. That criminal in the gray cloak tried to sell it to me. . . but I wasn't about to bargain with a thief. So I took it. . . and had him skewered.'"
"'Yeah, about that. . . that sheep wasn't his to steal from. It actually belongs to the king. . . I came to get it back."
"The sorceress frowns at the thief, '. . .so you lied to me.'"
"'Well not technically. . . I wasn't lieing when I told you I came to see your collection. . . just not for the reasons you thought.'"
"The sorceress frowns even harder. . . looking over at the sheep then back at the thief. 'How do you. . . know that's the right sheep?'"
"'I uh. . . I raised it! I'd know that sheep like the back of my hoof. . . Why do you think the king sent me?'"
"The sorceress then let out a wide grin. . . chuckling maliciously. 'Well in that case, I'll devise a test for you. . . to see whether you're telling the truth. If you pass. . . I'll let you take the sheep with you. But if you fail. . . just keep in mind the only thing I hate worse than a thief. . . is a liar.'"
"'My guards will be busy tonight. . .' the sorceress continued, 'As will I. She'll bring you your meal' she said, nodding towards. . . the golden-maned unicorn. And with that, the sorceress led him out of. . . the room, which was pretty decent. And that's where he spent. . . most his evening, thinking of what test might be. . . waiting for him the next day."
"You mind if I can get. . . more of that cruddy water of yours?" Not that he really wanted it, but what Klepto did want was a breather from all this talking.
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Jul 25, 2013 20:10:26 GMT -5
The mad bird suddenly exploded into a rage, with his story suddenly halted once more for the petty needs of the pony, stomping on the floor and banging his talons against a table. "SCORRIE!" The bird hissed, his first, blood curdling word as he snapped his eyes to the blood drawn pony. He reached for a earthenware jug sitting among the other ingredients for the stew and as he shuffled towards Klepto, dribbles of thick blood spilt out from the jug's neck - Klepto's blood. The griffon's talon snapped out, as before, and snatched up the pony's muzzle, forcing it open as he tilted the jug over the pony's mouth.
Suddenly, as the blood was poured over Klepto's palate, the door to the tiny room suddenly exploded open - kicked in from the outside. It ripped from its rusted hinges and slammed onto the floor followed by a rabid and deafening bang - one familiar to Klepto's ears. In that instant, the evil griffon flipped back, struck by a bullet to the crown. He splattered against the far wall and sloughed down onto the floor. Unclear if he was dead or not.
"What-ho, Klepto, my friend!?"
It was Feathermain, finally, looking refreshed and rather well. Not speck of dust on him and no sign of past struggle, in fact he appeared fed and slung under his wing was a wineskin nearly bursting with cool water. He clearly had been enjoying himself since their separation.
"Well, this is a rather unpleasant situation you got yourself in. Come, let me get you out here." He went to Klepto's side and begun to undo his bindings. "Terribly sorry about leaving you like this, would have come sooner, but I was rather distracted by the most hospitable family of noble griffons. Happened upon their luxurious airship above the sandstorm and they welcomed me on board, ah... there was such delicious food and drink, and the music! Oh how I danced with the most gorgeous of hens for what seemed like hours." He dramatically and fondly retold. "And after dinner and dance, we enjoyed coffee and these little sweet cakes while we talked about our exploits and expeditions long into the night. They were also offering breakfast. Anyway, long story short, you were surprising hard to find. If it weren't for the echoing of some just dreadfully awful story bouncing off the stone walls, I'd never would have discovered where you had wandered off to." He undid the final shackle, then stepped back, looking rather smug with himself. "So, who's you're friend?" Feathermain glanced over to where the crazed griffon had slumped over - he wasn't there. In Feathermain's ramble, somehow, the bird slipped out. "Oh that's not good... is it?"
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Jul 27, 2013 8:54:52 GMT -5
Klepto didn't show much of a reaction when his captor pounded his talons against the table, hissing some barely unintelligible word at him. The thief was starting getting tired of this sense of entitlement. If the bird wanted a scorrie so bad, the least he could have done was not plan on eating the scorrie-teller.
The pony watched the mad griffon bring over a jug, realizing after a second what it was. "Yeah. . . if anything that's just-" But before he could finished, the bird had snapped open his mouth again, starting to pour the mug's contents into his mouth.
He was surprised, however, when the door to the room suddenly flew off its hinges. Well it was about time! Within no time Feathermain had blasted the crowned griffon across the room with his stick-thing... whatever it was called. "You certainly took. . . long enough," the thief said, his tone one of relief and breathless, light-hearted humor. "Look. . . I'm not in the greatest condition. . ." he wheezed as Feathermain undid his restraints. "Got a pierced lung and probably lost. . . half my blood. You got any bandages or something. . .?"
The thief honestly didn't care too much what Feathermain had been doing. Right now he was just glad he had showed up at all. At last he was free from the monstrous griffon that... wasn't in the room anymore. "Crud. . . well just keep an eye out or something. . . I'm sure he couldn't survive another blast from. . . that stick of yours."
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Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Aug 7, 2013 18:35:54 GMT -5
"Pierced lung, you say? Well we can't have you on your hooves in that sort of condition. Here, pony, drink." Feathermain revealed a single vial of red swirling liquid, a health potion, branded with The Mane Ingredient across a sticker on its surface. He handed over to the pony, popping the cork. "Picked it up from my host friends... ah. Good times. There, that should keep you going." Feathermain turned, inspecting the little room, rummaging through the mismatched nit-nacks that littered the room. Most appeared blood baked and rusty. Junk, as best he could describe it.
A sudden noise jostled for his attention, coming from beyond the doorway that lead into the room. A guttural growl. Feathermain turned and begun to reload his rifle. "Right, perhaps we should get a move on. Klepto, I'm not the strong griffon I once was, can you move on your own? We're close to vault, I can smell it, just need your theiving, dastardly skills to get past the traps and locks and all that... you can do that correct?" He sounded worried for a second, a hint of doubt in his voice.
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Post by Klepto Moonlit on Aug 7, 2013 20:29:21 GMT -5
Klepto looked down at the health potion Feathermain had handed him, unsure what it would do for him. It probably wasn't a bad guess that it would offset the blood loss and dull the pain of the cracked rib. As far as he knew, though, expecting it to immediately undo the damage the crowned griffon had inflicted on his chest was a bit... optimistic. He'd might need a doctor for that. Or a lot more potions.
Well, he'd find out soon enough.
"Yeah. . . don't worry about it. . ." Klepto answered, continuing to look down at the potion. "I'm almost as good with locks and traps. . . as I am at telling stories."
The thief looked over at some of the stuff Feathermain had rummaged through. "Hey. . . you seen my battle harness around? Hope that. . . crowned psycho-bird didn't scrap it." He then gupled down the potion Feathermain had given him, waiting to see what the effects would be.
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