#Ask Samga

[determinedbuns]

*hands Samga a muffin*

"... How long has this thing been sitting out for?"

The rabbit looks down at a moldy mess of a muffin that has clearly sat out for far too long. Its darkly colored crumb giving way to a blooming white colony of pestilence, the rabbit had no desire to consume this muffin no matter how much one might ask.

"... Thanks?.. Gosh, how long was I asleep for? I must've left this muffin before I went to sleep, heck maybe even longer.."

[alexs-moon-garden]

Inktober day 5: Food

Next time on Monsterchef Kitchen-! Ft. @the-junk-sela/@emittyb Sela, @orange-mercyfighter Fallen, @two-littlesouls Cammy, @determinedbuns Samga, @multi-of-fire Daf, @nansi-stories Nansi, and @thesmilingtragedy Avarice

[whispersafterdusk]

Prompt #3: Scale

The muu shuwuu was a strange beast.

A large fuschia and white plumed avian, they typically stayed in the mountains to the north of the Mol encampment.  It was rare to see one on the plains, rarer still that the birds bothered with anything that wasn't one of their sheep.

Unexpectedly one had swooped down on Kazutane as he made his rounds nearest the rocky ledges of the mountain, and while he had managed to fight the creature off it had peppered him with razor-sharp plumes fired like arrows from flaps of its wings -- he had seen sheep pinned to the ground with such tactics but had never had the ire and feathers of a muu shuwuu aimed at himself before and hadn't quite managed to get his shield up in time to keep himself from being pincushioned with eight or so feathers.

He'd managed to prize a few free but the others were...well, stuck.  They'd penetrated his armor and sunk in deep and with each move of his arm he could feel the feather's shaft grate against the scales of his forearm; it was a sensation that made him shudder -- like he was rubbing his skin against sandstone.  It felt unnatural, painful, and was worrisome as he didn't know what diseases the beast might be carrying that may have just been embedded in his own skin to fester.

He was spotted by the others as he approached the camp and by the time he'd passed through the gates there was a small group there to greet him, and as he spied Cirina among their number he felt his face flush.

In the sun one could see the bluish tone to Cirina's horns; where most Mol had deep black scales and horns, hers had always reminded Kazutane of the deepest night where the stars shown brightest.  He let his gaze drop to the ground as he was ushered into a tent to be tended to, and gave only the briefest answers as to what had happened.

Soon it was only Cirina and one other helping her (a younger girl called Samga) ease his armor off until only the sleeve pinned to his arm remained on him.  It was easy enough to not have to look at Cirina now -- he could turn his head and grit his teeth as the feathers were pulled free and the blood cleaned away, and as the bandages were being applied he still felt as red as he had outside with each brush of her fingertips against him.  He could keep silent - he HAD to keep silent.  

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Huh?"

Cirina's voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned just enough to see her worried face leaning in close to him.

"You look flushed.  Are you feverish?"

"Perhaps the beast was sick and that is why it attacked him," Samga added.

"Ah, no, n-no.  I am not ill, I'm just-"

Lovesick, that's what I am.  A lovesick fool.

Cirina frowned and pressed the back of her hand to his head.  "There is no need to hide illness, Kazutane.  None will think less of you.  I will ask Maqali to make certain the muu wushuu is properly disposed of so nothing eats it and grows ill.  Here, lay down..."

Groaning inwardly at himself Kazutane obeyed; Cirina finished tying off the bandage and then laid a gentle hand on his bare chest.  He was close enough to see her eyes widen briefly.

"Your heart is racing - you ARE ill."

"Truly, I feel fine," he tried to argue weakly, but Cirina stood and moved away.  Most likely she would come back with the herbal paste they used to draw out fevers - it was pleasant smelling but tended to stain the skin a pale green for a day or so after it had been used.

If a green forehead was his punishment for being unable to keep his bashfulness under control...Kazutane supposed there were worse outcomes.

[fearlessfighter]

❤❤ from Samga, ❤❤❤ from Ikki!~

Muse Trust Test!

Samga

❤❤  I could let my guard down and fall asleep in your presence and feel safe.

“Really? Well I gotta say I feel the same way!”

Ikki

❤❤❤  I trust you with my life. I know you would never hurt me.

“It’s nice to know you feel that way. You’re a really good friend Ikki and I hope we can hang out more in the future.”

[baidar-oroq]

08-Clamor

Twelve years ago, the Sea of Blades, the Azim Steppe.

The outriders of the Oroq tribe, by now, consider their search to be perfunctory, fueled as much by tradition as it was their admiration for Jagadai, who insisted that they continue to search for his brother. They all know that the best case scenario for young Baidar is being captured and enslaved by the Oronir, for his trail had led towards the Mettle, and in the dying days of the old year as the Tsagaan Sar approached, the Oronir would surround the Mettle in force, claiming any foolish enough to approach. The likelier case, though, is that the boy is dead, killed either by predators or by the trials of the Mettle itself. But yet they push on, led by Jagadai, who is not willing to give up on his brother yet. 

Even if he privately wonders what drove Baidar to attempt the Mettle at his age. 

No Oroq has ever succeeded at the trials of the Mettle younger than eighteen summers; Jagadai had been twenty-three summers himself when he’d attempted it, and misfortune had ended his attempt before he tamed the cloudkin, a boulder that had smashed into the path just before he had reached the end, shattering his elbow. He had recovered from the injury to continue to serve as a warrior of the tribe, though he suspected that in later years his elbow would ache on cold and rainy days, but as the heir apparent to his father, he would have to display caution on the next time he attempted the Mettle. His failure was seen to some as an achievement, though, since many did not survive their failure. The gods would favor him the next time, some in the tribe said. 

Baidar was only sixteen summers old. Sixteen years old, and he had taken his spear and had snuck from the camp one night a week ago, what tracks he’d left headed for the Mettle. Sixteen years old, and probably dead, but Jagadai was not giving up. 

His parents seemingly had; his father, Bujir, had seemed more offended by Baidar’s breaking with tradition than worried that his younger son had vanished alone on the Steppe. Ibakha, his mother, had shown more concern, but that, as they say in Reunion, was a low bar to clear. Neither of his parents seem to understand Baidar, to understand his talents with a spear, his ability to hunt and track, how good he was at these things. Already Baidar was Jagadai’s superior in arms, rarely losing a sparring contest, and the boy had been hunting since he was fourteen. The tale of how Baidar had slain a purbol at the age of eleven-to be accurate, he dealt the final blow after a hunting party had done much of the work, but nevertheless-is a quiet legend in the tribe. Jagadai marvels that Baidar, who’d followed him on the hunt and had leaped into action when the purbol threatened him, had even managed that. 

Bujir, of course, merely focused on how disobedient his son was.

Be honest with yourself, Jagadai, especially if your brother is dead; he did it because he wants their approval for once. He thinks it will take the Mettle to attain that.

Jagadai is so lost in thought over his brother that he doesn’t at first hear one of the outriders shout, but the man pointing in the distance catches his attention. Jagadai follows the man’s gesture and sees a single yol, flying low across the ground, and on instinct he pulls a spear from the saddle of his stallion. It is not typical for a single yolrider to attack a party of riders numbering ten, but as a scout for other groups, a yolrider is dangerous. He prepares for whatever is to come, but he is in no way prepared for the yol to dive down at a rapid pace and fly so close overhead that he feels the beat of its wings, nor is he prepared for what he hears:

Baidar, yelling at the top of his lungs from the back of the yol, “HEY JAGADAI!”

The noise that hits Baidar as he brings the yol in for a landing on the edge of the current encampment of the Oroq is a palpable thing; Jagadai had raced ahead to notify the tribe of Baidar’s unlikely triumph at the Mettle, and fully a third of the tribe, mostly the young ones and few of the warriors who fought beside of Jagadai, is waiting, cheering, yelling, asking questions, and mostly wondering “how?” He fancies as he dismounts from the yol that Azim himself can hear the clamor of the tribe at his triumph. He is sixteen years old and he has defeated the Mettle. He feels someone smash into him, and he half expects it to be Jagadai, but no, it’s Samga, and the girl hugs him tight before saying “You ridiculous fool, how did you do this?”

Baidar is about to answer when he realizes that the clamor is gone, that all he can hear now is the wind as it whips across the Sea of Blades, and he is not surprised when the crowd clears and there’s his father, his mother at his side, and the expression of disapproval on both of their faces simply murders the mood. He sees confusion on Samga’s face, confusion on the faces of the youngsters that surround him, especially the children, but he isn’t shocked. Nothing I do meets their approval. I’m not Jagadai, he thinks. He rests an arm against the neck of the yol and gives his parents his most reckless, carefree smile. “I’m back,” he says. “Made a friend.”

Bujir is silent for a long moment, before he shakes his head and sighs. “You left the tribe alone. You violated our custom and tradition. You were to be eighteen, my son, if not older, and would only attempt it if we intended to fight in the Nadaam. What do you expect for someone who flaunts our tradition and laws?”

“I do not know. ‘Hey, son, see you’re back. How’s Bardam’s Mettle this time of year’?” A few of the crowd chuckle, but quietly. It did not do to offend the khan, after all. 

Bujir considers his son for a moment. “You succeeded at the Mettle, then?”

Jagadai steps up beside his brother, doing, as he always does, his best to navigate the gulf between Bujir and Baidar. “What, father, do you think he just found a yol out on the Steppe and talked it into coming? He succeeded. He is Baidar Yolrider of the Oroq now.” Whether you like it or not, he does not say. 

Ibakha moves between Bujir and his sons, forestalling whatever the khan is likely to say next. “He is a yolrider, yes. But he also disobeyed the will of the Khan and the traditions of the Oroq. When you are khan, Jagadai, you’ll understand how important it is that your word is obeyed”

“When I am khan, I will accord warriors with the respect they deserve for their achievements, even if they break with tradition,” Jagadai says. He knows that both he and Baidar will pay for this moment in future days; Bujir, after all, does not treat either of his sons well, he just avoids most of it because he has the fortune to be the firstborn. He looks at the tribe and says “Let them have this moment, father. We can debate how wrong Baidar was later.” 

Bujir nods, sternly. “I bow to your wisdom, my son. Celebrate the triumph of Baidar Yolrider then.” He and Ibakha turn in eerie precision and march in their direction of the khan’s yurt. 

They have not yet reached it when the clamor begins anew. 

“I am sorry, Baidar,” Jagadai shouts over the noise of the crowd. “I honestly don’t give a fuck how old you are, you’ve done something no Oroq has. You did well.” 

Baidar is somber for a long moment as the celebration continues to break out around him. Then he flashes his brother a wicked grin and says “Just getting started. One day I’ll win the Nadaam.”

Jagadai laughs. “Sometimes I almost believe you will.”

[theshiningdiamond]

EVERYONE IS HERE. ER, OVER 30 PEOPLE ARE HERE

Ruby( @unityoftraits ) Code( @codethebot ) Frisk( @8humansouls ) Piper( @buttonhats ) Nora( @sparksofaheart ) Fansong,Perseverance( @nxtgxnnadie / @snxgged-tooth ) Wilt( @Wilteddetermination ) Orabella( @we-all-fall-underground ) Griz( @undying-bravery ) Diction, Andres( @six-curious-souls ) Alexis( @soulsofvirtue ) Samga( @determinedbuns ) Jacob, Julie, May( @angelfriskandcrew ) Vainglory( @puppet-time ) Injustice( @AzureCognate ) Val( @valeriejumper ) Abe, Daf( @multi-of-fire ) Emily( @seven-bitter-souls ) Lillian( @a-persevering-soul ) Belle, Winter( @coldsoulgoodsoul/sixwandersouls ) Ginger( @sixdorkysouls ) Lily( @omega-souls ) Kip( @tinycabbit-kid ) Ivy( @ittybittygreensoul ) Tulip( @those-who-know-darkness ) Nala( @6souls ) Tara, Red( @asktinytaras)CT( @ask-au-charas ) Phoenix( @integrous-restoration ) Nessa, Sebastian( @the-starlit-souls ) Claire( @somenewsouls ) Kellam( @thesepoorunfortunatesouls )

[a-forlorn-soul]

Prompt #10: Nhaama’s Path

FFXIVWrite2019

Prompt #10: Foster

Rating: SFW

Warnings: None

Timeline: Approx three months ago

A groan escaped the Xaela who had somehow managed to appear from the Aether at the Aetheryte in Reunion. Not many among the tribes bothered with their use, but he had long since realized there may be times that he’d need to do so. Thus he staggered in the bitter cold air of the Steppes, the home of his people, with his eyes moving about the camp slowly while fighting the effects of aether sickness. He only did this in the hopes of figuring out if he had made it there before Chabi or not.

<”I cannot believe that she ran off like that…”> he grumbled to himself upon not seeing a sign of her at all.

After taking a few moments to gather what strength he could he took slow uneasy steps to make his way around the marketplace. At every stall he stopped to ask if anyone had seen someone matching Chabi’s description, and so far it seemed that he had in fact gotten ahead of her. Nhaama was watching him since it appeared that she had not ever attuned to the aetheryte in Reunion. It was enough for him to pause a break to avoid passing out from exhaustion.

He had little chance to actually rest, however, as while sitting himself down on a rug for those to ease their feet he found himself nearly flinching at a shout. <”Kete!”>

Turning in the direction of the shout he saw a sight he had not in more years than he could ever possibly remember. With skin as red as his and hair as black as night a small xaela woman came running towards him, and despite the passage of time he could still remember the name that belonged to her face.

<”MaraL?!”> he responded, forcing himself to his feet in order to catch his sister in his arms, <”By Nhaama I did not expect to run into you here.”>

A bright smile and soft gold eyes looked up at him after pulling away. <”Nor I you, brother. I thought I was imagining things when I saw you, you have been away for far too long,”> she told him, her smile remaining bright.

In true Xaela fashion neither of them showed their true emotions out where others could see. No instead they only smiled at one another after their embrace, remaining as stoic as ever. <”That is an understatement. How are mother and father? And the other two demons?”> he questioned in a taunting voice.

<”They are fine,”> Maral answered with a musical laugh, <”Though things were getting difficult there for a time. Turbish is keeping the Tribe under his lead with a rock fist. He would not let anyone who was not loyal to only him out to hunt,”> she explained, her voice becoming somber, <”Even those are becoming fewer, most regret siding against you as the Khan.”>

<”I always knew that would come to pass. You said were, though.”>

Her smile brightened right back up when he pressed for more information. <”Yes, then we received your message and instructions should the Tribe need to free itself.”> At this point her tone went from somber to almost blood thirsty. <”Hope was fostered among those who have been struggling.”> There was then a pause while her eyes narrowed in slight pain. <”It is not too late Kete. You could still-”>

<”I cannot, I will not,”> Kete cut her off with a shake of his head, <”It must be Yesui. She is my choice for Second and thus the rightful Khatun of the Tribe. With you and Ibakha at her side she can do it.”>

Sighing Maral let her head hang in response to his answer. <”I thought you might say that.”>

<”I am sorry sister,”> he muttered and brought a hand up to try and get her to look at him, <”A season ago I would have gladly returned, but I have made a life for myself in the West. A tribe actually. And there is one…”>

<”Oh? Are you perhaps finally settling down Kete?”> his sister suddenly prodded with an impish grin, <”Mother was beginning to worry that you really were hopeless. I just figured it was taking you a while to find a blind woman who had been knocked dumb by a dzo hoof.”>

With a loud laugh he shoved his sister and rolled his eyes. <”Far easier to find than you finding any kind of man that can stand you,”> he retorted with a sigh.

<”So you truly wish to remain in exile in the West?”>

<”I do. Yesui can handle things in my place, we both know she will make a better Khatun than even Samga. All you need to do is make sure that Ibakha does not convince her to kill Turbish,”> he said in a serious voice, <”He must be humiliated and then sent West to me.”>

She glared at him before slamming a fist into his arm. <”What do you take me for? Ibakha only does what I allow. Now come, let us go and get food and khumis while we discuss the rest.”>

Nhaama really was guiding his path, at least that is what he thought as he followed his sister off to a tent to rest. That was the only explanation he could think of. By her hand Chabi made her way to the Steppes in a manner that caused him to give chase right as his sister was bound for Reunion. Now hope was given to both him and his Tribe for a better future.

[thrashedyou-blog]

POW (Samga)

Send WHAM for my muse to punch yours, alternatively, send POW to punch my muse

Okay maybe she asked for that one calling him tiny, and especially leaning down towards him to let him hear her better, or well she was just gonna yell in his ear but the rabbit clocked her round the side of the head.

Which considering this is Susie, prompted her to return fire, a punch straight to the side of the rabbits head, especially hitting the temple.

“How bout that for a punch huh?”

[soulofironblood]

Knight from the distant past, who has been tossed out of their appropriate time period, What do you fight for?

Eydis paused. Hesitantly, this question had been asked only by herself before. What did she fight for. In the past it was to survive and live for the sake of her parents memory. After all forgetting the past means forgetting who you are.

But now, she had friends like Omen, Revak, Red, Samga and more to look after and protect when the time came down for her to do so, and most importantly was protecting those she cared the most, the love of her life. And those she called family, not related by blood but by the bonds they share.

“I fight to protect my friends and family, right now one of them is in danger so I rise up to protect them. No matter the cost even if it does mean losing my life in order to save them. I’d do the same for Prima who I cherish the most. Tali, or just about anyone I consider a friend or part of my family. I won’t let anyone hurt them.”

“And if they think they can take them away from me without a fight they are sorely mistaken!”

[the-selfishsoul]

A cold sweat dripped from Omen's forehead as her body sprung up from the dream she was having. It all felt so real... those lush green fields, that smell of grass, and the touch of those beautiful white flowers. Even now, she could feel the fading warmth of the sun on her skin, as if she were just in that very field just moments ago. 

Outside, the rushing sound of the nearby waterfall began to fill her ears, the coolness of the cave quickly calming her down. It was just a dream, and she was still here, safe within her Waterfall hidden home. Laying her head down once more upon her pillow, a low, shaky sigh came from her lips. It was nothing, just a weird dream, that’s all it was. 

The idea of just closing her eyes and trying to get to sleep seemed like a nice idea to her, but it was quickly interrupted by the sound of loud knocking upon the wood door that hid her home. At first, a wave of confusion overcame her as to who it could be, but she knew only Red and Samga had any idea where she was. Did one of them need something this urgently? At this time of night? 

Letting out an annoyed huff, she quickly pulled herself out of bed before throwing on a pair of clothes and turning on the lights. Walking over to the front door, she pulled it open to see who was outside, but had difficulty making out just who it was supposed to be. They were cloaked in a long black robe, their face hidden by the shadows from her room. 

“ Red? Samga? ” 

There was silence for a few seconds. Before she could ask again, a small chuckle came from the figure.

 “ Nope, just me, Xivian~ ”

[determinedbuns]

...💖 LISTEN MAN THIS GOTTA HAPPEN ONE WAY OR THW OTHER SHDHSJ (@garrthedustbun)

The music begins to play, denoted by the Dust Bunny reaching over and holding onto Samga’s hands. The mere gesture alone was awkward enough, it was a stranger after all. Did he know this person? They looked so familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Until he did. The look in his eye, the general haircut and color scheme, they looked just like that one guard that tried to..!

His grip on Garr’s hand tightened as the music picked up more and more and his shocked expression shifted to a gradually widening grin of wicked fury before he turned around and swung gar over his head and–

RULES OF NATURE

The table was left in pieces, Samga walked away from the disheveled mess of memes and old sour relations.

[sea-and-storm]

Crimson - Have you ever been in war? If so, describe how it impacted you

OOC:  Decided to answer this as a drabble that I was planning on writing sometime anyway, so maybe the writing isn’t 100% spot on with what specifically the question asked. So to actually answer the question:  not directly, and very very badly.

It was the morning after the annual battle over the coastlands and at the their clan's camp, the Kharlu that had not marched off to battle eagerly awaited the return of the warband.

Among those waiting were the seven wives of Batukhan Kharlu and the youngest of his progeny. Babes still at the breast slept soundly curled in their mother's arms while toddlers pulled impatiently at their skirts. Those older still watched the horizon with the adults, some with wide eyed excitement and others with the solemn understanding that the day would come when they too would leave the safety of camp to join the other warriors on the field.

At the end of the line was the newest of the khan's wives. Only around half as old as the first, Samga of Kharlu, the former Mankhadi looked closer to a daughter than the seventh wife. She was the only one among their number without a child hanging onto her, nor with swollen belly, which only served to make her seem that much more sorely out of place.

Had the circumstances been any less solemn, there would have been whispers. There was any other time Ghoa was out among the rest of the tribe for any reason. The women snickered and sneered as they whispered behind their hands. The men didn't even bother to lower their voices to make their crass comments as they cornered her alone, just so long as they were sure their khan wasn't closeby to overhear. No few of their number had spat at her feet and made clear their disdain after it had become widely known across the camp how increasingly vexed their beloved leader had become with his newest, barren, defiant bride.

While this cycle’s battle for control over the eastern coastlands had quickly come and gone, Ghoa's own war had been raging on for almost a year now, from the moment she had been taken from her people to become the property of Batukhan Kharlu.

Ghoa's silver eyes would not leave the horizon, and scarcely would she even allow herself to blink. In the distance, she could hear the low rumbling of hooves on the packed earth. It hadn't been nearly so loud as it was when they had left. Were they still far out, or had they lost many? She didn't know. This was her first experience with the grand annual battle, and her own people had never been the warring sort besides. All of it was uncharted territory to her.

"You're worried."

Her attention was finally pulled away by the voice of the woman to her right, her expression alone enough to confirm the other’s observation. Her eyebrows were knitted together, jaw tense, and lips set into a hard line. Yet the face Ghoa found staring back at her, while certainly not casual, was far less tightly wound. Togene was the fourth wife, and perhaps the only one among the Kharlu that truly seemed to hold any shred of sympathy for her situation. She had tried to be Ghoa's guide in the difficult transition, to teach her the ways of her new people and to pick her back up when she faltered. Out of the entire tribe, Togene was the only one that the former Mankhadi would truly call a friend.

"I am," Ghoa admitted in a quiet whisper, giving a meek nod.

Togene's lips pulled into their usual soft, understanding smile. Careful not to wake the young boy she held, she shifted him off to one hip and reached out with her newly freed hand to caress her cheek. Her fingers gently brushed the strands of Ghoa’s long, inky blue hair from her face then fell to find her own, wrapping around it and giving it a firm, reassurance squeeze.

"I know it is new to you, Ghoa, but there's nothing for you to fear," she cooed. "Successful or not, Batukhan always returns home to us."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the words, and for a moment she had to drop her eyes away to keep her feelings from becoming obvious upon her face. As she had told her, Togene had eventually learned to love their husband, to find joy in the children that he had given her and in serving him and the Kharlu. From the very beginning, Togene had insisted that in time, she too would come to feel the same way if only she tried.

So how could she tell her only friend that she was not worried that he would not return, but rather that neither Nhaama nor Azim nor any other god who would listen had heard her impassioned prayers to let him fall upon the battlefield? How could she admit that what she wanted more than anything in that moment was for Batukhan, the man Togene loved and the father of her children, to have fought his last battle?

She couldn't, and so instead she only gave the woman a weak and shaky smile and squeezed her hand in turn before returning her eyes to the horizon in silence.

The hoofbeats were growing louder now and finally she could begin to make out the shapes of riders in the distance. As they drew closer, she could tell that there were indeed far, far fewer returning than those that had left. So many casualties of war.. But still her eyes desperately sought out only one man in particular while desperately hoping that she would not find him.

Ghoa had almost allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope when her eyes had finally landed on him. His armor was dented and scraped. His brown hair was matted with sweat and blood, and his face covered in dirt and grime. The lance he had taken with him to the battle was gone completely, likely lost somewhere in the fighting.

But there he was, hale and whole and seemingly little worse for wear, save for the umbral anger that so evidently simmered under the surface of his severe expression. A look that Ghoa had become all too intimately familiar with, and one she had quickly learned to fear.

The gods hadn't heard her prayers;  if they had, they had chosen not to answer them. Batukhan had returned and the war she herself fought would continue on, unending. Silently, the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"See?" Togene whispered when she noticed Ghoa’s crying, clearly mistaking them for relief and joy as she reached up to wipe them away. "Our husband always comes home to us."

[hiddeninshxdows]

((heyyyy I wanted to ask if maybe youd like to do a fun lil thread between Elly and Samga, or if you wanted to continue our first thread where Samga and Elly were lookin for Mr. Skelly, im up for either one, BUT SAMGA KNOWS HOW TO DO HAIR!!! HE LEARNED AFTER DOING IT FOR HIS LIL SIS EVERY MORNING!)

{HECK YEAH LET SAMGA DO HER HAIR, ITS VER SOFT AND SHE PURRS WHEN ITS PLAYED WITH}

[flourishingbatter]

Turn 1

It was all clear to him. A 'Crash course' was required. 

From there, as he took in the fact they continued to deny his...Will, that he had honestly gotten fed up by now.

 "...You know what? Fine. I get a power boost, simple as that but when I emphasize what's better here on out. You all see it as a bad thing."

 "You all think I'm insane? Great, that's just pretty damn dandy when I could say the same for all of you. Just goes to show that you all remain ignorant for the dangers to come."

 Soon after stating this, Johnny begins his slow trek towards the group, a menacing scowl creases over his mouth - the titan's luminous monitor glowing brightly ; brows furrowed in absolute intensity to show the lack of empathy he held. Truly, this was a massive difference compared to what Johnny had been previously. 

 "If you're willin' to try and go back to that terrible place, then be my guest. I'll let you all know I'm gonna be callin' the shots. If I have to show you an example of those 'people' then so be it."

The first retaliation has begun.

Witness their actions from beneath the cut.

Sela | @the-junk-sela

Despite the flavor text's warning, Sela has had enough. It was enough to see him toss Samga aside as if he was nothing, but he's made it crystal clear that they're not going anywhere without a fight.

Alpha would find that barely the moment he finished speaking that final line that Sela was already rushing at him, hand in a nice fist. She didn't wanna grip too hard, she had some clarity in her snap decision to punch him. With a resounding woosh did she part from the group, rushing head long straight for a punch that... due to their respective height difference, would probably see it aimed dangerously low.

Revak | @blazing--soul

[Revak, upon seeing the actions of his "friend" becoming so... hateful in nature, scowled with a low, furious rumbling.] 

 * ...If this is how ya wanna play it bud, so be it.

 [He lifts his hands to either side of him, equipping his Fists of Retribution, and slamming his fists together with a "CLANG" and a shower of sparks, getting low into a combative stance, and upon noticing Sela break from the group, threw his hands behind him; a burst of flame emitting from his palms which would propel the dragon headlong at the titan's screen, a blazing fist drawn back for a powerful hit...]

 * BATTER UP!! 

 [It was a gut reaction, sure... but he had to at least attempt to keep damage off of the demoness somehow, even if it meant becoming potential bait.]

Happy | @happyflowey

 * Johnny saying that only confirms for us that your mad with power-andholyshit. He was expecting someone to knock some sense into him suddenly but he wasn't expecting two people to break from the group.

 Lilith | @ribbcn-bxnes

 [* Oh no that does it. Tossing innocents like Friday takeout? Yeah that's not gonna fuckin fly. Quickly, Lilith raises both her hands and they ignite in an instant. Her tail flicks behind her much like an aggitated cat. She's ready to end this, and if they had to smack sense into their friend? So fuckin be it.] 

 "That 'terrible place' is still our HOME. But if we have to physically show you what we have been trying to get through your skull this whole time, then we will do just that."

 [* Lilith keeps her range for now since two are already getting up close and personal and in turn sends two columns of flaming bone curving around right for the titan]

 Corrupt | @corruptedflora

[He Stood and Watched, Glued to His Spot. Although Slightly getting Fired up to Fight, He Clenched a Fist and Silently Watched. He just Wanted to go Home.]

Vainglory | @puppet-time

Vainglory had been standing along the group the whole time, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. 

'What did they mean, "you're putting us in the same position you were once in?"' He thought, fidgeting with his spiked collar.

 'Was this titan flower in a position where he.. wait..' The oblivious and ignorant ink flower had been ignoring the point the whole time. 'Hmph,' his inner monologue continued, 'this.. "Alpha" has decided that he will not only "protect" this place from some sort of danger, but keep Vainglory and others from returing to their home.

 Well, Vainglory currently has no home, but still! And to add onto it, he has now injured a bunny rabbit that found itself in this coliseum hell-hole.' He let out four long sighs all at once from all four of his mouths, finally understanding the situation at hand. He skittered across the coliseum and closer to the titan, but kept his distance at the same time.

 He made a firm stance and planted his inky roots into the coliseum floor, keeping on guard in case Alpha had another sudden outburst and attacked someone. He'd rather keep his distance and be ready to evade than charge at the titan with murderous glee. Even if the second option appealed to the inkling, he knew that the omega posed a far greater threat to him, due to his size and structure.

Paul - Flourishingbatter

Frankly, Paul had no words to say other than to cry out in surprise at the abrupt action Johnny had displayed. Sure, they were being a bit...Nonchalant and undermined his whole thing but that was literally adding fuel to the fire. 

Even then, the mushroom, whom had actually shirked off some fears in the past, was initially affected by his forceful will. How exactly was he to convince them? They had blatantly ignored his heeding calls.

 Nonetheless, if he were to do something, he needed to address to assisting the others to get up. No way could he picture the image of him attacking his best friend. Watching as the others would proceed to defend themselves, Paul would go ahead and quickly jog over to the tossed rabbit to check for any additional damage they had been dealt with. "Samga!? Samga! Are you okay?!" 

Samga | @determinedbuns

Within the large imprint in the wall of where Samga resided, planted thoroughly into the source of the cracks, the Rabbit's eyes shot open and groans of immense pain droned out from him. "UUuuuuuuggggghhhh..... Is there a White Mage in the house....?" He dreamily asked, half conscious.

Paul

The mushroom grimaces before proceeding to reach up and pull the poor rabbit out. 

Once that he was done, with hearing an audible 'POP' to which wasn't that important to Paul that he quickly goes ahead to place Samga down gently then went ahead to pull out his lunch box while procuring a sandwhich neatly tied and tucked within plastic wrapping. All of it would be hastily torn apart as the mushroom didn't know why but feeding them seemed to be a top priority.

 The damage that titan could do was deadly so in all aspects, this could've been the only way to help. As he quickly waved the fresh morsel, perhaps as an alternate to smelling salts in front of their nose, he was begging, pleading for them to get up. "...C'mon...C'mon!"

Samga

The halfway to passing out Rabbit would suddenly reach out to the Sandwich and snatch it in his maw, devouring it quickly.

 His body flashed a bright green light as he felt strength returning to him! Fortunately he was too dazed to realize there was probably some vegetables in there but it was a sandwich no less, and already he felt good as new!

 "HOOOO!!!!" He enthusiastically shouted out as he leapt back to his feet. He looks over to Johnny, then to Paul and scratched his head. "Figures we'd have to deal with this the hard way.."(edited)

Paul

The mushroom exhales in relief before briefly giving the rabbit a quick hug "I-I know...I'm sorry for gettin' you all involved. He- He really isn't like this at all. I don't even know if a hard knock on the noggin' is gonna do anything but..." A desperate sigh as he moves to quickly let go of the embrace. "...If it's the only way, then we're just going to try."

Samga

Samga shares a brief hug with Paul, not one to refuse one from a friendly face, but when they let go, he looks back to Johnny as he approached the group. "A good smack to the head was what solved it last I seen something like this, even if this time it's a buddy.." He would start small, throwing a blazing fireball from his combusting palm to gauge the Flora's strength.

[baidar-oroq]

Laugh

(Spoilers for 5.2 and the Ruby Weapon Trial):

The Sea of Blades, the Azim Steppe, eleven years ago:

He is sixteen summers old, his first Nadaam behind him now, when his uncle Bukidai comes to him on the eve of a dairalt, a raid of protection against a swarm of Adarkim looking to defeat weaker tribes to replenish their numbers after a disaster of a battle against the Oronir. 

Baidar is tending to his steed for the raid, one of the dozen that are the personal property of his father, the khan of the Oroq, Bujir. It is only because Bujir doesn’t wish to break the traditions of the tribe that Baidar has even been given one of the stallions; Baidar’s choice to face the test of the Mettle and then fight in the Nadaam before Jadagai, the future khan has forever put a distance between father and son for his presumption. Baidar is not the udirdagch in matters of war, not the one who decides who fights in the Nadaam, after all. That no one in the long oral history of the Oroq has ever succeeded at the Mettle as young as Baidar seems irrelevant to Bujir. Bukidai finds his brother, at times, to be a damn fool. Even at such a young age, there is no better warrior of the Oroq than Baidar, not even Jagadai, who is already named the champion of the Oroq and the war leader. That Jagadai himself acknowledges that Baidar is already his superior at arms is also ignored by Bujir. 

Bukidai sighs and sets that all aside. The outriders have reported that over forty riders of the Adarkim are approaching, thinking that the Oroq are easy prey for them. The drivers of sleds, many think on the Steppe, are easily beaten. They would need to be taught, even if the tribe could only afford to send fifteen riders to do so. It would soon be time to ride out and face them. Around them, the Oroq are taking down their yurts, loading their sleds, preparing to move to new lands in the event the Adarkim come with a greater force; the women bark orders to those working to break down the camp, while armed Oroq circle the dzo herds, preparing to drive them across the Steppe. It is elegant and organized chaos. 

Bukidai walks up to Baidar, an obvious limp slowing him. His last Nadaam, five years previous, had ended with a wound to the leg that never properly healed, and so he has transitioned from war leader to advisor, an advisor rarely listened to by Bujir. He watches the youth secure the saddle on the stallion, making sure that his spare lances are equally secure. The Oroq will not be able to dismount on the attack, after all; their job is to harry the Adarkim, not fight on the ground. The other riders for the dairalt are a short distance away, surrounding Jadagai, some of them already singing the songs of war of the Oroq and whooping wildly. In contrast, Baidar is quiet, his expression thoughtful. I’d best talk to him, then. Give him the old advice my father gave me on my first ride, he thinks. “Not interested in singing then?” Bukidai asks.

Baidar turns from his preparations and gives his uncle a smile. “You’ve never heard me sing, clearly, Uncle. The last time I tried, Samga told me to stop.”

“What were you singing?”

Baidar thinks on it a moment, then blushes. “A sailor’s song from the Ruby Sea I heard in Reunion. Might have been why she told me to stop.”

Bukidai chuckles. “Likely. So. Your first raid. Your first ride at your brother’s side in battle. Not much like the Nadaam at all.”

“Here to give me advice?” Baidar asks.

“Of course. Whether you listen is up to you. You will need it, for the ride is not like the Nadaam at all. If you are unhorsed, you’re in trouble. Speed is everything. Your allies are shock and sheer speed. Ride into them and make them fear you.” He reaches over and puts a hand on Baidar’s shoulder. “Laugh while you are killing. Make killing into joy, so that they fear you more than they fear failure.” Baidar opens his mouth to speak, but Bukidai shakes his head. “You love the fight. More than any other warrior I have even known. Use that. Laugh as they die, and those that live will remember that.”

Baidar considers this for a moment, then nods and climbs into the saddle. “I’ll see you when we’re done,” he calls, and rides to join his brother and the others. Bukidai watches the youth go, and wonders if the boy is ever going to realize how special he can be.

The Ghimlyt Dark, after the defeat of Ruby Weapon:

“As for you, hero of Eorzea, you’ll pay for what you did to Milisandia, I swear it.”

Baidar watches the Raen leave the field of battle where he fought against the Ruby Weapon, acutely aware of the presence of Gaius van Baelsar beside him. The Garlean is quiet, brooding over the fact that the pilot of Ruby Weapon had called him father, before she had died, her mind overwritten into someone else’s by the Weapon’s systems. Baidar barely understands what had happened-it would be later, speaking with Y’shtola on the First, that he comes to learn just who Nael van Darnas was-but he knows what he has done. A few minutes ago, he had been fighting, his new blade Dragonsong filling him with the power of Nidhogg, overcoming impossible odds against a terrifying war machina. 

And now, here he was, an accomplice to the death of Gaius’ daughter.

He does not think that Gaius will blame him for Milisandia’s death; the VIIth Legion and the monsters in Garlemald that had made the Weapon were the ones to blame. Had any of Gaius’ attempts to halt the Weapon had been as successful as Baidar’s, then Gaius would have wielded the blade that killed her. That does not make Baidar feel any better about what he has done. He damns himself for falling into the joy of battle, the thrill of fighting to the death, living balanced on the edge of life and death, as he’d fought against Ruby Weapon.. Zenos was right about that, he thinks. I am like him in that regard. 

He sighs, deeply, his hand on the hilt of Dragonsong. “Laugh while you are killing.” he whispers.

“I beg your pardon?” Gaius asks, unsure of what this Warrior of Light has just said. 

“Something my uncle once said,” Baidar replies after a moment. “Something he said to inspire a damn fool kid. Something I’m not sure I need anymore.” He sighs again. The Azim Steppe and the fighting between the tribes, the dangers of the hunt, his uncle’s advice-well meaning within the society of the Xaela, but betraying how small his perspective truly was-feels like it was a thousand years ago. The sheer scale of the wars that he has fought, from the Source to the First and back again, is beginning to wear on his soul, the responsibility of being a Warrior of Light weighing more on him with every passing day. That he would have to kill again-to protect Eorzea and his family-is obvious to him. But he is not sure he will ever laugh while killing again. 

He is not sure he ever should have.

[naarehate]

Samga nonchalantly walks up to Nanachi, holds up his index finger, jabs it into his own belly and the act results in a chewtoy esque squeak from the strange Rabbit.

Mild puzzlement is the immediate response to the other’s actions, a raised question preceding the unexpected, albeit... strangely adorable noise. “Naa...? Watcha d-”

A moment of bewilderment, hidden beneath the usual half-smile and unimpressed stare, leading to the muttering of a deadpan “... huh.” Admittedly, a part of her wanted to see if there was some sort of trick to it. Maybe a noise-making relic hidden in his fur?Well, who knows. Only one surefire way to find out!“How’d you do that?”... asking directly, of course. She knew, better than anyone, how annoying it can be to be poked and prodded at without reason.