stronger than one, stronger than ten, stronger than a hundred men! (small to medium group) (magic! secrets! coups and revolution and revenge abound!!) (ALSO: WE’RE STILL OPEN!!)

@EldritchHorror-Davadio

( @im-with-stoopid Orion did say you were welcome if you want, Stubs)

@im-with-stoopid

(Urk- I've been staring at my dude for a while because he's got a little bit of everything from everyone already here. I'll try to play up his personality to differentiate him at least somewhat.)

Name: Rhival'lur "Rhiv" Orsaunin
Age: 33 years old, elderly where he's from
Gender and Pronouns: Male, He/Him/His
Orientation: Straight, but already taken

Species: Human / Beastspeaker
Appearance: A burly, grizzly-haired man standing at a little less than seven feet tall. In his prime, he was better-built, though aging and overworking in the mines have worn his physique. For the moment, he appears to be on the healthier end of Sval's miners, though there's no telling how long it'll last.
When looking from head-on, Rhival'lur's face is almost bear-like, mostly due to the oddly dark point of his nose, and the sleepness marks beneath his eyes. His head is blocky, though, and his piercing amber eyes are less than inviting. Most notably, his canine teeth are long enough to jut out past his lips. The bottom fangs – the more immediately visible of the pair – curl up and inward while the top teeth curl down and out to the sides. A short, paling beard frames his jawline. A thick, loose braid falls over either shoulder, and the rest of Rhiv's hair sweeps back into a silver-black tangle, stopping around his waist.
An ugly scar snakes across his neck. Rhiv refuses to tell where it came from.
Wardrobe: A smoky-gray bearskin cloak serves as an overcoat, keeping Rhiv warm in Sval's biting cold. According to Rhival'lur, it's an argenurse pelt, though whatever bears those are, they certainly aren't native to anywhere near Sval-Ket. Beneath the cloak is a simple tunic and ankle-banded pants combo.
Personality: For someone of such an imposing build, Rhiv is actually quite mellow. He is mostly nonverbal, though he occasionally graces others with single-word answers (but I'll write more than that, ofc). The man is reserved, but not unapproachable. As much as he'd prefer to keep his relations at Sval at a distance, he worries over those less fortunate than himself. He is often found divvying up his rations, sharing his cloak's warmth, or providing a shoulder to cry on. Still, he keeps a professional and mostly impersonal air about himself.
While usually passive, Rhival'lur still is more than capable of holding his own out in the wild and in combat. His self-restraint is usually impenetrable, though spending time in the mines has worn down his patience. Not enough for him to snap at anyone he sees, but enough to be some vague potential threat.

Skills: Thanks to his prior experience as a herbalist and forays into botany, Rhival'lur is fantastic at identifying plants, specifically those which are edible or have medicinal uses. Of course, there is little familiar greenery for him to find in the mines, but he is happy to discern any wilted leaves that tumble his way.
Though it's not his favorite pastime, Rhival'lur is an experienced hunter. He knows how to cover his tracks to ensure a catch or avoid being caught himself. Evidently, this has translated over to his usual mannerisms. Despite his relatively large size, his gait is quiet and his presence is scarcely felt. He often forgets this ability, and he hesitates to knowingly use it due to his strong beliefs in honorable combat.

Power: Being a veteran Beastspeaker, Rhiv is intrinsically tied to Nature. He seems to draw his health and vitality from being out on the surface in sunlight. Additionally, Rhival'lur is able to sense vibrations in the ground around him. As such, he is particularly miserable down in Sval's mines, far removed from the sun and overwhelmed by the constant clanks of pickaxe on stone.
Rhival'lur is also able to tap into the minds of animals, communicating through a mental link.

Backstory: Rhival'lur has lived a relatively modest life until lately. In his youth, he took up horticulture, learning any and everything he could about the herbs in his homeland, mainly which were safe to eat and which ones could help people. As a herbalist, he was notable among his fellows for not charging for his services. It worked then, as he could support himself and his wife just fine by foraging and hunting.
He was threatened to join the draft to Sval-Ket as a sort of "offering" to the Queen's workforce, protecting the heads of his village by giving himself up, supposedly. Now he's left constantly worrying about his wife, wishing to the stars that she's holding up alright without him. She should be, as he passed some of his herbal skills to her, but he can't help but to jump to worst-case scenarios.

Theme song: A what?
Other: Huge bear theme going on with him. I don't know if that'll tie into his future plotlines, but I thought it was neat to have the big protector dude be like a bear dad.
Also, as to why Rhiv hasn't become a medic at Sval-Ket, he isn't familiar with the local environment, which plants have which effect, etc. Maybe he would be if they were imported or something since Sval is wintery all the time? I'm willing to go either way on this, whichever makes more sense @orionshenanigan

@im-with-stoopid

Mar 16

(Think I'll split the difference and just have beardude be an unofficial medic- like yeah he helps out, but only with basic medical stuff to help free up time for the more advanced medics)

Footsteps rippled on gritty stone, sending tremors into Rhiv's marrow. There were enough folk in the infirmary as was – how many others needed to be here? A heavy glare from him bore into the newest arrival. Not a Queens-guard, from the look of it. A relieved breath escaped his chest, fogging ever-so-slightly in the cool air at the infirmary's back wall. There were deathly ill folk in the corner maybe thirty-some strides away, so a general unease hung about here.

His gaze returned to the task at hand. For the past few moons, he'd been an unofficial medic – an assistant. He was still relegated to the mines as often as any other worker, but he was welcome enough to elude his extra shifts here. It was one of the few respites offered – he'd be a fool not to stow away down here. Others seemed to have the same idea, as rogue miners would sometimes mill about the entrance until he shooed them off like pigeons. He cast another stray glance towards the newcomer, this one much more respectful than the last. They were here for a reason, Rhiv concluded; for the moment, he gave it no further thought.

Beside him on a medical bed, a younger tiefling patient sat clutching their midriff, doubled over and groaning. The stomach pain was obvious enough, though whether it was from spoiled rations or starvation was unclear, as his patient whimpered in some foreign tongue. A painkiller would do for now. Spider-stalk was, thankfully, among the few herbs within the infirmary's stores that Rhiv could administer himself. A half palm's-full of the brewed roots could numb a man's freshly broken bone, assuming it wasn't already infected. When doubled, it could do the same for most beasts. Any more than that was a waste of the weeds, and here at Sval, waste was an unaffordable luxury. As relatively common as spider-stalk was, it was always better to ration than to use recklessly.

Rhiv's patient trembled as his firelit shadow loomed over them. Even as he crouched to soothe their nerves, they still sat a head shorter than him. He reached forward, presenting a small mug of spider-stalk tea, fresh off the fire.

"Drink. Slowly."

Wide-eyed, they stared at him before quickly drawing back with a hiss. His patient spat a little flurry of noises at him before finally noticing his outstretched hand and the warm clay mug he'd offered. Thready fingers snatched the tea, evidently not understanding Rhiv's instructions. True to its name, spider-stalk was bitingly acerbic. He'd have sugared or honeyed it up, but honey was a key ingredient elsewhere, and he couldn't remember the last time sugar had graced the larders. The tiefling's face contorted into a pained grimace, though they seemed to keep the tea down well enough.

He rose to his full height with a sigh, turning back towards the newcomer sitting idly by the entry hollow. A deep huff rumbled from the pit of Rhiv's chest, and as he caught their eyes, he made a quick "welcome" gesture with a tip of his head.

@im-with-stoopid

Mar 16

(Also, I hate to ask, but are we working on a turn system, or just a free for all?)
(Or is it flexible, like turn order can be broken for shorter in-the-moment stuff like dialogue?)

@EldritchHorror-Davadio

Mar 16

(Nah its a free-for- all at this point. As sporadic as we all are, a turn order would murder this)

@Null-Gravity

Mar 17

Drekar notes the sharp look shot his way by one of the medics when he walks in, but doesn't otherwise react to the bear man, instead respecting the clear sign to just sit tight and wait.

While he waits, he gazes down at the gash - still bleeding heavily - on his leg, poking at it with a long, thick finger with not much interest.

Just as Drekar was about to say something, the medic turns and fully acknowledges his presence.

The Dragonkin rogue blinks and nods back, pointing down at the considerable amount of blood that was now staining the rocky floor of the infirmary.

"I don't want to rush you, sir, but I believe I require attention soon. If at all possible. If not I can return later," he says, just loud enough for the medic to hear.

"I can just heat something up to cauterize the wound, but I didn't want to bother anybody else with the smell of burning flesh, so I didn't earlier," he adds, as if to try and make it seem any better that there was a gaping hole in his leg.

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