Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-28358106-20180511012840

Tirush balls her fists up and swears in the old tongue, a string of epithets erupting from her mouth that would make a sailor blush, if said sailor could understand her.

"AGAIN!  Again and again, these filthy, dirty, wretched...THINGS escape us!  HRRRRRGRrrrgrrrgrrgh..." She emits a low rumble that shakes the dirt around her feet.

Grumbling, she rotates her shoulder, slowly turning her head, popping her neck,  wincing at the dull ache caused by her recent high-speed encounter with the giant redwood tree.

"Hurrgh...zu'ul-los whüth..."

In a fit of self-indulgence she licks her hand and begins washing herself, smoothing out her hair and cleaning some of the grime from her face, when she looks around at the other members. Acheron seems fine, as does Alburn, and Prad is some distance away. Her eyes stop when she sees Jorge being helped by Armata.

She stops washing, her long tongue hanging out for a second as her brow furrows. "...Ken'dvov?  What is wrong?  Are you hurt?" She calls out.