I wanted to make my donkey go away all cool like, so I thought I’d like…kick it to shoo it off…
You leap into the air and launch a flying kick at a donkey.
You have scored an ANNIHILATING CRITICAL hit!!!
Damage done: 1500, blunt.
A grey wolf springs to a donkey’s defence.
A venomous forest snake springs to a donkey’s defence.
A cunning red fox springs to a donkey’s defence.
A small, brown lemming springs to a donkey’s defence.
A grumpy badger springs to a donkey’s defence.
An ebony raven springs to a donkey’s defence.
A gossamer butterfly springs to a donkey’s defence.
The final blow proves too much for a donkey, who expires, pitifully.
You have slain a donkey.
A donkey, your loyal companion, has been slain by Moirean Seirath.
A rush of energy fills you as you feel ready to deliver a devastating blow upon your next target.

You say, “…damnit.”

(Market): You say, “Seeking someone skilled in the arts of donkey revival.”

Ison tells you, “((oh geez, what did you do now))”

Darliea tells you, “I assume you don’t mean something akin to “slice up its organs and place them in a jar”.”

You sniffle softly.

Amara peers around herself in confusion. “Who is that crying?” she asks with a frown.

With a hiccuping cough, you say, “Can you bring Trouble back?”

“Trouble?” Amara asks, plainly not understanding. “I can… try… but why would you want trouble?” she blurts.

You have emoted: A cloaked figure pushes the corpse of a donkey close towards the tear, the dead beast’s hoof dangling woefully down to splash limply at the water. She scoots along beside him, her hood falling away to reveal mournful, Impish features.

Amara finds the usual placid expression on her face crumbling into sadness as she watches you try to ress the limp creature. “Oh dear,” she breathes, plainly sympathetic. “May I see him? I cannot promise anything, but I am most certainly willing to try,” she offers with a sad timbre to her voice.

You have emoted: Softly stroking the dead donkey’s mane, Moirean blinks up at you through red, swollen, tear-filled eyes. “My ass is Trouble,” she explains, underlining her words with a loud, honking sniffle.

Amara blinks and makes a rather odd choking noise while extending her hands toward your ass and explains gently, “I will have to touch it to try to fix it.”

You have emoted: Moirean bends down onto her knees and tries to push the donkey towards you, both hands pressing against its haunches as she puts her whole weight into moving the creature. Her feet dig furrows in the damp grass and she eventually gives up, breathing deeply as she slumps over the slain corpse. “You might need to get close,” she explains, wiping at a dribbling trail of snotty tears (it only smears them more across her face). “My ass is too big to move, I think.”

You have emoted: Moirean bursts out bawling, eyes squeezing shut.

Amara offers the bawling you a quick and somewhat leery pat of comfort, her hands moving quickly toward the dropping thing. “Here, let me, your ass is not so big…” she offers agreeably, kneeling down to be within reach.

You have emoted: Her sobs only increase in volume at the touch. “It is!” Moirean wails, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hiccups again, and coughs, shaking her head. “No,” she objects to herself. “WAS. Big enough for at least three to ride, but now…”

With a more quiet whimper, you say, “….broken…”

“Miss Moirean,” Amara interrupts with no small measure of empathy in her voice. “I can assure you that your poor, broken down ass is… WAS… not too big for me to handle!” she finishes quickly, hoisting the ass in question with all her strength as she struggles to stand beneath its barely-bearable weight.

Amara sways on her feet, her stature somewhat diminished by the sheer size of your ass.

You have emoted: Moirean gasps at your sudden movement, sitting back on her heels and wiping at her tears with dirt-smudged hands. “You sure you know how to handle an ass?” she asks, watching nervously as your weight shifts.

Amara grunts, nodding her head. “Your ass is… safe… with me!” she groans whilst her knees almost buckle. Somehow, she manages to gather the light of healing within her overladen hands, running them gently over the limp, droopy ass, attempting to restore firmness and life, but nothing seems to happen.

You have emoted: Moirean frowns as she watches, biting her lip. “Is it tapped out?” she offers, attempting to be helpful, as she gestures vaguely behind you. “Your devotion….”

“I may not have enough to tap this here ass,” Amara admits, sounding defeated, her words punctuated by the panting of her strenuous efforts.

You have emoted: Your words prompt another round of tears from Moirean and she softly, mournfully mumbles, “That ass. That ass.”

You have emoted: Moirean bows her head and pulls her knees to her chest, curls obscuring her face.

Amara groans as her hands flare with the last bedraggled tendrils of devotion, but just as quickly they fizzle out. “I.. I am so sorry, Moirean. This has never happened to me before,” she mumbles, embarrassed at her premature finish which fails to evoke the merest twitch from your ass. She sinks once more to her knees in humble defeat.

Words muffled by her sniffles, you say, “My ass is grass. Dust. Bones.”

Turning away, you say, “Thank you for trying.”

“Moirean, we can get you a new ass. A better ass. A stronger ass. We have the means,” Amara offers softly.

You have emoted: Moirean shakes her head, replying, “I think I want a pony, instead.”