Tarpen cult thing

LEADER
short_desc Fabrilus, the Head Physician
long_desc Clad in an unsettling patchwork robe, Fabrilus the Head Physician stands here.
verbose_desc With an air of utmost confidence and perhaps even a hint of smugness about him, Fabrilus the Head Physician is a Tarpen very much in control. He is clad in a rather unsettling garment which resembles a doctor's coat, but seems to have been stitched together in patchwork style from countless skins- grotesquely stretched faces on some of the patches testify to the source of the skins not being entirely animal. From his back sprouts a number of mechanical prostheses which click and move ominously, their clockwork limbs supporting grisly-looking surgical implements which are supplemented by an array of the same at the Tarpen's belt. An incredibly ornate mask sits upon his face, countless linked cogs signifying his high rank within the cult.
enter Fabrilus, the Head Physician strides confidently in from the $dir.
exit Light glints off the mechanical prostheses of Fabrilus, the Head Physician as he strides away to the $dir.
attack1 Fabrilus hacks into you with a large blade, his face set in a deranged grin.
attack2 The terrifying array of surgical implements wielded by the prostheses attached to Fabrilus jab and slice into you with precision.
dead As mangled and piecemeal as the robe he wore, Fabrilus lies here, dead.

LEADER
short_desc Leandro, the Magos
long_desc Brass staff in hand, Leandro the Magos is here.
verbose_desc Tall and broad-shouldered for a Tarpen, though still somewhat unimpressive when compared to other races, Leandro the Magos nevertheless commands a measure of respect and attention. His tufted ears are long and support a vast number of gleaming earrings, each engraved with designs of cogs, the same engravings clustering on the forehead of the golden mask he wears to signify his most revered rank within the cult. He is clad in flowing, heavily embroidered robes, and carries with him the tools of his occupation- in one hand, a polished and ornate brass staff capped with a large cog motif, and in the other a heavily gilt and illuminated tome which contains the words and scriptures that the cult abides by.
enter Leandro the Magos enters from the $dir with a stately, unhurried stride.
exit A swirl of robes and a gleam of brass herald the exit of Leandro toward the $dir.
attack1 The mechanical prosthesis of Leandro grabs onto you, wrenching you bodily offbalance.
attack2 Leandro swings his staff in a wide arc, slamming it painfully into you.
dead Blood darkening his already crimson robes, Leandro the Magos lies slain here.

LEADER
short_desc Rafell, the Lexmechanic
long_desc Burdened by heavy tomes, Rafell the lexmechanic shuffles about.
verbose_desc A somewhat hunched figure, burdened by countless tomes and a number of clockworked prostheses, Rafell the Lexmechanic seems to always be preoccupied with some book or other. His fur is a patchy salt and pepper grey, contrasted sharply by his dark crimson robes and the ornate golden mask that covers his face. The complexity of engravings on his mask and the heavy embroidery hemming his robes display his rank clearly, although it would appear that he cares little for the other Tarpen in the cult, much preferring the company of the countless books that compose the cult's records and library.
enter Carrying a number of heavy books in his arms and prostheses, Rafell enters from the $dir.
exit Rafell, the Lexmechanic, shuffles away to the $dir.
attack1 The mechanical prosthesis attached to Rafell bludgeons you heavily.
attack2 Rafell beats you over the head with a hefty tome.
dead Surrounded by scattered pages, the corpse of Rafell is here.

LEADER
short_desc Luiza, the lead Artisan
long_desc Gazing off into the distance, Luiza the lead artisan loiters here.
verbose_desc Though still possessed of the relatively small stature typical of Tarpen, Luiza the lead Artisan is comparably tall and willowy in relation to her peers, the measured grace of her movements lending her an air of elegance. She is dressed in crimson robes, heavily embroidered with golden designs of linked cogs, and this motif is continued on the intricately etched golden mask she wears, a design of countless linked cogs on the forehead indicating her lofty rank within the cult. She seems to be constantly distracted, her gaze distant with thought and her long fingers toying an ink-stained quill.
enter Her gaze set on some faraway point, Luiza enters from the $dir.
exit Luiza swans out to the $dir.
attack1 Drawing a decorative knife from her robes, Luiza slashes viciously at you.
attack2 Luiza gracefully darts toward you, slashing across you precisely with a hooked etching stylus.
dead No longer dreaming of artistic possibility, Luiza lies here, her life cut short.

LEADER
short_desc Micaela, of the Wrench
long_desc Clad in practical and oil-smudged work gear, Micaela of the Wrench is here.
verbose_desc Though she sports the crimson robes and intricate golden mask of the cult, Micaela manages to seem thoroughly down-to-earth and work-ready as well. The heavily embroidered robes she wears open, and beneath them can be seen sturdy canvas work clothes, which are spotted with oil and burn marks. She wears a number of tool belts, each packed with a variety of tools which show both the wear and grime of constant use, and the hallmarks of careful maintenance. Her tufted ears are weighed down by countless earrings and trinkets, the cog-patterned engravings matching those of her mask, the intricacy of the latter an indication of her high rank within the cult.
enter Striding in from the $dir, Micaela of the Wrench enters.
exit Micaela of the Wrench strides away to the $dir.
attack1 Micaela casually flips the wrench she holds in one hand, then grips it tightly and slams it into your head.
attack2 Hammer in hand, Micaela smashes into you, raining hefty blows across your body.
dead Micaela of the Wrench lies here in a pool of blood and broken clockwork.

BODYGUARDS
short_desc Cael, the bodyguard
long_desc Broad-shouldered and full of menace, Cael, the bodyguard looms here.
verbose_desc Cutting an imposing figure, Cael the bodyguard stands head and shoulders above his Tarpen masters. Though he wears a mask like the cultists, his has been crafted from dull iron and remains unembellished. His robes, likewise, are a plain grey, draping on his broad-shouldered form and hiding almost all of his body from view. He stands tall and silent at all times, his thin hands resting on the hilt of the heavy sword at his belt, pale blue eyes watching all that occurs around him with attentive care.
enter Significantly taller than the cultists he guards, Cael enters from the $dir.
exit Cael the bodyguard strides away to the $dir.
attack1 Cael gives a throaty roar and swings at you with the hefty blade he wields.
attack2 One shoulder lowered, Cael barges into you and knocks you flat to the floor.
dead The hulking corpse of Cael, the bodyguard lies here, peaceful in death.

short_desc Aben, the bodyguard
long_desc The tall and imposing form of Aben, the bodyguard, stands here.
verbose_desc Towering over the Tarpen of the cult that he protects, Aben the bodyguard is broad-shouldered, silent figure. He is dressed in simple grey robes, unadorned in sharp contrast to those that the cultists wear. Like his masters, he wears a mask, but instead of gold his has been crafted from dull iron, similarly unembellished. He appears completely silent, but watchful, pale golden eyes taking in his surroundings with care. A hefty scimitar hangs at his waist, never far from hand.
enter The menacing form of Aben the bodyguard approaches from the $dir.
exit Aben the bodyguard, heads off to the $dir.
attack1 With a grunt of exertion, Aben swings the heavy scimitar he wields, slicing into you.
attack2 Aben lunges forward and smashes the hilt of his sword into your face.
dead Strangely serene in death, the corpse of Aben lies here.

GENERAL CULTISTS

short_desc an oil-streaked engineer
long_desc Robes smudged with oil and metal filings, an engineer cultist wanders about.
verbose_desc His once-crimson robes smudged with oil and dusted liberally with metal filings, this Tarpen cultist is obviously a fellow unafraid to get his hands dirty. His tawny fur is likewise streaked with the viscera particular to the mechanical, and about his person are slung many toolbelts and bandoliers which hold the various tools of his occupation. The only article he wears which is not covered in grime is the golden mask on his face- a number of linked cogs etched across the forehead indicate his rank within the cult.
enter The clanking of various tools heralds the appearance of an oil-streaked engineer.
exit An oil-streaked engineer clanks away to the $dir.
attack1 An oil-streaked engineer grabs a long wrench from his tool belt, swinging it to smash into you with great force.
attack2 Dropping his shoulder, an oil-streaked engineer lunges forward and rams it into your midsection.
dead Smeared with as much blood as oil, this dead Tarpen is no longer the engineer.

short_desc a nervous cultist
long_desc A nervous cultist hovers here.
verbose_desc With large, round eyes and a perpetual half-hunched posture, this cultist is the very picture of constant nervousness. His long, spindly fingers fidget incessantly with his clothing and anything nearby that he could pick up and fiddle with, and his tufted ears twitch in the direction of even the slightest sound. He is dressed in robes of crimson, and wears upon his face a golden mask etched with cog designs, their numbers across his forehead indicating his rank within the cult.
enter Fidgeting with the cuff of his robe, a nervous cultist steps in from the $dir.
exit A nervous cultist darts away to the $dir.
attack1 A nervous cultist swings wildly at you, landing a few solid punches in the flurry.
attack2 Out of nowhere, a nervous cultist lashes out and smacks you hard across the face. He looks somewhat startled by this development.
dead The remains of a Tarpen cultist lie here in a heap.

short_desc a distracted artisan
long_desc A distracted artisan paces about here.
verbose_desc Dressed in flowing crimson robes that bear pretty cog-shaped embroidery around the cuffs, this Tarpen artisan carries herself with a graceful but distracted air. Her face is covered by a beautiful golden mask, a handful of cogs etched on the forehead indicating her rank within the cult. Her long, tufted ears are weighed down with a number of silver and gold earrings, and various charms and clockwork parts are draped on chains about her person.
enter Gaze set on something distant, a distracted artisan enters from the $dir.
exit A distracted artisan wanders away to the $dir.
attack1 A distracted artisan lunges forward, kicking fiercely at your shins.
attack2 In a panicked rush, a distracted artisan pulls a hooked etching stylus from her robes and slashes at you with it.
dead Fatally distracted, a Tarpen artisan lies here, dead.

short_desc a rail-thin cultist
long_desc Fidgeting with spindly fingers, a rail-thin cultist waits here.
verbose_desc Although Tarpen tend toward the scrawny side already, this cultist is particularly so, his narrow frame under-padded almost to the point of emaciation. His long fingers are spidery and look extremely breakable, and he has a fidgety, nervous air about him. He constantly reaches up to adjust the golden mask that covers his face, light gleaming off the design of linked cogs etched into the forehead.
enter Nervously shuffling along, a rail-thin cultist enters from the $dir.
exit The narrow-shouldered form of a rail-thin cultist leaves to the $dir.
attack1 A rail-thin cultist lashes out at you, flailing wildly and landing a few lucky blows.
attack2 Drawing an ornate knife from under his robes, a rail-thin cultist lunges forward and stabs you viciously.
dead The broken, spindly cadaver of a rail-thin cultist lies here.

short_desc a solemn cultist
long_desc His censer perpetually smoking, a solemn cultist stands here.
verbose_desc Straight-backed and solemn, this Tarpen cultist shuffles about the halls with a perpetually smoking censer on a golden chain, laying down a thick and heady scent of incense wherever he goes. He wears flowing crimson robes emblazoned with brassy cog designs that match the etchings of the golden mask he wears, the number of cogs across the forehead signifying his rank within the cult.
enter Muttering under his breath, a solemn cultist enters from the $dir.
exit A solemn cultist leaves to the $dir, a cloud of incense in his wake.
attack1 A solemn cultist swings his censer, the metallic sphere at the end of the chain slamming painfully into you.
attack2 A solemn cultist deftly swings the chain of his censer around your neck, yanking hard on it to choke you with it.
dead Scattered ashes and a broken censer litter the ground near this deceased cultist.

short_desc a sleek-furred cultist
long_desc A sleek-furred cultist looks down her nose at you.
verbose_desc Covered in glossy, tawny fur, this Tarpen cultist is well groomed and carries herself with a haughty, superior air. Her face is covered by a beautiful golden mask, etched with intricate filigree- a small handful of linked cogs engraved across the forehead signify her rank within the cult. Her long-fingered hands are adorned with a number of rings and bracelets, each bearing cog-motif designs and small chips of red stone as accents.
enter A sleek-furred cultist enters from the $dir with a haughty expression.
exit Giving a distasteful sniff, a sleek-furred cultist leaves to the $dir.
attack1 With a desperate yell, a sleek-furred cultist gathers her robes and delivers a painful kick to your shins.
attack2 A sleek-furred cultist draws a decorative blade from her robes and stabs it viciously into you.
dead Broken and bloodied, a sleek-furred cultist has fallen here.

short_desc a zealous medicae
long_desc His long fingers fidgeting with a scalpel, a zealous medicae is here.
verbose_desc Clad in robes that bear a high, stiff collar, this Tarpen cultist carries himself with something of an upright, official air. On his face is a brightly polished golden mask, a handful of linked cogs etched on the forehead indicating his rank. Emerging from the back of his robe is a small handful of mechanical prostheses, each tipped with some variety of surgical instrument. His hands constantly toy with more of the same, and he tends to examine those around him with the sort of intense gaze which implies that he might be mentally dissecting them.
enter Light glints ominously off the mechanical prostheses of a zealous medicae as he enters from the $dir.
exit A zealous medicae glides away to the $dir.
attack1 The mechanical prostheses of a zealous medicae flail at you, their many bladed tips lacerating your flesh.
attack2 A zealous medicae narrows his eyes at you and slashes with his scalpel, wreaking precise and calculated damage upon your form.
dead A zealous medicae lies slain here, beyond the possible help of mechanical aid.

short_desc an ungainly cultist
long_desc The awkward form of an ungainly cultist stands here.
verbose_desc Somewhat taller than his peers, though still not as tall as a member of a more vertically blessed race, this Tarpen cultist seems awkward and ungainly, stick-thin limbs appearing too long and spindly for adequate control. Despite his bearing, this cultist wears neat crimson robes and has upon his face an intricate golden mask, an engraving across the forehead showing a small handful of interlocked cogs to represent his rank.
enter An ungainly cultist makes his way in from the $dir.
exit Awkwardly hunched, an ungainly cultist leaves to the $dir.
attack1 An ungainly cultist lashes out at you with an uncoordinated but heavy punch.
attack2 Drawing a decorative knife from his robes, an ungainly cultist hacks into you with it.
dead The corpse of a Tarpen cultist sprawls here in an undignified heap.

short_desc a trinket-draped tinkerer
long_desc Festooned with cogs and trinkets, a tinkerer hunches here.
verbose_desc With a frame that is both small and slight, this Tarpen cultist seems almost lost within his draping robes and the profusion of small metallic objects hung about his person. His face is concealed by a golden mask which is intricately engraved with a series of interlocking cogs to show his rank- though it is a masterpiece of metalwork, there are traces of ingrained dirt and grime in some of the designs. The cultist's robes are lumpy with countless bags and pouches, all stuffed to bursting with various clockworking components, and further cogs, springs, and unidentifiable metallic objects are draped around his form and dangle from his long, tufted ears.
enter A soft jingling sound heralds the entrance of a trinket-draped tinkerer.
exit A trinket-draped tinkerer shuffles away to the $dir, jingling softly as he goes.
attack1 A trinket-draped tinkerer draws a decorative dagger from within his robes and slashes wildly at you.
attack2 The mechanical prostheses of a trinket-draped tinkerer reach out and batter you brutally.
dead A tinkerer lies dead here, surrounded by entrails mechanical and otherwise.

short_desc a dedicated initiate
long_desc With an expression of intense focus, a dedicated initiate is here.
verbose_desc The mask that this cultist wears has a single cog engraved on the forehead- he is new to the fold, an initiate. His robes are clean and bright, showing none of the wear or grime that his more experienced peers sport, and he holds himself with an upright, nervous sort of formality.
enter A dedicated initiate strides in from the $dir.
exit Straight-backed with discipline, a dedicated initiate leaves to the $dir.
attack1 A dedicated initiate draws a decorative knife from the sheath at his waist and slashes wildly at you.
attack2 A dedicated initiate leaps at you, driving his angular shoulder into your gut.
dead A dedicated initiate lies here with a firm grasp on death.