Posts by Lutea

Lutea · Logs

"ORDAH!" Bridagier Paisely Strongpaw Tuftington VI shouts, pounding a fist against the podium until the roar of the generals and colonels dies down. "We all know wha' has happened..." The air of the meeting room is heavy and thick, even though it contains no more than a dozen beasts in the lofty space. The news has rattled them all.

"You are all aware by now that there has been... A terrible loss. Private Zolomon has delivered a list of names of those Patrollers tha' will not be returning." She begins, and has to bang her fist against the podium again as the bereaved din arises again. All of this bureaucracy has always come before her family; her daughter won't forgive her for it this time, she knows. But this is her duty. "THIS IS NOT TH'TIME!" The ferocity of her shout surprises even her, and the aging haremaid steps from behind the podium to address her court directly.

"We have faced hardships before. We 'ave lost our friends, our mates, our children before. We do not fight an' defend our lands because we are selfish - we do it, because we are /not/. Now is not th'time to give in to our grief, do tha' on your own time an' cry into your pillows like th'rest of us. We are not soft woodlanders, we are fighting hares of the Long Patrol!"

"Eulalia!" A general shouts from the benches, and his fellows join him, cries of "eulalia!" and "blood n'vinegar!" Rising and ricocheting in the empty air until the brigadier is forced to hold her paws up to still them.

"Thank you. We need t'put our emotions behind us, for now, and make th'hard calls. When we leave this room, we will have re-arranged our units and decided who will fill the spaces we need." She sighs, returning to the podium.

"Firs' order of business... I elect that we pull /all/ troops from Halyard. We cannot keep peace in the Village, the Shores, and keep our Mountain running with so few beasts -" This is, of course, met with dissension, but with the lack of an alternative, the motion is passed. The orders are written up.

Colonel Locke raises a paw, and groans as he stands and speaks. "We will need to double down on training the recruits - and finding new ones. I recommend we spare two runners to find willing Patrollers."

"Done." The Brigadier nods, and orders it added to the list. "An' our empty positions?"

Another General rises, brandishing a sheet. "We dinnae 'ave enough t'covah it all, sah. Bu' I've looked it ovah, an' believe we may be able t'call Majah Varus back t'duty, if he is so willing. Of th'Lieutenants left, I believe Tottheim will be our best bet for promotion."

"Lieutenant Jinora?" Another scoffs. "She's too young, and barely a Lieutenant!"

"These are desperate times, General." Paisely sighs, drilling her thumb and forefinger into her forehead. She doesn't like it, but they have precious few options. "Make it so."

The meeting lasts well into the wee hours of the morning, and when the officers finally slump free of the Meeting Room, they do so with dejected, grief-stricken hearts and faces. They have had to do what they have to, and none of them are pleased with it. Paisely hangs back until the last officer has shuffled out, rubbing at their eyes, but as she moves to shut the door behind Colonel Locke, he turns to her with a heavy expression.

"We will need t'give them time t'process this loss, Brigadier. Ye can't push them so hard, this-"

"I understand loss." She bares her teeth at the slight. This is not the time. "My grandson is one of them. Life moves on, Colonel."

Come morning, the orders will spread through the grieving Mountain: Halyard is no longer under their jurisdiction, training has been doubled, recruitment has begun, Major Varus has been called in from retirement, and amongst a pawful of other rushed promotions, Jinora has been made a Major in her predecessors stead. The list goes on and, somehow, so will life on Salamandastron.

OOC:
At this point, Jinora and Varus are understood to have been made Majors of the LP and are encouraged to run plots and the like for the members of their units or the mountains as a whole. More information about roles may be found on the Groups page for the Long Patrol.

Lutea · Logs

Feathers and Foxes
Ft. Quinten, Monty, Jacenta, and Jinora as GM
Western Shores:

The cold blanket of night settled over the Western Shore an hour ago, and a half-moon grins crookedly from a navy sky. The clouds have mostly dissipated, save for the occassional wisp of gray that blocks out some stars, allowing the beach to glow a dull silver in the moonlight. The waves roar hungrily as the low tide chews at the coastline with foamy, silver teeth - but something else pierces the stillness of the evening: a screech, high-pitched and pained. It sounds like a bird, but this late into the evening they would not be out, and the call is a far throw from that of an owl - no, something is amiss on this lonely night, and it is not clear what.

Quinten is out walking with Private Monty for company so he's not out on his own. The older hare has been pensive since he received Zolomon's news and has been taking walks to clear his head. It's a lot to take in so the recorder is strolling along the beach, feet in the surf, he pauses as he hears the sound and his ears swivel toward it as he frowns, "Private did you hear that?"

Monty had taken it upon himself to act as companion and guard for anyone who wished to venture outside, and he had been taking the job quite seriously due to the current uncertainty and mystery surrounding the dunes. The young hare currently accompanies Quinten outside due to the older hare wishing to go for a nightly stroll, and so as they make their way out of the mountain and down the beach, Monty is on high alert and generally a lot more quiet than usual. His eyes remain focused on their surroundings, ear(s) perked and listening intently. As they reach the shoreline, Monty's head whips around at the sound of the screech, and he blinks...."Good, you heard it too, sah, was thinkin' I was outta m'mind for a moment...." His paw goes to the weapon on his belt, and he stares out into the moonlit dunes.

The cry sounds again, a chilling keen that rides the wind like a dagger dragged across a stone. It is easy to miss the bird, at first: the raven is as dark as the night that hides it, a flurry of midnight-black feathers that blot out the stars as it swoops overhead from the dunes. It passes low over Monty and Quinten, screaming again until its claws scrape the sand, wings desperately pounding at the air to regain its altitude... But it can't seem to get very high, only making it about twenty feet back into the air before it begins its careening path downwards once more. It doesn't appear to even notice the hares, but it is clear that its erratic and terrified movements of the large avian pose a danger to the beasts, should their paths intersect at such high speeds.

Quinten fingering the hilt of his dagger the hare watches the raven as it careens along, "Perhaps... we should see why the avian is in such distress?" he shifts on his feed, sand moving under his feet to look back the way it came, "Then retreat to the mountain... something odd is going on out here and it would be best not to face it in the dark."

Monty's nose twitches, catching an unusual scent, and as he turns the raven passes over he and Quinten. Ducking instinctively, Monty quickly draws the dagger from his belt, and he moves to guide Quinten out of the way. He had momentarily forgotten that the older hare was unaware of the danger the bird and the forces behind its unusual behavior could pose. "Heads up!" he shouts as the bewildered raven makes another dive in their general direction. "Sah, I have a pretty good guess...as to why. Perhaps your second idea is the better one!" He does his best to guide Quinten away from where the bird is dropping, though he moves backwards, facing towards the avian just in case.

Jacenta had went out for fresh air, she had to get out of the mountain and just...well go somewhere she wasn't sure where and frankly didnt care at the morment. She also wasn't watching where she was going but did at least slow when she hear the bird and frowned as she glaces around, rubbing her eyes a little.

The raven hits the sand running, leaving great gouges in the soft terrain, and stumbling towards the two hares with another scream. As it nears, its wings spread again and it attempts another takeoff, but it is clear this time that something yanks it down and to the side, towards the dunes. The thick shaft of an arrow protrudes from the beast's side and a long rope trails off it, into the dunes. The soft 'shink' of another projectile hisses angrily through the night, and the bird screeches again in pain before it collapses to the beach - still, but breathing raggedy, uneven breathes... But, Jacenta may be stumbling upon a dire situation, as the great bird has crumpled to the sand atop both Monty and Quinten!

Quinten yells in alarm as he goes down under the raven, if Monty hadn't pulled him back and pushed him toward the mountain he'd probably under the main bulk of the raven. As it is he's knocked flat by a flailing wing leaving him scrambling backwards through the sand and surf to try and get out from under it.

Monty normally would be able to easily avoid the trajectory of the falling bird, however after it is hit with the arrow and yanked to the side, it happens to be pulled right in the direction that the hare is about to run in. "Quinten, head back to the...GAHHH! Oooof!" The raven flumps down to the sand, landing right on top of Monty and pinning him down beneath its feathery bulk. The wind is knocked from his body, and the smaller hare lies facedown beneath it. He quickly lifts his face from the sand so as not to suffocate, but there will likely be some bruised ribs, among other things. He lies there with his cheek resting on the sand, struggling to wriggle out from beneath his dark-feathered burden.

Jacenta blinks as she sees the large bird and stumbles backwards with a gasp. She looks like she rather bolt away from the bird but if someone needs help or are hurt she should go help them, but the large bird, makes her very nervous!

Atop the hares, the raven wheezes weakly... And a long, low laugh seems to fill the air around the Patrollers and the dying bird. "When you fish with bait -" The voice sings in a male baritone, gravelly and cold. "- You may catch more than you know." The laughter sounds once more, and as the hares struggle beneath the raven, a fox tops the dune. The fox is as the others have been: a silhouette of a ragged, crooked beast with a jagged growth protruding from its side. Unlike the past encounters, however, this time the beast approaches! With a jerking, scuttling run, the beast rushes towards the downed bird and hares with shocking speed and leaps to land atop the raven's back, laughing the whole way.
Closer, the fox seems to be... Exactly as they have been described: the fur seems to hang loose from his form like it's been torn to tatters, branches appear to burst from the ruined creature's body, and his eyes... The pupils seem far too large, making them look an inky, soulless black. He laughs again, rattling a head-dress made of black feathers and bones, and flashing a grin full of rotted teeth. "Hares.... Are not what Master desires, tonight." The vulpine hisses, reaching to his belt and drawing a long, jagged, ornate, black-bladed dagger. He looks between Quinten and Monty before his gaze rises to take in Jacenta, as well. "A pity... But witnesses... Ooh, witness to the sacrifice - you are lucky." He points the tip of the dagger at Quinten with a lopsided, black grin. "Unless you desire to... Donate... A willing contribution isssssss never refused."

Quinten draws his dagger and balances it carefully, taking aim at the fox and doesn't bother with banter or witty repartai just throws it at the fox, aiming in the dark isn't the best but damn he's not having this sort of nonsense on the beach! "Jacenta help Monty out from under the bird, quick now lass..."

Monty is currently lying on his stomach in the sand beneath the bird, face turned to the side so he isn't able to get a good look at the bizarre fox who leaps up onto the raven. This action also adds more weight to the predicament, the air being pushed out of his lungs again just as he had begun to get it back. His dagger had been knocked from his grip and rests in the sand not too far from where he is pinned, and he feebly reaches out a paw in an attempt to grab for it. Despite not having the best view of the creature, Monty shivers involuntarily as the eerie fox's voice floats then settles down around him like a dark fog. "Qu...Quinten..." the young hare gasps..."G...get...get back...to th'Mountain..." His footpaws push at the sand beneath him as he continues trying to wriggle out, at the same time trying to turn his head to get a better glimpse of the fox.

Jacenta looks in horror at the fox like creture and there is the large bird, ok which one is worse she isn't sure as he is sort of frozen in place with fear, then she hears Quinten speak and gulps as she edges towards Money and slowly reaches towards him to help him out from under the bird if she can, at the same time keep an eye on that fox creture thing, all at the same time shivering as if its freezeing cold outside all of a sudden!"C..C...Come on....we...move!!!"

The dagger aims true, a credit to Quinten's skill, but the fox offers no reaction; he merely stares at the hare with a slowly widening grin, the hilt of the dagger protruding from his chest, just below the right shoulder. "A generousssss donation indeed, old man!" The fox gleefully giggles before he yanks the dagger loose and drops it to the sand. He begins to bleed immediately, but the crazed beast doesn't seem to care very deeply. "We will come for you, oh yesssssss. We will come!" Still on top of the bird, the fox kneels and, almost tenderly, reaches around the raven's head - and slits its throat. As ruby pours to the sand below the twitching bird, the fox grins at Jacenta, trying to free Monty. "A fine donation indeed." He decides before leaping off of the bird and rushing back towards the dune with that same jerking, unnatural run.

Quinten stares in shock for just a moment then dives forward, he grabs Monty's dagger and bounces up past the bird and hurls the knife at the fleeing foxes back. He probably won't hit in the darkness but.... "On your feet both of you quick now."

Monty is still pinned beneath the raven, though with assistance he manages to wriggle forward a bit more...but once the fox reaches down and slices the bird's throat, the buck is hit with a shower of warm crimson, which drenches him. "NnnnGAAAAAHHHH!!!" Monty blinks, shaking blood from his fur, and certainly not expecting that this is how his evening would be spent. Once the fox hops down and flees back towards the dunes, Monty manages to extricate himself the rest of the way with the others' help, and he lies there in the sand on his back. Ribs aching with a fiery pain, instead of getting up and fleeing however he lies there staring up into the night sky with wild eyes, face painted with the blood of the unfortunate avian. "WOTTHELLJUSHAPPENED??????" he gasps.

Jacenta frowns, any blood barely misses her and she still shivers, oh she has see blood as she is a healer. she gulps and manages a "Is..is anyone else..hurt?" Ok the bird is, well it's dead no saving it as she looks to where the fox went and back to the two hares "We....we need to go inside, we need to..do something...w.wot do we do?"

Another dagger finds its mark, even as the fox jerks away. This time, the weapon buries into the back of the beast's calf, and though he makes not a sound, the last glimpse of the demonic vulpine shows that the injury took effect: he is dragging the leg.
And then he is gone.
The cackling begins anew, joined as if by a hundred different voices all echoing and crashing about each other in the darkness. The raven bleeds and twitches another moment in the sand - and then, all at once, it is jerked away into the dunes with impossible speed and force, apparently dragged off by the roped projectile in the dead beast's side. And the laughter ceases. A trail of blood and feathers left in the bird's wake are the only signs of the attack; the fox has vanished, and the raven's body with it.

Quinten was inclined to go after the fox and capture it but the cackling laughter gives him pause. He looks at Monty and Jacenta and decides neither youngster is in any fit state for action in the dark against cackling madmen. Drawing his sword he motions to Jacenta, "We retreat to the mountain," he takes a deep breath and falls into training recruits mode, "On your feet Privates," he bellows in his best drill sergeant voice, "On your feet and running both of you! Back to the mountain, double time go go go!" He's trying to stave off panic attacks, fainting or any other unhelpful incidents, shout at them until basic training takes over and run them both back to the mountain. At least that's his plan.

Jacenta whimpers and makes a sort of sound, its a sound anyways and she at least starts to run, she tries to not faint, but all the voices and laughs..."S..S...sur..."And she faints, not her fault blaime the fear the foxes caused, she is a healer not a fighter

Monty manages to push himself up to a sitting position, wincing as a wave of pain washes over him from the chest down. Eyes still wide, the young buck begins to push himself backwards, scooting backwards in the sand as he stares wide-eyed in the direction the raven was pulled. "No," he mutters. "NO! Nononononono...." He cuts quite a pathetic figure, ears flat, eyes as wide as plates and full of pain and terror, his face and clothes completely covered in the raven's blood. "NOnononono..." He shakes his head, trying to get up and run in the opposite direction, though his injury won't let him....so he merely moves backwards on his backside as fast as he is able.

Thankfully for those on the beach, they are not far from the Mountain - and somebeast heard the commotion. The sound of footfalls on sand approach rapidly before two more hares come into view, Privates by their uniforms. "Sah!" They bark out in unison, saluting Quinten. "Sentry 'eard a ruckus! We're 'ere to 'elp." The two bucks look, panicked, from their superior to Jacenta, and to Monty. "Need we carry 'em?" One of them asks.

Quinten takes a deep breath and shakes his head, ramming his sword back in its hilt. He looks at both Privates and for a moment seems less then impressed then wipes that expression off his face and turns at the sound of feet. He salutes the Privates, "One of you lads carry Jacenta, the other help Monty to his feet and then all five of us are heading back to tha Mountain doubletime..." he eyes the dunes and glances back toward the mountain, "Quickly now boys, this is no place to hang about."

Monty can only go so far in his current method of travel, and so the newly arrived Patrollers should easily be able to reign him in. As assistance is offered to help him up out of the sand, the buck accepts at first, and once he is on his feet again he begins to swing wildly at the air, trying to push the assistance away. "Gerraway, GERRAWAY!!!!" he shouts, voice hoarse as he turns to run in the opposite direction. He doesn't make it too far however, and sinks down to a knee with a pained gasp, other arm clutching at his bruised ribs. "DOANNEEDHELP!!!!" He breathes heavily, clothes and fur covered in blood and sand.

Jacenta is, well carried as she mutters something and slowly opens her eyes, but just frowns and stays quiet, this has been a bad day so far for her.

"Yes, sah!" Privates Killian and Monchgard echo each other and rush to follow the orders. On closer inspection, a lump rests on both of their chest, beneath the uniform - an outline of the talisman becoming popular amongst the the more superstitious beasts of the mountain. The larger of them, Killian, stoops to lift Jacenta, and the other rushes to Monty, moving to stuff his paws into the other buck's armpits and drag him to his paws. "On ya feet, mate!" He grunts. As Monty rushes into a fit of hysterics, Private Monchgard wheels back, eyes wide and paws raising instinctively to a defensive position. "Then ge' on ya paws an' come with us!" He barks back. "Sah, do I restrain 'im?" He's never been in a situation such as this, and the Private is clearly unsure. Killian got the easier job, and double-times it back towards the Mountain with Jacenta, ahead of the others.

Quinten watches Killian make off with Jacenta and then saunters over toward Monty, he doesn't reach out for the private just brings the hilt of his sword down firmly atop Monty's head with a firm whap, "There, sling him over your shoulder and carry him back Monchgard I'll bring up the rear"

Monty aims a haphazard swing at Monchgard, "No!!!!" before he turns and is all set to try to run again, his mind racing and vision spinning crazily. Quinten then approaches and knocks him silly with his swordhilt, and the Private slumps down to the ground, completely knocked out cold. "Ooof!" He is now easily able to be lifted without any resistance. Silly Monty.

"Y-Yes, sah!" Monchgard stiffens, throws a salute, and does as instructed, hauling Monty up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Movin' out, sah!" He affirms, and takes off after Killian and Jacenta. The night whispers peacefully as the moon shines over a beach, now stained in blood.

Lutea · RP Chat

I know that not everyone is able to download a MU* client, or may use the computer at work or the library for roleplay. I always get frustrated when I can't have my client (and spellcheck) on me, but I've found that this website is super useful for those times.

https://anotepad.com/

You can type your poses in there and then just copy/paste into the mu* or webclient. Also great for large scenes where you will want to type your pose as others go, but want to keep your text box open in case of room-pages, etc.. And I know that we have all accidentally highlight-erased instead of highlight-copied before - I have lost many a pose and ctrl+z doesn't always do the trick! You don't have to worry about special characters getting turned into ? when you paste over, either (which happens if you paste over from Word or Google Docs).

Super useful. Happy roleplaying!

Lutea · Logs

It's Hard to be Young
Ft. Isla, Mary, Fig, Lacota
RW Abbey: Open Grounds:

She is ready to put this place behind her, but it seemed that there were always chores to be done, so at least there aren't many moments left for her paws to grow anxious and idle. Isla the hare marches gleefully behind a put-upon looking, young, novice mouse; her shawl is tied at her neck so that she doesn't have to fuss with it, but she is still sorely overdressed for the dirty sort of work she is assisting with. Her arms are laden with thick, burlap sacks, and dirt is streaked down her dress and paws - but her grin is wide. The novice sighs and pauses, letting the wheelbarrow she pushes 'thunk' to a halt. "You are following me /very/ close." Mary chastises the hare with a grumble. "Oh, aye. Well yer walkin' quite slow, maybe if y'let me push th'wheelbarrer, it'd be a mite easiah on ye!" The mouse rolls her eyes. "/Fine/." She finally huffs, stepping aside and pushing her paws out to accept the trade-off. Chores are for those who aren't Redwall heroes! Or self proclaimed Redwall heroes. Fig did nothing heroic save not running away, which to the young rabbit, that is simply good enough. She saunters around with the rusty little blade in her belt, relishing the time period when weapons are allowed inside the Abbey. Or at least until someone can spot her with it. The moment Mary the mouse shows up with a hare in tow, Fig has had the wherewithal to tuck the blade away behind some crates of supplies near the bell tower. The rabbit doesn't approach, far more scared of getting pinned with chores than any of the vermin that had assaulted the Abbey not long ago. She peers, curiously, from the crates as she leans inconspicuously against them.

"Put your back into it, if you will. Really now, you made such a fuss at me - see? It's quite heavy." Mary continues to chastise the poor, young hare as the two waddle and labor their way across the grounds, moving to a patch of burnt out grass near the southern wall. "Hoi, ya slave drivah. I'll bet me scut an' left cheek ye'd be a Sarg in th'Patrol afore ye even set paw in th'Mountain, wot!" Even as the hare sweats, she seems overjoyed to be useful. Mary just looks happy she doesn't have to push the wheelbarrow anymore - the sack is much lighter. Unfortunately for Fig, though, they pass right by the crate, and the mouse spots her friend. "Fig!" There is a moment of 'you're still here!' joy that she cannot quite hide, so she has to compensate for the weakness by coughing to the side. "Ahem, er, well you aren't doing anybeast a lot of good lounging about like a busy mole on a bright day. I have a present for you, by the way." She sniffs, her nose high in the air, just to drive home the point that it certainly doesn't matter much to /her/, of course.

Fig's eyes narrow at the mouse and her attention slides to the hare. "M'doin' myself a great deal o'good, pahh." Her eyes return to the mouse and she sniffs diligently. "Gift, huh? IF it's haulin' wheelbarrows, you can /keep it/." The rabbit seems to hold no sympathy for Isla and doesn't say a word to the other long(er) ear.

"It is a good deal better than hauling wheelbarrows - and I have, er... What's her name here to help me with /that/." Mary huffs. She would cross her arms were they not full. "Oh! Boil me whiskers, I've forgotten me poor uncle's show in th'Great Hall!" The entertainer hare suddenly drops the wheelbarrow and tears off at a breakneck pace, leaving poor Mary to handle both the wheelbarrow /and/ the sack. "Just splendid." The mouse grumbles, throwing the sack onto the pile of dirt on the 'barrow and leaning into it. "Some help /would/ be lovely, lazy bones."

"You're th' one who has decided tah up and become a dodding ol' Sister, you have," Fig snorts. Her arms cross and she glances after the hare who has put a decent amount of space between them. "Hares," the rabbit grunts. "They think they're all so much better than us rabbits. Did you know that?" She snorts again and makes exactly zero effort to leave her lean on the crate and help Mary.

"Why? Because they seem to go on to become warriors and the like while you all run off to be farmers?" Mary sniffs, but immediately seems to realize that what she's said is hurtful. "I... Didn't mean it like that." She amends, drilling her knuckles between her eyes. "Sorry. I'm trying to be less... Mean." With a sigh, the novice relinquishes hope of help from the rabbit, and throws herself against the wheelbarrow. It's slow going, but it's going.

"Even warriors need to eat," Fig counters, her arms tightening in their cross and her brow furrowing as she looks away. She allows silence to linger before she heaves a sigh and pushes off the crate to help heave the wheelbarrow. "An' no way I'll be a farmer. I'm gonna be a traveler. Never stayin' in one place fer long. /That's/ the best life there is!" She grunts as she pushes.

Mary scooches over, allowing room for Fig at the wheelbarrow's other handle. It's piled high with fresh, musty soil mixed with rich, dark, mushroom fertilizer and compost - the second or third load of the day, judging by the height of the pile on the ground by the destroyed patch of grass on the Open Grounds. The soil mix is beautifully dark and smooth, and even in the wheelbarrow the occasional worm can be seen wriggling. Good sign. "You're... Not wrong." The mouse allows, sheepishly. "But don't you feel... Weird, not belonging anywhere? Not having roots to come back to?" With the two of them, it speeds up the journey substantially, and they near the mounting pile of soil.

Fig snorts, but is too engrossed in shoving the wheelbarrow forward to reply right away. "And do this every day?" the rabbit huffs as she stands back and wipes her tunic off once they've reached their destination. "I said I didn't want to be a farmer, din' I? An' what's this look like t' you?" Her now dirty paws motion at the soil and work in front of them. "Dun' belong nowhere an' y'dun got no chores to do, hah!"

"Well... It is hard to argue with your impervious logic." Mary chuckles, bracing against the handle and /pushing/ with all her mighty mouse might to tip the wheelbarrow over, and dump the load of fertile soil onto the pile. "Looks a lot like farming, I guess. If I wanted to be gutted by vermin, I'd have stayed at the hold." She admits, but clamps her muzzle shut immediately after. She's weird about her past. "Thanks again." She mumbles, leaning over to start pushing and shoving the stubborn clumps of dirt still in the barrow out onto the pile. The bag of seeds is safely wrestled away. "Won't you get /lonely/, though?" She just isn't ready to let it drop, apparently. Is she worried about losing her only friend?! No, no. She wouldn't give that nasty rabbit the pleasure. Mary is above such petty needs and worries. Obviously.

Fig doesn't help the dumping portion of the chore. She simply watches Mary do it with a backwards flick of her ears. She doesn't comment on Mary's gutting bit, likely because she has no idea what the mouse is on about. "Better lonely than turning into a dafty old Order Maid," she fires back. "I heard you wi' that hare. You already sound like yer ready to shout orders an' demand chores an' make e'ery beast around you miserable, like the rest of the dumb lot 'round here."

Mary rounds on Fig, her bottom lip jutting out defiantly. "Shows what /you/ know. I wouldn't even /have/ to shout at you, because you're already miserable! Why are you even here anymore, if you hate it so much, huh? Or do you just like having beasts what you can be mean and nasty to?" She huffs, spinning back around to her chore. "/That/ you can be mean and nasty to." She corrects under her breath, slamming the wheelbarrow back right-way up and stomping over to where a hoe lays on the ruined grass.

"Ehhhhch," the rabbit groan-snorts, tossing her head back and rolling her eyes. "Problem 'bout you is yer too damned sensitive." Fig looks back to the mouse, attempting her best bored-face as she watches the mouse stamp and fuss. "I could leave right now if I wanted, I could! But I like makin' you angry too much. That's what I'd miss. Mad Mary. S'what the dibbuns're gunna call you when yer just an' old Sister!" She finds this funny, guffawing and swiping her arm in the air for effect. "Watch out! Mean, mad Mary is comin'! Dun' say nothin' but sweet things to her or she'll throw a fit an' take 'way yer dinner!"

The mouse's jaw is clenched tight, her whiskers twitching angrily. Her face, beneath her fur, reddens substantially, and she wields the hoe like a great club: bringing it high over her head and then slamming it down into the soft, broken earth. "I -" She growls, punctuating her words with slams of the hoe into the ground. "-Am not - /sensitive/ - you - are just -" She huffs, clumsily dragging the soil beneath the decay overtop. "-/Mean/. That's why nobeast likes you. You act like you're better than everybeast but you /aren't/." She huffs, turning her back on the rabbit and starting a new track of dirt. "I'd rather be Mad Mary than... Than..." She really has to think on it - the alliteration was too easy, too convenient, and finally she settles on: "Fat Fig!" She turns to right and proper stick her tongue out at the rabbit before spinning back to her work. There aren't immediate apologies this time.

Fig's whiskers rise up and she frowns severely at the other. Her ears twitch with each hoe strike and she steps back. "That's stupid!" Fig retorts in a strained, angry voice. "/You're/ stupid 'cause I ain't even fat!" But she /does/ glance down at herself. "But /fine/! Stay in this stupid abbey and be a stupid Sister. I dun' care!" Fig spins around and starts marching towards the crates. "M'gonna go travel the whole bloody world and forget /you/ and this dumb ol' place!" She grabs her rusty blade as she passes by, sticking it back into her belt and stomping off.

"/FINE/!" Mary hollers after Fig, wiping at the bitter tears that she can't fight back. "Fine! Go be... Stupid and lonely and... And /mean/!" She growls, jerking her gaze back to the patch of damaged earth. Her hoe digs, over and over, into the dead grass and useless soil beneath it, and she snarls to herself. "...Stupid." She sniffs. "Nobeast is going to call me 'Mad Mary'." Huff. "F...Fat Fig." Dig. Dig. Dig. "...Stupid. Shouldn't have said..." She shakes her head.

That evening, in the Kitchens...

It's after dinner. Even the beasts on kitchen cleaning duty have finished. It's quiet and cold in the kitchen with the ovens off, making the small sounds of sobs easily heard if a beast lingers in the entrance long enough. They're hiccupy and tiny, coming from the larder. Fig, done up in warm clothing, is hastily shoving what she can find into a small haversack, tears dripping down her face as she cries and mumbles angrily to herself. "I'll go s-straight t' the south. Ain't cold there in winter." Wrapped cheese slices and a few apples are added into the bag. "O-Or th' mountains an' I'll live with the bats." Then, for whatever reason, all of this overwhelms her and she falls to her rump, crying hard enough that she can't form words at all.

The soft, sad scuffle of sandals against stone are barely a whisper beneath the more obvious sounds of the rabbit's weeping, but they're there. Mary is led by candlelight, still in her filthy novice robes and out far past her assigned bedtime. It isn't hard to locate Fig, or it shouldn't have been, but the whoosh of relief to have found her still within the Abbey walls is akin to breaching the lake's surface after far too much time spent submerged. "F-Fig?" There's a cold twist of anger and shame to find her in a state of packing, but Mary sheepishly sets the candle down on the floor and sits down a short distance away from the rabbit. "Fig... I don't think you're fat nor stupid." She whispers, her knees drawn up to her muzzle and her eyes fixed firmly on them.

Fig's ears turn backwards too late and she looks away with a wild expression of panick on her tear stained face. She's almsot nearly half up when she realizes it's Mary and she just hobble-falls back to the flagstone floor. "O-oh, s'you," she mumbles as she furiously attempts to scrub away and hide the evidence of her sobbing fit from her face. It just musses up her wet fur in ridiculous spikes. It takes Fig a moment to respond. "I dun think yer mad... well. Y'get mad easily, but I jus' like teasin' you." A hiccup bubbles. "But I won' 'nymore. M'gonna go."

"It's me." The mouse mutters, awkwardly, before she lapses into silence as the rabbit speaks. "You don't have to go." Mary scrambles to get the words out. "I didn't mean what I said - I... Well, you can be mean. Too mean, sometimes... But I don't want you to go." She scoots forward a few inches towards Fig. "I would be a right rotten Sister if I lost my temper at every little thing... If you leave, who will help me get better by getting on my nerves? I'll be a novice forever, and that'll be even worse than being a... A dusty, dumb, boring Sister." She tries to crack a smile, but it dies on her muzzle, stained by a tear. "P-/Please/ don't go, Fig. I..." She scrubs the back of her arm across her eyes, but anything more coherent or poetic is lost in a throaty gurgle.

Fig turns her eyes to the side, ears folding more severely downwards. Her nostrils flare as she involuntary sniffs. She looks slightly frustrated, bordering angry at being called mean again, but she manages to keep her mouth shut. Fig opens her mouth to say something but instead she makes a gurgle to mirror Mary's. Her mouth shuts back closed and she glares downwards in frustration. Finally just just grabs Mary and pulls her into a hug. "I'd ask y-you t'come with me. But I know y-y'wanna be a Sister. I think it's dumb but if it makes y'happy, tha's okay."

"I... I would have." Mary cries, muffled, into the rabbit's neck. She clutches, desperately, to Fig. "D-Don't go. P-p-please! I won't ever g-get mad at you again o-or call you names or ask-ask you to help with chores and... And I'll do /your/ chores!" Few of these, if any, are promises that she is liable, or even able, to keep. "I won't ever be mean to you again, I'm so s-sorry." Her pitiful pleads continue on, unintelligibly, into Fig's scruff.

Hey, at least Fig is a rabbit. She is wicked, wicked soft. Silky fur envelopes the mouse as she wraps into her friend. She huffs, taking in a deep, calming effect. "I won't leave /tonight/," Fig promises with a nudge against her friend. She peels away, looking embarrassed at the interaction. The rabbit clears her throat and grumbles. "I'll wait 'til morning."

Mary clutches her friend to her as long as she can, still sniffing and gurgling into soft fur; when she pulls back, the mouse looks crestfallen. "But... But where will you go?" She blubbers, her ears limp. "I..." Forsaking her vows would leave her a disgrace - but it wouldn't be the first time, would it? "...What if something happens to you?"

"I dunno," Fig mumbles, shrugging. "South? Who likes winter 'nyways." She scratches her chin and snuffles. She glances down at the haversack and picks out a wedge of cheese. "Then somethin' happens. M'more worried 'bout what'll happen to you /here/," she insists and breaks off some of the semi-hard stuff to hand Mary a chunk. "They're gonna suck what little fun you have in you right out. Did you even get t'eat dinner tonight, huh?"

"I was looking for you..." Mary admits, sliding away from the rabbit and hugging her own knees to her chest again, save for a paw that reaches out for the cheese. She stares at it, her throat too tight to eat. "What..." She sucks in a deep breath, pressing her forehead into her knees. "...What if I... /Did/ come with you?"

Fig's ears swivel and she almost starts to laugh. Instead she stuffs a piece of cheese into her mouth. "Dun be daft," Fig says through a mouthful. "You hate me. M'just th' only one who talks to ya." Munch munch. "An' dat's cause I 'ee how great 'ou are. Dey'll see it 'oo, Mury." The sack of crackers she stole are opened and she offers those out, too.

Mary still can't get the cheese down, let alone anything else. "I do /not/ hate you." The mouse grumbles, looking rather silly crumpled on the floor with the wedge of cheese in one dirty paw. "You're... You /know/. My best friend and I can't just... You could get /hurt/! You could be killed and I wouldn't be there to protect you! Or... Or to /know/. You could just leave and never come back and I would never hear from you again and I would be stuck here with...out you." She finishes, rather lamely, finally letting her paw come to a rest on atop her knee. "But... Thanks for saying that... That was really nice." It is well into the night: two young beasts sit in a state of clear emotional distress, on the floor of the kitchens. Fig has a sack of food half packed - it appears she is getting ready to leave the Abbey, Mary, in dirty novice robes, sits beside her. Holding cheese.

Fig snorts a laugh as she breaks off a bit of cheese, balances it on a cracker, and stuffs it into her mouth. "Uh huh," the rabbit says dismissively as she chews on it. "An' you could bally well starve here," Fig shoots back with a sniff. "Died o' too many chores an' not 'nough meals. I've heard tales o'it a'fore." She's making another cheese and cracker. "Dun' say m'nice. I like it better when ya think m'mean as lizard spit." The rabbit's ears bounce as she chuckles at this before stuffing the next cracker into her mouth. "'Oo smell like 'irt 'n worms... See? Mean."

Due to the extremely late hour, the Abbey at large, and the Kitchen, specifically, is otherwise dead silent. However, there is that one beast who might enter the Kitchen at any time: The Friar. And thus, it is just their luck that the door is suddenly pushed open, the sound of a beast bustling in while muttering to himself under his breath.

"Or I'll eat too much and be so big you won't recognize me if... If you ever come back." Her ears wilt again, bottom lip quivering. "You /are/ nice, Fig. Maybe I'm the only beast who knows it, and /that's/ why I'm going with you." The mouse decides, finally stuffing the cheese into her mouth and wiping her paws against her habit. "So that /you/ don't forget that you're nice." She stands, paws clenched at her sides. "I've run away before... Maybe I'm not meant to belong any place. And I /do/ smell like dirt and worms, thank you." The purple dye around her eyes has almost faded completely, but a paw strays there out of habit - and then freezes. SOMEBEAST IN THE KITCHEN! Panicked, Mary mimes furiously towards the closest cupboard, nudging and pushing Fig towards it. Is there room for both of them in there?! BARELY.

"'Idn't 'oo take 'mmsorta oath 'r' 'mmthing?" Munch munch munch as Fig attempts to finish her cheese and crackers without any water to wash it down. Her eyes bug slightly as she manages to swallow it down anyways. She coughs, once, and then lifts her ears as the mouse starts to panic. "Huh?" The rabbit is suddenly pushed back, her haversack causing her to flump back on her rump into the cupboard. "Hey!" she hisses at Mary. But she does quiet down.

There's a pause at the door. The squirrel peers into the room. He's almost certain he heard a scuffle. "Whoever's in here, come out and show yourselves..." He stands there, blocking the doorway back into Great Hall.

They can just hide in the cupboard forever, right? They can /try/! Mary is not apt to go running into the arms of trouble right off the bat, but they probably won't last more than a few minutes crushed in there. Still, she shuts the door behind them with a soft 'tunk' and sucks in her breath - because it is hard to breathe this squashed together. It doesn't seem that even /that/ is enough to stop the mouse from talking. "Yes... But...." She whispers as softly as she can. "What will they do, kill me?" She forgot her candle on the kitchen floor.

"Probably," Fig muses as she presses an ear against the door. She waits, frowning, before looking at the scared mousemaid behind her. "Yer such ah dibbun," the rabbit scolds. With a heaving sigh she pushes to the front, motions for Mary to stay quiet, and then shoulders her way out of the cupboard, closing it behind her. "A'righ', a'righ'. Ya caught me. Woz jus' grabbin' ah midnight snack. No need tah knot up yer whiskers, eh?"

Lacota quietly locks the door behind him, before he steps further into the room. The candle doesn't go unnonticed, however, before he can investigate that, he catches sight of the rabbit. "A midnight snack? You should have asked an adult, young lass." He gives her a second look. "Hold on... Are you new here? I don't think we've met..."

Mary silences a squeak of protest as Fig takes one for the team. The cupboard is more comfortable without the other beast in it, though still uncomfortably cramped, but the young mouse isn't about to allow the rabbit's sacrifice to go to waste. She sits, still and silent, with her paws over her muzzle in the cupboard, listening intently. This isn't a first for her, either - though the stakes, admittedly, are much lower this time.

Fig swivels her ears back and she takes in a deep breath. "New? Nah. Well. I never stick 'round long. But've been 'ere a'fore." She waves a paw. "'Nyways. Couldn't find no adult, sah," she explains and looks a little put out. Pre-teens. Psh. "An' I woz 'elpin' repair the grounds where they got busted from vermin, I woz. Knee deep in soil from dawn tah dusk. So didn't get no dinner an' I woz rather starved. Simply couldn't wait." The rabbit pauses. "Why'd yah lock th' door?"

Lacota hmmphs. "Starved, you say? Working dawn to dusk? If you say so." He moves to pick up Mary's forgotten candle. "I locked the door so no young scallywags could get away before I caught them. Dibbuns have sticky fingers, after all..."

Inside the cupboard, Mary's eyebrows are way high. 'Creepy'. She mouths, hugging her knees tighter inside the cramped space. She's growing restless, but isn't going anywhere anytime soon. She has the patience for this, at least - and she wouldn't squander the rabbit's brave deed.

Fig narrows her eyes thoughtfully. "S'smart. But m'no dibbun. Jus'... needed a bite." Fig scratches her cheek. "So... I'll jus' go out the 'hole exit, aye?" The rabbit backs up. "An' I'll come 'elp wi'dishes af'er breakfast t'make up fer th' cheese I ate." She gives the Friar a wink and a click of her tongue as she moves to scuttle out of the short stairs towards the cavern hole. Martinspeed, Mary.

Lacota hmms, nodding goodnight to the rabbit, as he unlocks the door again, and starts to leave. The squirrel pauses for several long moments, as if expecting another beast to pop out, but none does, and so he steps out into Great Hall. Off to bed for the night...

With Fig safely scuttled off to safety, now all there is for Mary to do... Is wait. The novice waits long past the footfalls have stopped - and it's good she does, because they start right up again. Sure that the Friar is gone for good, the mouse gathers up the haversack of Fig's foodstuff and books it out... The window. Just to be safe.

Lutea · Logs

Nobeast Will End Happy with a Plague Like This
Ft. Saja, Jinora
Halyard Village: Main Street:

To call this shop 'ramshackle' would be generous. It's on the exceedingly vermin end of Halyard that respectable beasts keep far away from at night, tucked between a haberdashery hawking hats that likely have been stolen or looted, and an inn primarily rented out by searats. The roof leans slightly, and the steps up to the door (it has two hinges, instead of three) are uneaven. There's no need for a bell, as opening the door makes a creak that would wake Martin the Warrior himself. A sign has been nailed to the front. 'Apothecary and Medical Obscura.' Below that in much tinier writing, 'No soliciting, burials, or involuntary amputations'. A small piece of parchment nailed to the sign. 'That means you Rottooth'.

The inside is just as spotty. Furniture is probably scavenged or of questionable ownership, the door to the back has four hinges, and the front desk has a female mouse barely of adulthood with thick, bottle-sized spectacles in a plain robe pouring over two different tomes before her. The door to the back is half way open. The shelves of the place have a rather respectable amount of herbs, flowers, medical supplies, and other things in the trade of healing and-or poisoning if one has the knowledge. Some are only legal by technicalities.

A gravelly vulpine voice comes out of the back. "Are you /certain/ all the debts are paid off and we found all of the bodies? I'm not fond of explaining woodlander corpses to the sheriff twice in one evening." The mouse lets out a clearly distressed little squeak. "I...I'm pretty sure!" Gulp. "But most murderers don't write down their victims in their balance sheets!" A huff of smoke from the back door and Saja groans. "Don't you sass me, at least until your contract is up. ...You would be surprised, actually."

The Lieutenant got off Patrol some hours ago, shed her uniform in favor of plainclothes at her room at the Tavern, and in this part of town? She is glad she did. It isn't that Halyard has an open disdain for the Long Patrol, but some beasts do - and they all, more than likely, live here. Plus, what Jinora does in her personal time is none of the Patrol's business, so long as it doesn't infringe upon their codes and honor and image (read as: it's the military, she has no life outside the Patrol); but even one as uptight to the rules as Jin may tiptoe around technicalities for the greater good. It's a tall, cloaked figure that enters the shop, for this reason, though her accent is impossible to misplace. "I 'ave a whole sheet jus' fer murdahs, m'self. Organization is th'key t'true happiness, wot!" Once she is securely inside the building, the doe pulls her hood back. "M'lookin' fer Saja."

As the large, cloaked doe makes her way in, the poor mouse very nearly faints on the spot. She, in fact, gives a barely choked down squeak. Even tries to hide under the table for a second before peeking up with her four eyes. "U...Um. I've never heard of a fox with that name! Everything here is completely..." Comes her high-pitched voice that manages to crack. There's a frustrated foxy yip from the back followed by the sound of paw rubbing face.

"I /swear/ you are worth less than a shelf's worth of herbs, Poppy! Bite your tail, and go start making the Lieutenant tea please." Saja grumbles, stalking out of the back. Poppy gets tweaked on the overly large ear, with an odd combination of utter annoyance and unconscious affection. Said mouse is ungracefully heading to the kitchen, tail-in-mouth literally. Saja rolls his good eye, then has the grace to pull two chairs out to a table. Watch the splinters on the scutt. "Ignore my sl...ahem...indentured servant. She is, as yet, an untrained idiot. A pleasure to see you again. How might I be of service, Lieutenant?" The fox smiles, part smug vermin and part curious what the doe might have for him after their last encounter.

"An' a spot'a sweet in mine, if ye wouldn't mind, marm!" The doe calls after the retreating mouse, muzzle twisting at Saja's... Choice of words. "Indentured servant." She repeats, an eyebrow raising. "Well, I'm sure her wages'r fair an'consistent. I'd 'ate t'see what 'appened othahwise." A threat? That isn't clear. Maybe she truly would just... Hate to see what happened otherwise? It's never clear with her. "'Preciate th'hospitality, bloomin' nice change'a pace when every other searat wants t'brawl a Patrollah in th'bloody Tavern. M'eithah splittin' chairs over 'eads 'r nursin' Privates wi' black eyes an' booboos. Got'a basket'a misplaced eartips jus' gatherin' dust by this point." She shakes her head, her own train of thought escaping her - and rather easily.

"I, ah..." She begins in earnest, finding the seat and settling into it with apparent discomfort. "Well, I 'ave a dead stoat in th'clinic, an' a terrified doe sayin' he was bewitched afore endin' himself on th'end of her daggah. Thought ye'd fancy a peek an' I'd fancy yah insight, as i'twere."

Two bottle-sized glasses peak out, along with a pink nosepad. There's a vague smile. "O..okay!" Comes the squeaky one. Not a minute or two later? She's back out, handling kettle and porcelin cups as if they were made of pure gold. Here, they may as well be. She serves the doe first, earning a pleased nod from Saja. The fox, upon the threat, pauses. One ear flattens, he seems to ponder a second, and then...he laughs. It's not mocking, still smug as many a fox is want to, but that threat seems to have only made the vulpine pleased. "You mountain hares deserve your reputation. Fierce, loyal, just...and ruthless. You're welcome to check the contract. Terms, conditions, signed. I might be a fox, but I am /fair/!"

The fox looks /way/ too proud of himself. He knows the law, but the mercenary is arrogant. A chink in his armor. Saja nods. "Did you expect anything less? The Patrol and vermin of every stripe meet in this town. Better bruises, missing ears, and minor lacerations than swords through the chest. Tavern brawls over hordes and outright warfare. ...Besides, send your hares to me and Poppy. For a discounted fee, we'll have those eartips sewed back on with no awkward questions." Both ears wiggle. Even Poppy's glasses shine with the desire for gold. Servant and master have something in common, it seems.

The fox falls serious as soon as the doe shows her discomfort. Even Poppy looks somewhat less like she's a wreck of a slave, and the pair look at each other. "Color me intrigued, Lieutenant Jinora. Poppy? Get the surgery tools and our reference books. Time for you to learn how to perform a proper autopsy." At least this vaguely amoral vermin is trying to teach his 'servant' something. The duo, after some preparations, are ready to follow Jinora.

"Hah! Good t'hear it." Jinora is either satisfied by the fox's answer or too thick to see through it. "Surprised tha's our reputation aroun' these parts. We're also rathah fond'a cards, though m'self I've taken t'knitting - thank ye, marm." The tea, it seems, is more important than the unsavory business of autopsies and ghost stories (though Jinora makes a mental note that 'Autopsies and Ghost Stories' shall be the name of her traveling musical ensemble, should she ever learn an instrument). She snorts, rather undignified, into her tea at the talk of sewing eartips back on. "An' 'ere I was jus' plannin' on makin' a necklace. I'll be sure t'pass th'word along t'anybeast what needs ta... 'Ear it?" There is a pause. A painful, terrible, pause as her gaze lingers over the lip of her cup, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Don't give her the satisfaction, fox. Don't you do it.

"Ahem. Anywotsit. Aye, th'body is located at th'clinic at present, jus' down th'way. Aftah th'incident, we escorted th'witness away t'safety, got'er squared away, an'... Well, I sent t'have th'body moved, an'in tha' time it had already started ter... Go wrong." She sighs, straightening, shooting back the rest of her tea (her pride prevents her from showing the pain the hot beverage causes, but if one looks into her eyes they may see her soul, briefly, depart her body), and setting the cup back down. "Afraid -" She coughs. "Tha's th'most technical I cin get wi' th'terminology there, mates. 'Oozey witchcraft' didn' seem anymore propah." She takes a step towards the door. "Shall we?"

Twitch of a fuzzy foxbrow. "I /knew/ that fluffyscutted little Private was card counting! POPPY! CHEAT HARDER NEXT TIME!" Offers Saja in a pique towards the mouse. She at first curls inwards...and then reaches out to tickle the fox's nosepad. He sputters, coughs, and loses his pipe briefly. Her glasses flash. And then she's hauling up her vulpine 'master', only to deposit him into his seat. She shoves in the pipe hard enough he nearly chokes. Smoke out the snoot. The fox looks embarrassed. Poppy laughs, and some of that anxiety lessens. Her eyes shine. "S...so if we agree, do the 'ears and ayes have it?" Oct 17, 2018 at 3:04 a.m.
There is the sound like a fox very nearly choking on his tongue. "Another word out of either of you, and by the seasons I will shove your muzzles into the allspice!" Saja can't help but sob quietly for a second.
He doesn't look much better when Jinora mentions 'oozy witchcraft'. He slams down a hip flask, and Poppy is back with the tools and references, which the pair split between them equitably. "Ladybeasts first." He hip-tail-checks the door open for Poppy and Jinora. With extra footpaw, as the door very nearly tries to fall off it's two hinges to murder him.

Halyard Clinic

Whatever happens between the supposed employee and employer goes over Jinora's head - the Lieutenant shakes her head with a sigh as her paws go to her hood, but there is a wink sent Poppy's way. She gets it. "Ahem. Aye, ah, without furthah adieu."

The clinic itself is almost entirely empty, save for one put-upon hedgehog tending a dilapidated counter. As they enter, Jinora flicks her hood back again and nods towards the back of the clinic. "'Ere t'see 'im again." The hedgehog wrinkles her nose and holds her paws up. "Aye, missus. Ya just go ahead with it, I won't have nothin' to do with that, I won't. Better you than me, eh? Holler if ya need anything." The doe nods and leads the way to the back... It's apparent which body is /the/ body immediately.

The sheet covering the nameless would-be mugger is darkened in spots and blotches, as the body beneath it corrodes and leaks in an unnatural way... Beneath that sheet is, understandably, worse. The stoat's eyes are gone and the rest of him is caving in upon itself at a grossly exaggerated pace, skin giving way where it meets too much resistance to ooze a dark, viscious green out onto the slab he rests upon. "Like I said." Jinora's voice is muffled behind her handpaw. "'pparently he went all... Slack an' loopy, blabberin' on about 'blessins' before 'e walked onto th'poor doe's knife. Scared th'poor lass silly... Should check on 'er, latah - beside th'point. 'Bewitched' she said. 'E acted bewitched."

The fox has slid back into utter professionalism, nodding to the hedgehog on the way as they step into the clinic. Poppy mimics his motion, though seems a little nervous at the prospect of seeing a corpse. She is, still, a greenhorn little mouse stolen from the ruins of a village as compensation by a mercenary vermin fox.

Saja takes one look at the body, his eye widens slightly, and then he's using his taller body to shield his 'slave' from the sight. He stops, she bumps into him, and then he roughly elbows her out of the room before curiousity takes over. "...Tools on the floor. No interruptions, Poppy." Voice as course and rough as ever, there's urgency in it despite. Poppy squeaks sharply, and pads out.

He might even apologize later. Taking up some surgical tools and a 'kerchief over his muzzle, he is ready to start the dissection after hip flask swig the second is taken. "...Well. It's not mange." The fox, mercenary, surgeon, healer, assassin, poisoner and rogue, sounds utterly disturbed already. Thank seasons for liquid courage and sarcasm. He starts cutting. "Certain diseases and poisons can drive beasts mad. Or pain and shock from mortal wounds. This...no body should rot this quickly. This isn't how a corpse leaks." He grows more and more clinical and detached as he carves skillfully. Mostly as to hide the growing horror his medical knowledge is beating him with. Gulp. Twice he has to swallow bile. "...Lieutenant, your doe is traumatized. There are medical reasons for this." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "I'm going to write down every symptom and possible disease I've ever seen in a stoat. Get me books from your precious mountain, or either take me prisoner and let me into your library. I don't care if a Badger caves in my skull for the insult."

Smile. He doesn't look happy. "Nobeast will end happy with a plague like this, Jinora."

To be continued...

Lutea · Logs

Something Evil
Ft. Jinora, Skylark, Dominik
Halyard Village: South Road:

Some nights chill a beast to the very bone; the way the wind drags through loose shingles with a dry, pained wheeze, the way even the moon hides behind the clouds, and the unearthly quiet of a busy street, deserted without reason. The Southern Road is drenched in the darkness of an absent moon and anybeast bustling about after hours seems to have business elsewhere - the street is deserted and eerie. The oil lamps burning sporadically by the street side are unlit, except for one at the far end, far opposite the Square.

Maybe not completely deserted. The houses here are squat and lacking the charm of the better parts of the town. The dusty apartment on the second floor of a building looking like it'll give up the ghost in a decent storm is no exception. The door, mostly green-grey wood and lattice of rusted iron that has been worn over countless years, swings open to allow a blonde, fairly decent looking doe out. The door slaps behind her with the mushy sound of bad wood and the out-of-place, buttery yellow hare bounces down the rickety steps towards the street. She is wrapped up in a green shawl, the neck of her sporting a hood that bunches around her shoulders. "Damn 'lighter," Skylark huffs as she glances up at the unlit lamp near her house.

The disturbance of the hare's door sounds louder than it should in the oppressive silence of an otherwise busy village. Distantly, the bustle of the rest of Halyard can be heard, but it's like the whisper of activity on a ship heard from a lonely lighthouse. A strong burst of wind rolls down the street, causing the one light to waver minutely within its glass casing, and a pawful of leaves swirl around the lone doe's ankles before their dried, fallen corpses still at her feet. Without the lights, the glint of the thieve's knife is muted; the stoat crouches in the alleyway between Skylark's home and the next building, and as she steps fully into view, he leaps forward, weapon trained on her. "Don't make a sound an' ya git t'keep yer pretty gizzard." He warns.

Skylark jolts, but... she /does/ live here and she isn't nearly as spooked as she could be. The doe chokes down the noise of surprise and steps back half a step. Her eyes glance down at the knife and her lip curls distastefully over her buck teeth. "Bet you don't even know what a gizzard is," Skylark grunts, balling her fists. "Or a brain, for that matter. Don't you know this is the poor side of town, huh?"

"I knows what a gizzard is!" The stout snarls, jabbing his knife forward. "An' a brain! Yer abou' t'know what both /looks/ like if y'don't cough up what ye got!" Without further warning, the stout charges at Skylark, knife first, but his gaze flickers to another alley as he does. "Wha' in-" He halts in his advance, staggering several steps to the side, his eyes still fixed wide-eyed on the alley... And then he goes still. The vermin's arms drop to his sides, his fingers go lax around his knife and it clatters to the ground. Almost bonelessly, the stoat turns to slowly look at Skylark... His eyes appear misted over, the pupils dilated as they can be, his muzzle hanging open uselessly. "Not... Thissssssss......" He moans with a jerk of his neck. "Nooooooot....."

Skylark frantically goes for the knife under the lip of her shawl, contained to a pocket in her skirt. She likely isn't going to grab it in time and makes a mental note to keep it in a better place in the next life. When he halts Skylark can only sort of... blink. "Huh?" the doe asks, flicking her ears uncertainly. She's just as frozen as the stoat turns to stare... her paw finally pulling the small knife out and jerking it away from her pocket. It cuts a slice in the corner of her pocket as it comes free. "What in the worlds beyond..." Skylark asks in a choked voice. She scrambles back, looking around. "Somebeast help! We need help!" Yes, come help her and her favorite mugger.

"No... Help... No.... /Hope/." The mugger chuckles, taking heavy, solid steps towards Skylark. Behind her there isn't far to go before she will find her back pressed against a wall behind her. "None!" His chuckle has become a deeply unhinged, maniacal laugh as he continues to take those slouching, heavy steps. Even when the doe has no where left to turn or run, he steps forward - even when the tip of her knife is there, he steps forward. It is only when he gurgles on the blood in his throat where he's impaled herself on her weapon that he stops and lets out a wet, final, cackle before slumping to his knees at her feet.

"Ah gods," Skylark mumbles in a dazed, terrified voice. "Gods, /gods/..." she repeats this as the beast kills himself on her outturned weapon. She attempts to pull it away, but he's caught and he slides further into it. She's shaking. Hard. Her ears quiver, their forms looking fuzzy from the movement from the far, dim light of the oil lamps down the street. Skylark's back is pressed up against the wall behind her, blood gushing down her lower half and dripping down her knees before she can bring herself to shove the stoat away from her. The dead creature bends back creepily, her knife still in him. "HELP!" Skylark demands in a strained, nearly cracked voice.

Not too far away from where the curious scene is taking place in the alley, and Dominik, the newly christened Private of the LP mountain hares, is taking what amounts to him as a casual stroll down the quiet streets of the village. A lot has happened in a relatively short period of time, and the massive buck seemingly had decided to take a solo patrol despite the advice to avoid that as much as possible with the current goings-on. Humming a tune quietly to himself, he turns down a street and begins making his way down towards the alley where Skylark is currently trapped. Large ears perking at the cry for help, Dom goes into all business mode, eyes narrowing as he quickly lopes in the direction of the alley. The large buck skids to a stop at the alley entranceway, and he blinks as he takes in the very odd scene before him.

'Advice' in military terms tends to translate to 'military orders' - but there doesn't seem to be an officer about to chastise the Private's initiative. Instead, there is a terrified doe, a corpse, still hot and twitching, and the whisper of laughter from the alleyway opposite the pair. The single lamp still lit, at the far end of the street, is abruptly snuffed out, which leaves the street only the light offered by what slivers of the moon are visible beyond the cloud cover, casting everything in long shadows. "He was blessed...." The voice whispers. "To live a slave to his greed, but die a sacrifice... We have all been blessssssed..." The voice comes from the alley, but as the moon peeks further out from the cloud cover to illuminate the scene, the alley stands empty.

Skylark's chest rises and falls dramatically. Her shawl, vest, and shirt are soaked in stoat blood and she can barely turn her attention away as Dominik arrives having heard her call. The flicker of light casts odd shadows on her horrified face. "W-what?" the doe asks, eyes wide as she looks over to Dominik. "Who...what are you talking back?" Skylark presses back against the wall at her back, mistaking the whispering for the buck that has arrived.

Dominik had always been a tad on the superstitious side, even as a leveret...back in his home, stories and legends were constantly bandied about amongst the elders of the town, and thusly taught to the younger members. Upon arriving at the mountain and hearing stories about what has occurred, the buck had almost instantly believed what he had heard without question. As he stands there in the growing moonlight of the alleyway entrance and stares at the bizarre scene before him, the whispers seem to creep into his brain, and he looks around with wide eyes for the source; the buck blinks, shaking his head to clear it, and a paw automatically goes to the handle of the sword jutting over his shoulder. In quick strides, he makes his way closer towards Skylark and the would-be thief, a frightening sight for those unaware of who he is..."Show yourself!" his voice booms, echoing in the alleyway. "Is knowing you are here...!"

The street is, again, deserted. Perhaps it is just a trick of the night and the wind, but it seems lighter again, the sounds of the village seem louder, and nobeast answers Dominik's call from the shadows. "Boil m'whiskahs, wha' in hellsteeth happened 'ere?" The answer, instead, comes from the street itself as Jinora enters from the Square. She's dressed in plainclothes, a burlap sack hangs from one paw, but her saber is drawn in the other - she, too, heard the calls for help. "Marm, are ye alrigh'? Are ye injured? Private, explain!" She barks out, not on duty, but lapsing into it fluidly.

Skylark makes a gurgling, whimpering noise. Her eyes fall back onto the stoat as if maybe he's whispering. Dominik's shout causes her to cringe with residual fear. Her ears train on Jinora, she looks up, her frown twisted and the doe looking fairly close to tears. "He went nuts," Skylark explains in a shakey voice. "He was attacking me... an' an'..." She's pinned to the wall, seemingly terrified to move with the dead marten so close. "Blast me," the doe sobs, shoving a paw to scrub at an eye. Her voice edges on something closer to anger now. "Just... went nuts. Flew into my blade before I could even move. Killed himself" Her voice hiccups. "Something is still around. Something evil." Her blue eyes find the two Long Patrol hares as she says it.

Dominik hadn't actually gotten to the point of drawing his sword yet, the familiar sound of Jinora's voice causing him to pause before he was able to do so, and he turns back towards the alley entrance. The buck's expression is sheepish yet spooked, just what he had seen in his brief time there enough to freak him out. And that is something not easily done. The large hare looks from Skylark to Jinora, then back again, his voice low. "Cannot have explanation when not sure what is happened..." He stares down at the dead stoat, eyes moving back to Skylark. "Heard shout, came to check. Saw her, saw dead toat." He pokes at the corpse with the tip of his boot. "Heard whispers. You show up. Is all I know." At Skylark's words, the buck's expression turns somber, and he knowingly nods his head in agreement. "Is evil. Something in air, not feeling right." Dom extends a paw towards Skylark apologetically. "Is miss hurt? Apologies, not arriving sooner."

The hare's testimony chills Jinora straight through - are they /in/ Halyard now? Blazes! The doe steps forward with her ears flicked back flat against her head, looking back and forth with steady vigilance - she's rattled. "Marm, yer okay." She sheathes her weapon, trusting the danger gone, and leans past Dominik to roughly shove the dead vermin away from Skylark to allow her more room. "There's been some... Stirrin's, as of late. We recommend ye avoid walkin' alone at night." Yeah, no duh. With this, the Officer turns a /very/ pointed look upon Dominik before softening her expression and returning it to Skylark. She nods once before she sets to circling the perimeter - as usual, there are no signs left behind, no footprints, no sign that anybeast else was ever there. "Why don't we, ah, go somewhere else t'talk." She clears her throat, returning to Dominik and Skylark. "If y'wanted t'... Clean up, a bit." She nods to her bloodstained clothes apologetically.

"I'm not hurt," Skylark heaves out as she slips away from the stoat. She raises a paw up, grabbing onto one of the rickety fence posts close to the street to steady herself. "Chains o' the damned... I can't..." She has to suck in air. "Clean up, yes. Gods. I was on my way to work. The Tavern. I have clothes there. We should leave." Her voice is choked and she doesn't dare go back for her knife and she's still shaking pretty badly.

Dominik is obviously rattled, himself, his ears flattening upon his head as Jinora gives him 'the look'. It was something his mother had given him many times, and so he is quite understanding of its meaning. Averting his gaze for a moment, he mutters a soft apology. "Is sorry. Is knowing not supposed to be alone. Vanted to patrol, vanted to check things." At the suggestion to go elsewhere, Dom quickly nods his head, his anxiety quite obvious. "Yes. Is good, is go somevhere else, yes." The buck glances back over his shoulder into the darkness of the street, a frown crossing his scarred muzzle, before he turns back to the other two. "Let us go..."

"Th'Tavern it is, then. Private, yer not t'be on a Patrol after dark by yourself. End of story. You're relieved of duty f'the rest of th'night. Report t'the kitchens in th'morning fer dishes." But she's happy to leave it at that, with a smirk. "At least it means ye cin buy our first round." The Patroller offers an arm out to the frightened doe as they move towards the, in comparison, brightly lit square.

Lutea · RP Chat

*whispers from the shadows*

Check out the Long Patrooool.

Lutea · Open Chat

Greetings, m'lady!

Welcome to the game! I will give you my /totally/ unbiased suggestion to go check out the Long Patrol, as well. Totally unbiased. If you're looking around for some RP, or just have a question, feel free to page me as Lutea on the game

Lutea · RP Chat

I don't seem to be having that problem on my desktop or laptop. I'm using Google Chrome - maybe a browser-specific issue? If you can get on the main site, all of these are available under Groups --> The Long Patrol

Lutea · Logs

A Helpful Stranger
Ft. Saja, Dominik, Jinora
Halyard Tavern: Saloon:

It's late, and the Saloon portion of the Tavern is only sparsely populated. An old, retired hare in the corner fast asleep. A pair of squirrel twins drunkenly swinging about on the dance floor. The bartender, a sleepy looking mouse lass. %r%r And finally occupying one of the couches is the berobed form of Saja the fox. He's somewhat dressed down today, wearing a light grey robe and sandals. Lounged out with his tail flicking off the side of the couch, he's stolen a side table to lay a large tankard on along with a candle for extra light. A book is in his hands, the title barely visible if one looks. 'A Traveler's Guide to Medicine'. The fox occasionally looks up, eyeing the others with a bored expression.

Into the doorway of the saloon peeks the head of a large hare, his size causing him to have to duck a little to look inside. Having returned the previous day, Dom had spent the evening throwing back drinks and reminiscing with Riley about the time they spent in the 67th, and needless to say he is still a tad loopy. Satisfied that there is no one in the room wanting to pick a fight, (something about being as large and intimidating as he is just seems to draw bar patrons to want to challenge him), he ducks into the room. It seems that the usual clamor and din of the tavern had begun to wear thin on the buck, and a smile touches his muzzle as he steps into the saloon. Searching out a place to sit, Dominik decides upon a nearby couch, and he lowers himself onto it with a grunt. "Ooof." Blinking, he peers around for a moment, enjoying the relative quiet of the room.

Another slips in from the Main Tavern: a tall, muscular-looking doe in a plain, red tunic and brown belt, her saber perfectly visible. Jinora, as is her custom, has a room and, as is also her custom, couldn't sleep a wink. So, she drinks. "This is jus' bloody depressing." The doe mutters to herself, paused on the threshold of the saloon portion of the Tavern. She just isn't feeling the big crowd tonight, but the lackluster clientele doesn't offer much of a break from the stifling silence of the night... But it's better than being in a crowded room and it's better than being alone, so she angles to the bar. "Gimme a tankahd'a th'pirate's drink, marm." She mutters to the mouse and rolls a coin across the counter. She pauses after her order to turn and survey the place again - squirrels, check, studious fox, check, Dominik - oh, hey, it's that guy. A little finger waggle is offered.

As Jinora orders her drink, the mouse at the bar is quick to serve up a tankard of the tavern's finest rotgutt. Seems the mouse is taking the LP hare's words rather literally. It even /smells/ like it came directly off of some vermin pirate's ship. Meanwhile, both the tall buck and hare catch Saja's eye as they enter. He looks them over, gaze lacking any kind of hostility that the more rowdy or drunken sorts of vermin might have. His expression overall is mostly of detached curiousity, and that same vague amusement. His book closes, and he shifts on the couch after replacing the bookmark. "I would be careful, drinking that. I once saw a sea rat throw himself overboard screaming and tearing at his eyes from drinking grog gone bad." Cheery, this fox. The mouse doesn't look pleased at Saja's insinuations.

Dominik,despite lacking the uniform of the mountain hares, is still an obvious member of the Patrol judging by his attire...which is still a Patrol uniform, albeit with a few differences due to the location he'd been in. It is also not in the best of shape due to his travels, but he figured he would address the issue at a later date. As Jinora enters, the buck watches her quietly as she heads to the bar and orders a drink, and as she acknowledges his presence he smiles and lifts a hefty paw in a return, the hare recognizing her from the previous evening. "Is quiet," he rumbles pleasantly, "Is good. No catervaul, no fights. Time to think." The fox is eyed briefly as he speaks.

It takes a full tankard for Jinora to regain the ability to socialize beyond hand gestures and noncommital grunts, guys, give her a minute. Dominik earns an 'mhm' and as Saja speaks, she does, with slow and methodical swallows, throw back her rotgutt with the skill of a doe raised in the military... Them hares can drink; she learned from the best. She sets the empty tankard down and taps the bar to get the mousemaid's attention. "Since when is time t'think a good thing?" She snorts. "Anothah f'me, and whatever that'un is guzzlin'." She orders with a nod to the fox, rolling two more coins to her. "Interestin' read?" She motions to the book. There's been more talk of and for the healers of the Mountain today than she would have hoped; it seems that Saja's choice of literature was plucked from the fates.

(Dominik gets a nod as he goes on about the lack of violence and noise. Like a proper fox, it seems he feels the need to insert himself into the conversation. His whiskers wiggle a bit. Jinora chimes in. The fox chuckles. Drinks come fast, first for Dominik (a large tankard of something sweet), then for Jinora (some sort of dark beer), and a refill for Saja. "Thinking is how we master ourselves. A beast that doesn't think is doomed to stagnate, or worse, only ponder their vices rather than their actions. That's how hordes come into being." A pause. He shrugs to Jinora. "I've read better. Unfortunately Halyard is light on literature, this reads like a dibbun's bed time story rather than serious medicine." Smirk. "I don't suppose the great hares of the Mountain have better?" Sarcasm runs thick in his voice. )

Dominik peers down at the drink he is given, eyeing it for a moment before the hare grins and downs the whole thing in one go. "Is not bad," he replies with a shrug. The odd fox's words cause Dom's ears to perk in his direction, and he nods in agreement. "Is true, must find balance between thinking and doing, yes?" he offers, "Is unfortunate, not all can do such thing. All has to do is look out there," he motions towards the tavern, "Plenty of examples..."

Oh great, we have a philosopher! Phil...Foxopher? No, no, Jinora. Not tonight. "Nah, we're too busy ponderin' our vices tah ge' much readin' done." The doe smirks, slipping a paw around her beer with a satisfied hum. She feels far too sober to get too much thinking done, or is doing far too much thinking to get drinking done? Youth is hard. "Guess balance is the bloody key then, innit? Blightah spends all day thinkin' while th'dumber beasts 'do' - nice way t'stagnate an' sip ya tea while th'world falls tah th'rest of us sad sods." She gives a little chuckle over the lip of her tankard, dipping her muzzle in. A long draught finds a comfortable warmth blooming in her belly, and the doe's smile becomes more natural. "Lieutenant Jinora Shyluck Windbell Tottheim, atcha sahvice." She dangles a paw lazily towards the fox.

The resident foxopher hardly seems put out by the two hares in the room. In fact, he seems downright pleased. He ponders Dominik's words a moment. "Well, the world /would/ be boring if we were all paragons of virtue and philosophy all the time. That is how you get your average Abbeybeast or librarian. Nature bless the both of them." His good eye sparkles a bit. He chuckles once more, standing as a lazy paw is offered his way. "I should have pinned you for the sort, then. Yes, it's proper that the brave servants of Badger Lords act. As long as you have a plan, of course." Then he'll try to take that paw, dip to a knee, and kiss the top formally. "A pleasure all my own, Lieutenant. Saja Hawkeye, mercenary, healer, and disreputable rogue. Charmed, both of you."

"Mus' be a special corner'a th'Dark Forest fer Abbey Librarians, then. A colorless room, no windows, eternity spent readin' abou' th'accomplishments'a other beasts." She snorts. Halyard has always been a bizarre place... While the vermin and woodlanders that call it home would hardly be considered 'friendly', they aren't (always) openly engaging in hostility. It's a tenuous peace. Jinora laughs as the introductions are made. "Charmed, m'sure, sah. Healah y'say? Alright, alright, off th'floor with ye, m'not nearly enough'a lady-marm f'tha' codswollopry." She leans against the bar and motions at the 'tender. "'Notha round f'me an' m'friend 'ere." When did she finish her second tankard? Patrol livers are the real heros here.

Saja makes a slight sweeping gesture with a paw in the air. "May their quills never run dry, and their eyes never turn myopic." Offers the fox like a prayer, with all the sincerity of a serial liar. When Jinora protests the treatment, he can't help but tease even as he finds his place back at the couch. The loungey fox lounges now with even more beer. He can't /quite/ down it like the large hare can, but a challenge is a challenge. "Wearing your occupation like a mantle, then? A shame, a bit of trimming, a brush, the right dress, a little voice work...you could play the part of a Baroness and have every buck from here to Ruingate groveling at your footpaws!" Comes the fox mercilessly. He raises his cup in a toast. "To mistakes enjoyed, and the wisdom that comes after." Cup down, he grows serious. "Lieutenant. I've heard awful rumors as of late. Something about a curse and hauntings. Normally I would pass it all off as superstitious searat talk. But I've heard it from beasts I know to be reliable. Is there any truth to them?"

With a laugh, Jinora raises her glass. "May their pillow be full'a down an' their joints prophetic ta rain." Her own sincerity is more obviously mocked, and his jab at her femininity earns a head thrown back in laughter. "Hah! That'll be th'day, eh? I've plenty'a bucks grovelin' at me footpaws already, bu' I prefer it when th'lads'r beggin' fer mercy. Keeps me young." She snorts incredulously, but her expression falters to one of deeper concern that she can't quite hide behind a quip and a sip of ale. "Er... Wish I could disprove'em, bu' I've seen th'blightahs meself. Wouldn't say they're haunted - jus' 'aven't figured out th'parlor tricks yet, y'know how tis... Still... Crops'a murdahs wi'ghastly circumstances ain't a small mattah." She pauses, thoughtfully. "Yer a healah... Mind if I pick y'brain?"

One hand goes to the fox's chest in faux shock. "Ahhh, the way to a buck's heart is through his ribcage and the paw that put him to the ground! I'll have to keep up my guard then, I should hate to suffer a tragedy such as that. So fierce." Saja just...almos looks through Jinora for a moment. A hint of melancholy enters his voice, and it's only when the topic of the strange foxes swings in earnestly does he shake himself awake from his own head. "By all means. I have a few running theories, but I'm afraid to give voice to them. Describe them to me, with as much detail as you can remember. Especially the eyes, skin, and fur. I'm fond of Halyard, and not being cursed. It is in my best interests to help you and the Patrol." By now he's gotten up again, and takes a seat beside Jinora. A little fumbling, and he has a journal, a quill, and inkpot.

The fighter doe laughs, not keen enough on her cues to catch up the little lapse of mirth. She is, however, still rattled by the business with the foxes and sighs. "I'll need a refill firs'." She grumbles, raising a claw to the 'tender to signify just that. Once her drink is filled to her satisfaction and the Tavern set to swaying no matter how still she sits, the doe leans to rest her back and elbows against the counter, turned out towards the Saloon at large. "Well." She begins, her muzzle wrinkling. "Ain't never got a good look - seems t'be th'concensus. They got this laugh that sounds like it's everywhere a'once, then dozens of 'em appear outta nowhere. They look like th'fur is hangin' off 'em in bits an' they're bones are all twisted an' wrong with stuff.. Growin' outta 'em? Like branches." She sips at her drink. "Bu' th'bodies are th'worst. All tinged green wi' th'flesh fallin' away in a way it ought not. Bu' th'foxes tend t'keep a distance, lest they're makin' ye into another corpse, seems."

As the doe speaks, Saja becomes more and more grim as he slowly gets the picture. After some swift shorthand in neat letters, he starts on a very rough sketch of what Jinora is describing. It takes him a minute to finish. Even the seasoned healer and mercenary looks a little green from it, and so he too comforts himself with a pull that's definitely more than a fox like him should be downing at once. Cough. "Mmm. I have two possibilities. First, likely a combination of a deformed birth and some sort of disease. Severe mange or scurvy can make a beast look and smell like they're rotting. Add in a frothing disease or something like it, wounds gone untreated for too long, a beast can lose their mind. You're likely dealing with madbeasts." It seems this is his primary theory. "/Or/...you have a pack of beasts wearing elaborate costumes and good acting skills. Throwing one's voice isn't too difficult to learn. Add in a touch of fear and an agenda, and you have a nice way of making even the Long Patrol's stout hearts tremble, leaving the pack free to murder and thieve." Points out the fox. He stands up. "I'll be in town, I have a few odd jobs here and there. But you'll find me here during the evenings. Get me a body, Lieutenant Jinora, or take me hunting with you. Then we can find answers." A piece of parchment with his room number is slid to the hare, along with enough coin for more drinks. "We'll share wine and a mystery. Enjoy the rest of your evening." And then, the todd is off with a smooth, easy gait.

Lutea · Logs

Is it Death?
Ft. Ironbark, Jinora
The Western Shore:

The sky is awash in the fiery glow of a setting sun; flame-kissed clouds are swept across a pink sky, framed against the shadow of the looming dunes. Nearby, the lights of Halyard begin to twinkle, one by one, to life as the villagers light their torches and streetlamps and welcome the encroaching darkness. Night is falling, and if anybeast believes the rumors these days, they had best be making it inside soon...

Ironbark seems like he rather not be inside, somehow he got away from his captors and is running towards the beach of all places.He is paying no mind to the dark and seems he heard no rumors as he trips once over some broken ale bottle left behind by some drunk rat.He sighs and stands dusting himself off as he looks back and forth, his only weapon a dagger he found.

With the last calls of gulls seeking refuge, the sun blinks out of sight and darkness falls over the beach. The moon remains tucked behind the clouds for now, leaving only the illumination of the village and the twinkle of the Mountain's lights, far downshore. At this time of year, the wind carries the biting suggestion of winter on its breath, and the breeze that rips through the dunes howls a long, mournful, chilling note. It almost sounds like the moon is crying out in pain - but that's just the trick of a superstitious mind, of course. The moon just barely begins to peek out of the cloud cover, and the suggestion of a shadow flits between two dune's crests, so quickly that the unobservant mind could dismiss it as a trick of the shifting light.

Ironbark stops and blinks, a paw on his dagger but decides its a passing cloud or maybe one of those fool gulls flying away, he snorts and has slowed from a run, to a jog, to a sort of walk as he is out of energy to do much than walk.He looks back towards the village and then seeing the mountain lights he slowly heads that way as he bundles his think cloak around himself

The laugh begins as a whisper with the wind, but it slowly builds until it sounds as if it's coming from all around the fleeing squirrel. A dry, raspy cackle that seems to come from the very sand itself - all at once, it stops. There isn't a sign of anybeast - just the memory of the unhinged cackle of... Who?

Ironbark draws his, well the dagger he found anyways, out and quickly looks around "Who's..thar, show ya self."He says calmly and frowns, he knows the voice of the rat and the cat already , then maybe thye have friends here for all he knows."I'm not afraid of foolish vermin pests"

The laugh begins again. "Peeeeeeests?" A voice asks. The darkness is oppressive here, so it isn't until the wind shifts the clouds again and allows a shaft of moonlight to illuminate the dunes that the beast comes into view. The fox, if you can call it a fox, is silhouetted in the silver light - his back is hunched over, crooked shapes jutting from it as if he was infected by some haunting fungus. It looks as if flaps of skin hang loose from his ragged, thin, ghostly form - but in this light and at this distance, it is impossible to tell many more details than that. "Big words... For a little rodent all alone in the moonlight." The shadowy figure hisses. The laughter sounds again, but the fox doesn't open his mouth.

Ironbark tilts his head as he notices, ok so the fox can speak without moving his lips..so what, he keeps an eye on the fox "Ya seem to...of fallen into a pile of garbage thar...pest" He smirks, seems he is not too worried yet as he grips the dagger...yet that is, but he does looks around in case there is more.

Soundlessly, more beasts appear... More foxes - all twisted and distorted in different ways, the fur hanging off them as if they're dead already. "You seem to be.... Lost.... Little rodent... Little..." In the moonlight, the lead fox's teeth glint, illuminating a snarling grin. "...Snack." The foxes line the dune tops, some of them twitching and jittering, some of them as still as death. "What do you run from?" He asks, slowly lifting a paw. As it lifts, a single note of the laughter begins again. It slowly grows louder and louder. "Is it death?"

Ironbark frowns as he sees more foxes and all seem..twisted and he gulps a little as he lifts his dagger"Trust...me..not much of a snack for...you and your friends, just gonna go now"He backs up a little and keeps his eyes on the foxes best he can"None ya..ya bussiness what I running from..."Ok now he is a little nervous but takes a deep breath to calm himself, maybe the light is just playing tricks with his mind it is true he didnt eat much today, a little breakfast and some water a couple times today.

A ripple pulses through the foxes lining the dunes as the leader raises both paws to a navy sky, streaked in silver. "Is it death?" The whispers rattle through them, the question tumbling and scraping over itself a dozen times over as they all raspily breathe it out. "Is it death? Is it death? Is it /death/?" The leader starts to laugh, and it is clear that it is him, this time. "You are not the one He wants tonight... You are not the one death chases." The others continue their whispers of 'is it death?' until the leader lowers his paws. He points one jagged claw at Ironbark. "Not tonight, at least... You are not ours..." Suddenly, clouds of black smoke erupt at the fox's paws. They are engulfed in it, and with the next gust of wind... Are gone. The dunes are smooth and peaceful, as if nothing stood upon them at all, sugar sand dribbling down the sides in lonely silence.

Ironbark blinks, a small whimper as he drops to his knees onto the sand and shivers, the dagger griped so tight in his paws it could cause bliters as his eyes dart around, "Imm..impossoble..they were...thar..."

"Hoi! You there!" The shout comes from downshore as a single, bobbing lantern approaches at a fast lope. "It's been dangerous these parts a'night, wot!" The Mountain accent is thick, and as the light of the lantern grows closer to where Ironbark sits in the sand, it is clear that there are two beasts: two hares of the Long Patrol. The one holding the lantern approaches faster, his head tilted to the side as he stares down at the squirrel. The second, a tall doe in the uniform of a lieutenant is close on his heels. "S'matter with ye? Looks like ye've seen a ghost." Jinora offers a paw down to the squirrel, glancing nervously around the dunes as she does so.

Ironbark whimpers and points the dagger at them.."No...leave...you were foxes a morment go...heeeee...ya were and...or maybe they are still..."He whimpers and shivers laying on the sands now keeping a death grip on the dagger"Dangerous....your friend is..is silly..or is he death....your death arent ya?"

"Ah, jeez..." The runner buck winces, taking an uncomfortable step backwards at the sight of the terrified squirrel. However, Jinora's eyes go wide. "He's seen 'em..." Spinning around, the hare keeps a paw on her saber as she scans the dark dunes - but there are no foxes in sight and no haunting laughter within earshot... Swallowing, the lieutenant takes a knee near Ironbark, careful to keep back enough in case he starts swinging that dagger. "Ye've seen th'foxes, haven't ye mate?" She asks, her voice a nervous whisper.

Ironbark whimpers.."Foxes?...Ghosts...think no fur..."He looks ready to stab the hare with her "R..Run..lass...I will..help us both, the foxes sent him.."Hee points to the hare ,"Its..death he is making himself look ..like..like a hare...we..gonna run..run..RUN AWAY!!" He suddenly throws the dagger but his aim is likely bad as he is shaking like a leaf in a wind storm!

"Ack!" Jinora leaps backwards at the crazed squirrel's flailing attack, but she feels the tell-tale sting of a lucky shot skimming her elbow. With a hiss, she claps a paw over the shallow wound and scrambles back. "Now, ye've got about ten second t'calm down afore I knock ye upside th'head!" The fighter threatens, leaving her saber at her hip but raising her fists. "Private Furthrite, signal th'sentry t'send a healer." The other hare gives a curt "Yessir!" and pulls a cloth from his belt. He covers and uncovers the lantern in a pattern... In the distance, the light in the sentry tower flickers similarly. "Calm yerself, mate, we'll find ye a healer in Halyard an' ye cin tell us all about it..." Her fists are still raised.

Ironbark whimpers and starts to stand onto to stumble backwards and shivers "No..No..your taking to the foxes..the foxes with no fur or soon no fur and they will make us have no fur or..or wear ours....they were here and then wasn't in secounds...black smoke from...mouth...or...maybethier fur is mad of..smoke"

"Certainly sounds like he's seen 'em..." Furthrite mutters, shifting uncomfortably. The buck is looking all around them, swallowing as his throat goes dry with fear. "Listen, m'bucko." Jinora is trying for a placating tone, but her paws are still raised defensively and blood runs down her arm from the thin slice of the knife. Little maroon droplets bloom in the sand. "He's gone bloomin' mad with fright!" The buck mutters. It'll take almost two hours for their backup to make the run down the beach. "Last time I ask ye nice like afore I clock ye'noggin' an' quiet ye down th'good ol' fashioned way, matey!" The doe warns. "We're tryin' t'help ye, blast it!" She doesn't want to be out here and exposed on the beach any longer than they have to be.

Ironbark whimpers as he looks at the hares and curls up in fear and shivers more muttering about the hares are really the foxes and they are gonna eat him and then somehow eat him again later.

"Yer makin' this bloody difficult." Jinora sighs, but she isn't willing to wait around on the beach any longer. Those spooks could be anywhere, and she doesn't fancy another encounter either. "Furthrite, get 'is dagger. Should be ovah there." She stoops, hesitantly, over the squirrel and then reaches a paw out. She aims to scoop up Ironbark by one arm and stand him up so that she can support his weight on the way back to Halyard... Of course, this relies entirely on the terrified creature's cooperation. "Up ye go, y'poor, blitherin' blightah."

Ironbark tenses up and screams as if he is dying, its an insane scream and loud too, he takes a coupel deep breaths and whimpers and screams again and kicks to get loose and hyperventalates till he passes out at suddenly being pulled up to satnd and then sluumps over, out cold for now....maybe thats a good thing.

"Well, saves me th'trouble'a knockin' a few more rocks loose in 'is skull." Jinora sighs with a grunt as the squirrel's deadweight sags against her. "Upsie daisie!" The fighter is impressively muscled and tall, Ironbark's weight isn't a bother, but it will be a tiring march to Halyard carrying the poor, unconscious squirrel. "Bet m'whiskers somebeast we don' want t'hear that scream 'eard tha' scream, though... Best make double time, wot! Move out!" The Private, the Lieutenant and poor, limp Ironbark in her arms cut an interesting trio as they slog back towards the lights of Halyard, nervously checking over their shoulders with every step. The beach has eyes, these nights...

Ironbark just stays passed out and likely wont wake till he is in the infirm, and likely may be wise to die him down a couple days maybe, till he at least calms enough to know the healers are..somewhat trustworthy at least.

Lutea · Logs

Sentry Duty
Ft. Gregorian, Jinora
Salamandastron: Sentry Tower:

Gregorian might be no good for running or walking for days on patrol but his ability to sit around on sentry duty is just as good as it ever was. It's a shame really because Greg is bored out of his mind staring out the slitted window on to the beach below. He's practically counting down the minutes until the next shift should come over and knows exactly which shadow to keep an eye on outside so he'll know when it's time.

(Jinora may not be on the shift list for sentry duty anymore, but that didn't stop her stupid mouth from promising to cover one of Riley's in exchange for Patrol help. The doe mounts the stairs with growing dread, clinging to the short-sighted optimism that she could, at least, sneak some of her report duties out while nobeast is watching. When she slips into the Sentry room, however, she is pleasantly surprised to see that this wasn't a solo-shift. Though she made some sound coming up the stairs, she still coughs to announce her presence behind Greg as she enters. "Think ye could use some company, eh?" )

Gregorian's ear swivels round to the sound of footsteps several seconds before his head turns to see who it is. He throws out a relaxed salute. Respect for officers is required but he's no enthusiastic recruit snapping to attention "Marm" he greets before his eyes return to the job at hand of watching the sands outside "I thought the first thin' officahs did was make sure they nevah had tah do sentry duty again" he seems relaxed and honestly happy for the company.

There's a curt nod at the salute as the lieutenant enters, but she doesn't seem keen to press rank and formality today. There will be plenty of time for that after she's died of boredom. "Eh, guess I missed th'memo." Jinora smirks, groaning as she drops heavily into the vacant seat. "Owed a favah, as i'twere." She explains, leaning her weight forward onto her knees to better peer through one of the wall slits. "Although, really cannae say tha' paperwork is much more invigoratin'. Any 'ordes on our doorstep today?"

Gregorian ahhs as she explains she owed a favour "One of the most common reasons for sentry duty only behind actually bein' ordahed tah" Years of practice means he already has the perfect spot to lean against the window edge so he can see and still sit comfortably "Eh, three hordes dispatched with a pot of tea, one had tah use a bread roll on, it's been a slow day" Greg jokes before actually answering seriously "Nah. Bit of post and supplies from Halyard. Patrol went out tah check the south beach is stayin' quiet. Nothin' out of the ordinary"

Favors have kept eyes on the beach for decades, and who is she to disrupt a time-honored tradition? "Only three hordes?" Jinora smirks, her muzzle wrinkling. "Guess things've only been gettin' lively a'night these days. Ya 'eard about our little 'haunting' problem?" Her voice is dipped in sarcasm, obviously not believing the whole shambling affair to be truly otherworldly in nature... Still... She can't deny being freaked the heck out.

Gregorian's glance to Jinora, an eyebrow raises and then it's back to watching the beach "I have not heard. Wot is it this time? Ghosts of badgah lords past or rattlin' chains which occasionally forget not tah giggle when they're runnin' away?...Or is it just the good old fashioned scarin' of recruits?" Greg has not heard the news but he already doesn't seem to believe it.

"Well, started wi'some mad shrews sayin' cursed, 'aunted foxes killed their mates. Then some reports started croppin' up in 'Alyard - foxes doin' magic an'lookin' all twisted an'wrong, bodies of those they killed not lookin' right - saw some fer m'self, shuddered me right t'the scut. We were escortin' a hedgepig back t'the River when they surrounded us on th'beach - coulda done us away, appeared an'disappeared outta nowhere, real spooky like." She shrugs. "All parlah tricks an'hogsnot, bu'..." She gives a little shiver. "Spooky as th'dark forest in winter, I'll tell ye tha'."

Gregorian frowns at the story but doesn't look scared. He hasn't seen anything though and if you can't hit it with a hammer he's not convinced it exists "All that suggests tah me is there's a group of foxes playing tricks tah give themselves an advantage. Trouble tah be sure but I doubt anythin' a good bit of steel can't fix"

Jinora nods. "S'what I think." There's a pause as her resolve slips. "Er... Thought. I dinnae believe in magic, an' I believe in magic foxes even less, bu' those blightahs got th'jump on us without even tryin' - an' their tricks were pretty convincin'. Tricks all th'same, but they're smart, spooky bushtails, I'll give 'em tha'." The doe leans forward to squint at the shadow of something far out on a calm sea, some breaching fin in a sea of blue. It's gone as soon as it appears. "They seem t'be usin' somethin' on their weapons tha' eats th'bodies away, makes 'em look all... Green an' patchy. Know of anythin' like tha'?"

Gregorian raises an eyebrow and finally has to take his eyes off the beach to look at Jinora for a long judging moment "Eatin' away bodies?...No offence tah yah marm but which tavern were yah in before this" he smiles slightly but he has been around so he gives it some thought anyway "I know of an acid that was supposed tah strip the coatin' off of metal, don't know that anybeast was evah stupid enough tah stick their paw in it and see wot happened though. Mind that worked slowly if yah left something in it long enough and it nevah turned anythin' green. Some of the healahs know a scary amount of poisons, could ask them"

Jinora laughs. "Wish I 'ad been - though ye cin imagine how long I stayed in th'tavern /after/." She nods slowly with his analysis of the acid, making a mental note. "Worth lookin' into." She agrees, and a sly smirk snakes across her muzzle once again. "It is a /bit/ disturbin' how versed th'healahs are in poisons. Sure, s'right helpful if ye get th'wrong cream in yer cup - but I can't help but wondah if they're all plottin' sometimes. Some'a their tinctures certainly taste like they're tryin' ta poison th'lot of us, t'be sure."

Gregorian snorts and he's back to watching the sands again because who knows when the hordes of deformed face melting foxes might arrive "Tell me about it. Once yah learn all the plants that heals a beast I guess yah need tah know the ones wot'll kill them too. Just as well they're on our side but it's best not tah anger them all the same. Worth askin' them anyway. Beasts dyin' in strange and mysterious ways is probably their remit"

"Guess ye 'ave to 'ave a bit of a pentient fer torture if yer goin t'be a healer." Jinora decides with a breathy chuff of a chuckle. "I'm sure this'll all be figured ou' an' swept away in due time, jus' wish it were anythin' other than... Superstitious villainry, eh? Can already 'ear rumors spreadin'. I swear I saw a recruit wearin' a bloody talisman th'other day." She laughs.

Gregorian chuckles too "The newest ones usually say they do it tah help beasts but after a few years dealin' with patients any that haven't quit might very well be startin' tah feel a little satisfaction from lecturin' the poor sod with the head wound" He snorts again at the antics of the recruits "Of course they are. Recruits will believe anythin'. Yah tell them steal wards off demons and I'll show them a nice mace that'll take a ghosts head off guaranteed" he shakes his head "Yah want tah know wot's really goin' on I'd find the shrews they apparently killed. Let a healah have a look at the dead and see wot state the place is in. I bet my left ear those foxes are no more magical than me"

"Oh aye - I los' track'a th'lashin's an' bitter herbs they subjected me to as a private after we'd all get it in our 'eads t'compete in th'boxin' ring till we were jus' bruises with ears. More power to th'beasts - th'sadists tha' they are." Jinora snorts, rubbing at her temple as if she can still feel that concussive right hook. With another nod of ascension, she kicks back in her seat, teetering it on the back legs and squinting one eye to better peer through the wall slit with all the practiced, lazy confidence of youth. "I'll speak t'maj about escortin' a few'a th'healer types down to Halyard to peek at th'nasty blightas afore they're buried or... Burned. Or exorcised. Maybe I cin borrow a talisman off'a recruit." She snorts.

"It's when yah get tah the point yah know all the healahs by name and yah've learnt which ones tah avoid that yah know yah've spent too much time in there" Greg says with a note of experience. Lose a foot and you'll spend a lot of time with healers "Yah let me know how it goes at Halyard. Creepy or not it'd be good tah know how they're doin' it"

Lutea · Logs

A Simple Escort Job
Ft. Jinora, Ace, Monty
The Western Shore:

"It's a simple escort job." As acting LT, Jinora is instructing a line of four hares - two fighters, one runner, and one healer. "We make shah nothin' befalls our guest an' we get 'im to th'River. We'll turn right 'round an' rest th'night in Halyard before comin' back. There are reports'a... Well, weird goin'-on's, so keep ya wits about ya an' yer ears high." The doe wears a pack strapped tight around her shoulders, a cane lashed to the side of it, just in case her leg should start acting up on the long stretch... Though what good it will do her in the sand is beyond her. The small procession awaits their honored guest, and while they still have plenty of daylight left to make the journey, her imagination already swims with images of 'haunted foxes'.

Ace is helped out, though he has said he is fine. A hare shrugs and just gets him to the small group, saultes and heads back inside leaving the hedgehog with a slight oversized hooded claok, some supplies for maybe 3-4 days and a quick wish of good luck.

Monty does his best to keep still and keep his attention focused squarely on Jinora as she gives instruction, the young hare trying to keep his composure as best he can. Behind the stoic expression however lies a sense of excitement and enthusiasm within his eyes the likes of which Monty hadn't felt in quite some time. It had been a long time coming, but finally...FINALLY...the buck had been accepted back into the ranks of the Long Patrol, having passed all the tests thrown his way with flying colors. He cannot help but bounce up and down on his footpaws a little, paws at his sides clenching and unclenching as he attempts to surpress a giggle of delight, and he forces away the grin upon his muzzle that had been threatening to break all day. "Yes, MA'AM!" he replies curtly to the command given, giving Jinora a salute as well. He had wanted to retrieve his old uniform, but that had gotten pretty much destroyed, and so he now wears a brand new uniform....which he fiddles with constantly.

"I trust yer feelin' at th'top of yer game, sah?" Jinora questions the hedgehog as he is escorted out. Monty's fidgeting isn't commented upon, but she does spare him a LOOK - the single raised eyebrow speaking volumes more 'look still and angry now, giggledance later' than actually saying it would have. "We'll stick close t'the water, make th'walk a little easier. Ace - y'have everything? Squared away? Let's head out." The little procession of hares, and their one prickly escortee, is off - moving towards the almost indiscernible line of green in the far distance. Of course this is just a simple escort - what could possibly go wrong?

Ace nods "I am fine lass..."He may have a small limp, but seems ok otherwise."A wee walk is..simple, and I can take breaks when needed.My legs be fine"His arm is bandaged though, he still has a cutlass and a dasgger for weapons till he gets better ones which he hopes he won't need at all.

Monty catches the look given by Jinora, and he gives her a sheepish nod, as well as a quietly-mouthed 'sorry...'. Clearing his throat, the hare stands as tall as he possibly can, and goes into 'super serious' mode. "The water, yes! Bally flippin' grand idea, MA'AM!" With that, Monty follows alongside the others at a steady clip as they move, feeling much better physically than he has in a long time. He makes sure to keep his eyes peeled for any unusual activity...he can't help but feel just a tad on edge with the stories that have been floating around as of late.

No, he certainly won't need those weapons. Right? Right. It seems that it truly will be a peaceful march down the beach; just a knot of beasts cradled by the cooling weather and the sun growing heavier and lower in the sky. They are able to walk for hours in peace, stopping occasionally to rest, with hardly a rustle from the dunes... Until there's a scream. It's nearly sunset, but the screech of a gull pierces the stillness of the beach, awash in the dying light of the setting sun. It's late for a gull to be out, let alone hunting, but this one seems to have missed the memo - its movements are erratic and it seems apt to drop out of the sky before its wings flap, flap, flap him back into the sky. The bird looks like a wind-up toy that someone has forgotten to wind all the way, and then dropped down a set of stairs. "Protect mastah Ace!" The lieutenant shouts, drawing her sabre and stepping back to keep her back to the injured hedgehog. "Lackley! Be read on tha' bow!" She orders the other fighter. "We won't let our friend 'ere be accosted by gulls not bloody once, but bloody twice, wot! Keep sharp! Monty, eyes up an' guard our rear!"

Ace frowns.....Gulls...a stupid Gull had to show up didnt it.He lays a paw on his dagger and just stays alert.He is a fighter through and through, even if right now he is a little slow.

Monty quietly trots along, the hare keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. Hours pass, and the buck seems to be enjoying merely being outside, the fact that he is already back out on a mission so soon after being brought back into the fold seeming to be unbelievable to him. As dusk begins to set, Monty is all ready to make a suggestion as to how to keep themselves entertained. "Being that it seems so bloody peaceful out here, ma'am, might I suggest a song? I..." At this point, almost on cue even, the call of the gull echoes out, and Monty is instantly on the alert. At the command tossed his way, the hare salutes sharply and takes his place at the read of the group, paws up...ready and willing to hit something, and hit it hard.

The gull screams again, not slowing its strange, lopsided approach. As it nears, it's apparent that something is wrong with it - feathers are falling out, its eyes are wide and off-color... But this isn't a beast asking for help. With another screech, the gull dives, snapping and swiping at the group. He knocks the runner hare, Private Lucille, to the sand and his talons rip through the air dangerously close to Ace before he takes to the sky again. "Doesn' seem ta be a music lover, wot!" Jinora jokes through gritted teeth, swiping at nothing as the gull passes again. It turns and comes at them from behind this time, approaching Monty dangerously fast.

Ace narrows his eyes and sidesteps as he is barely missed and shakes his head "Dumb bag of feathers...find some fish for lunch!"

Monty takes the opportunity to hurry over to Lucille to check and see if she is alright as the seagull takes to the air again. The buck crouches beside her, gaze lifting to the air to watch its odd ascent and the strange way it is flying. "Hmm, t's a shame, I was gonna regale 'im with my best version o'th' Seagull Shuffle," he quips back to Jinora, before turning around to find the gull rocketing quickly in his direction. "...oh holy Hellsteeth..." Monty mutters, before he squares himself up in the sand, shoulders and chest facing the seagull as he rears back and aims a couple of jabs at whatever part of the gull reaches him first...

Fish doesn't seem to be on the gull's preferred menu. It soars at Monty, beak wide open - and then careens off course as the buck's fist connects with its chest. The gull briefly collides with the ground, sending up a spray of sand in its haste to gain traction to take off again, snapping at Ace in passing. Lucille manages to stand, nodding to Monty as she raises her sword. "Private Lackley!" Jinora barks, and the gray fighter hare yanks his bow free, notches an arrow, and fires. The bird gives a final screech and crashes to the beach near them, but Lackley stares at it in confusion. "Sah?" He looks to Jinora and points at the arrow that blossoms from the bird's side. "I... Missed." He squints in confusion at the green-fletched arrow. "S'not mah arrow." Darkness is falling in earnest now as the sun disappears beyond the horizon in a flash of brilliant orange and green, and a sinister laugh, soft and taunting, floats from the dunes, seeming to come from all around them and nowhere at all at the same time.

Ace watches as the bird crashes and there is an arrow, he shrugs "Well..tis dead right?"

Monty seems genuinely surprised as his punches actually connect with the charging gull and send it careening off course. Peering down at his fist, a slow grin spreads across his muzzle. Damn that felt good! Catching Lucille's nod towards him, he returns it, glad to see she is unharmed. He takes up his boxing stance once more in preparation as the gull takes off again and reapproaches them...but before he can strike it again, the bird goes down in a heap nearby. Blinking, Monty peers over at Lackley, a grin returning to his muzzle. "Ey, great shot! You..." At that point, Lackley mentions missing, and the laughing begins. The young hare blinks as his eyes search the dunes for signs of, well, ANYthing..."Uh, Jin? I'm really, really hopin' y'learned how t'throw yer laugh an' yer just messin' with us right now..." he deadpans.

The creepy laughter continues, and every hair along the nape of Jinora's neck stands at attention. Private Lucille bleeds from a gash on her arm, and she nods to their attending healer to see to her. "Private." She waves Monty over. "Keep on 'er injured side, I've got a bad feelin' about this..." In the darkness, it is difficult to make out exactly who, or what, lines the dune tops up the beach... But they aren't beasts like any Jinora has seen. Though the creatures are mere silhouettes at this distance and in this light, they appear to be foxes... If foxes came from nightmares. Strange, branch-like protrusions burst from bent backs, fur hangs off of them like it's been sloughed off. "Stripes an' seas." Jinora swears, her eyes wide and blood running cold.

Ace frowns "Ok..not an expert but...those foxes look like someone tries ta kill them or get some fur caots and thn just let them live"

Monty nods, "Righto..." and he immediately shifts his position so that he is guarding Lucille's weak side. He winces momentarily upon glimpsing her injury, though his expression turns to one of relief as the healer begins to tend to her. Turning his attention back towards the dunes once again, the buck's own fur stands on end as the sinister laughter continues to echo around the small group. Monty inches closer to the others, eyes falling upon the shadowy figures surrounding them on the dunes. "Welp..." he mutters, softly..."I s'pose we can confirm that th'shrews aren't quite as out of their gourds as we originally thought..." Not quite sure what to do, Monty resumes his fighting stance, eyes roving around the dunes...he's not quite sure who or what to focus on.

"Youuuuu are lucky, Long Patrol." One of the twisted foxes steps forward. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it has no problem traveling to their ears. "Tonight... Is not your night... To join ussss." The speaker holds a bow, it seems... It was his arrow that brought down the bird. "But... It will come when he wills it so..." Another twisted vulpine slinks to his side atop the dune and raises her paws skyward - the others all copy her motions. They must all drop something in unison, because thick, black smoke surrounds everybeast on the dune, and when it clears, the foxes are gone. "Well." Jinora finally croaks out after what feels like an eternity. "M'glad th'uniforms pants'r so dark, dunno abou' th'rest of ya." The lieutenant clears her throat and straightens up. "Right, er... We... Need t'inspect th'bird an' make sure we aren't bein' followed. Bu' priority is gettin' Ace where 'e needs t'go - less this 'as scared ye off yer journey, sah?" She asks the hedgehog.

Ace blinks as he watches "Ummm....that was..odd..you hares anger someone?"

Monty stands there in his fighting position, absolutely transfixed by the bizarre vulpinelike shadow creatures. It is something about that voice that was very hypnotic, and their movements only seem to add to it. The young hare stares at the dunes where the figures are perched, ear flattening upon his head as the dark smoke engulfs them, and just as soon as they had appeared, the odd creatures were gone. Blinking away the daze finally after a few moments, Monty gives a shake of his head, coughing and waving a paw in front of his face to ward off the remaining wisps of smoke. "Ahem. Ack. Erm. So, er. That just happened..." The buck takes another quick glance at the dunes, before turning his head back to Jinora. "Whatthewhozabloodywhatsit was THAT about??? Did you SEE those things?" He points a paw towards the dunes, jaw dropping for a moment, eyes wide.

"We've 'ad growin' reports of... Strange foxes attackin' beasts on th'shores. Thought they was all hogwash." Jinora answers Ace hesitantly, her grip not loosening on the hilt of her saber. "Lackley, get tha' arrow an' wrap it up - don' touch it. We're gettin' Ace t'the river an' that's tha'. I don't need t'remind ye t'be on guard..." The healer hare has Lucille's arm bandaged, and any sign of the foxes has been erased. If anybeast is curious enough to search the dunes, they'll find that even the pawprints are scrubbed away. Rest assured, they will be looking further into this... But the hedgehog is their mission, now. "Keep yer weapons drawn." They are set to continue down the beach... Sure to be checking over their shoulders every step.

Ace nods as he walks and they get closer to the river " I fer one will be happy to leave the area, you..hares can deal with ...strange foxes with..magic or what ever..have fun with that I need to get home"

Monty takes one last look back over his shoulder at the place on the dunes where the strange foxes had been not a few moments before, blinking as if trying to make the figures appear again... and he shakes his head slowly as he turns to make his way back down the beach with the others. "I suppose that saves us some time in th'library, eh, Jin?" he chuckles, his tone lacking its usual humor. "Good, cuz I don't feel like gettin' bonked on the noggin' by that crazy doe that barged in the other day..." he grins a little. "D'you think anyone's gonna believe us, or just look at us crazy like the shrews?" He jogs a little to catch up with the others.

"They'll 'ave t'believe us." Jinora shrugs. She can't shake the creepy-jitters, and gives her head a firm shake instead. "I guarantee it weren't real." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself. "They kept far 'way, waited 'till dark - s'no way..." She shakes her head again. "Let's..." She is a leader here, she has to act like it. Inhaling deeply and throwing her chest forward, Jinora clears her throat. "We are gettin' Ace safely t'the rivah. Look alive, hares! We're almos' there. We cin deal with haunted foxes and whatsahoodits later."

Ace looks around"Maybe we all just need sleep...things look odd in de moonlight or you hares have one...strange band of..something that hates you...a lot.."He shakes his head, yes lets get to the river, he is getting some more space beween him and the sea coast after that even if he has to sleep when its daylight, he will!

Monty manages to catch up to the group, and he trots alongside Jin, silent for the most part as he mulls over what had just happened. There had to be a rational explanation for it, creatures don't just appear out of nowhere like that. When he finally speaks, he keeps his voice low. "Er, yah. S'no way that's possible, with th'laugh...an' th'smoke...it's just....what...? I...I dunno...mebbe someone heard...about the rumor...and...and is jus' messin' with us. Yeah. That's gotta be it!" With a sigh, he takes a moment to glance over in Lucille's direction. "How's th'arm?" he asks, genuinely concerned, though offering a reassuring smile. Anything to change the subject. "Look alive? I dun think I could look any more aliver than I am right now! Gettin' t'go on missions again, the feelin' is fan-bloody-tastic!" The buck perks up again, trying to push the unpleasant experience of a few moments ago away, for now. "To the river!"

The Hedgehog's statement is, well, an understatement. "M'fine." Lucille smiles shyly. Her expression is twisted in pain at the arm (now done up in a sling), but she keeps her sword drawn in her good paw. She's a runner, sure, but with the fighting spirit of the Patrol. "Thanks f'helpin' me earlier." She adds. Jinora is more silent, mulling over Monty's theories with another shake of her head. "There's an explanation - an' we'll ge' t'the bottom of it. Spooky as th'dark forest, though." The night stretches on, eerie and chilled by the strong ocean breeze. The foxes appearance, and disappearance, weighs heavy as the small group pick their way across the beach. Gradually, the vegetation becomes thicker, dune flowers and sparse shrubbery giving way to grasses and trees as the steady crash of waves against the shore gains the buzzing undertone of the river as they approach.

Ace nods "I fer one am gonna get far from this shore ebfore I allow some sleep"

Monty,noting the pained expression on Lucille's face despite her forging onwards, gives the runner a nod and a nonchalant wave of his paw. "Aww, 'twas nothin'. You woulda done th'same fer me. All us Patrollers gotta stick t'gether y'know! All fer one, and one fer all n'alla that stuff. Speakin' of injuries...." Uh oh. The buck smiles, then as they continue to forge their way across the beach, Monty decides to regale the squad with tales of how he had received each particular injury on his person. Of course, he embellishes a bit here or there, since he has a captive audience... but for the most part he sticks to the truth. As they approach the river, he finally gets to his last injury. "Aaaan' finally, we got m'bloody ear. M'sure ya mighta heard th'whole story, ya? I mean, if not...I could tell ya..." The hare grins hopefully...

"Well, mastah Ace!" Jinora barks, interrupting another one of Monty's harrowing tales. "Seems ye cin get jus' tha'. We've delivered ya safely t'the rivah - gulls an' ghouls aside." There's a small smile as she clears her throat. "Will ye be able t'make it on yer own from 'ere?" Monty's tales will have to wait for the walk back to Halyard - they'll have plenty of time. There is grass beneath their paws as they stand near the river, and in the moonlight, Jinora breathes in the deep, foreign smell of loam and thick vegetation. She's gotten so used to salt and rock, she's all but forgotten what it's like to be in a forest.

Ace nods "I can get me self home lass, not ta worry on that. As fer de note..think tis best I surprise them, who knows maybe I be in time for a feast,one never knows"With tah the heads on up. the river trail.

Monty seems to take the hint that his stories can wait as Jin quickly puts a stop to it..."Aw, was jus' tryin' t'help th' lass feel better," he mutters, but then quickly gets over it as they finally reach their destination. "Careful out there," he replies to Ace before the hedgehog begins to make his way towards his destination. After he his gone, Monty takes a few moments to look around their surroundings, eyes taking everything in. "Dunno how well I'm gonna sleep tonight, Jin..." he half-jokes. "Jus' when I thought I stopped seein' loopy things, we get th'cast of 'Creepy Phantom Brushtail Theater' showin' up and bein' all ghosty an' stuff." The hare thinks for a moment. "That one was a pretty good shot, though...jus' sayin'..." he shrugs with a sheepish grin. "Mebbe if we run into 'em again, they can give ol' Bow-britches over there a lesson in how t'shoot..." Monty winks playfully at Lackley.

Lackley turns a grin on Monty. "Well, 'ow about you start runnin' up th'beach -" he raises his bow and squints theatrically down his hand. "-And we'll see 'ow good my aim is?" Jinora relaxes with Ace finally gone, but the lieutenant still has to maintain order. "Alrigh', bucks, tha's enough. Monty, tell us 'bout yer ear while we double-time it back t'Halyard. I need a stiff drink'r six t'fully process what we've seen. Hop-to, privates! Knees high, on th'trot! First rounds on me t'night!"

Lutea · Logs

Please note: the logs compiled here belong to a Halloween TP, and as such it is meant to be creepy, spooky, and disturbing! If you aren't a fan of scary imagery or scenes of death, please do not read. Thanks!

The Drewlyyd?
Ft. Riley, Jinora
Meeting Room:

The mountain had held an eerie quiet as Jinora made her way through the almost empty halls. With so many beasts off and on their way to Mossflower, Sala parrots back every sound with lonely echoes - but at least she is always able to nab a comfy chair by the fire, these days. The doe slips into the Meeting Room with a sigh - her injury means that long-distance treks overland are simply out of the question, but it has resulted, at least, in more responsibility for the doe with her unit and the mountain. Dropping into a seat, the corporal rests her cane against the edge of the table, and waits.

The long benches are perfect to stretch out on. And that is exactly what Riley had been doing. The sound of another beast in the mountain stirs her, her head turning slightly and an ear flicking as she cracks her eyes. "Huzzit?" the runner asks, sitting up and hooking an elbow on the back of the stone carved bench. Riley blinks at Jinora and frowns. "Nnff. M'not on sentry duty fer 'nother two bloomin' hours, eh? If Flagstone 'as gone an' left his post again... ain't my fault." Riley speaks through a yawn.

Riley stirring in the empty room and its silence, made a little creepy by its size, startles the young doe. "Spittin' hells, Riley. If yer ta spend y'days nappin', do it without givin' me a bloody heart attack, wot." The corporal chides, easing back in the bench (that totally isn't a chair like her player meta'd earlier). "Bu'... With you here..." The the idea blooms across her muzzle with a sly grin. "Y'want out of sentry duty? I called Cragley up t'drag his hide on an surveyal - bu' I could use any runner. Feel like a trip up th'beach?" There was a glorious time when Jinora was naught but a weedy teenager, raised mostly in isolation she had never developed the strong hare accent... But seasons of life in the Long Patrol have dragged it out of her in full force. "I'm sure Cragley could deal with y'sentry post."

Riley sits up as she shakes off her light nap. The doe runs her fingers through the mussed fur between her ears and frowns. "Do I wanna," the runner begins thoughtfully, looking down at her lap. "Run down th'bally beach or sit in a room an' kick m'feet up?" The doe hums and scratches at the base of her ear. "Who is m'sentry partner t'night? Clara?" Her ears twitch back. "The young pepper never shuts th'bloody 'ell up." Riley shudders and stands off the bench with her spine popping as she stretches. "Looks like y'got th' best runner in the mountain tah do th' job, marm. S'why they left you in charge, it is!"

"Er, Corporal Jinora?" A nervous voice interuppts. Cragley is a typical runner - a lanky physique, strong legs, and all black fur broken only by a tuft of white on his chest. "Ah, yeh. Cragley. I'll need ya on sentry duty tonight, chap. Deeply sorry, bu' it cannot be avoided, I'm afraid. Well, pip pip you've got some time ta get your exercises out of the way, be off." With a nod, Cragley has disappeared again and Jinora turns a sly smirk on her friend. "I'm in charge of maybe six 'ares - an' yer only th'best 'cause everyone else is bally gone, wot!" She teases, moving to plant a little lovejab on the shorter hare's shoulder. "Well, hop to it, private. Bring a snack." The latter is called over her shoulder as she makes for the door.

Western Shores:

The runner grumped and fussed as she packed a light satchel. It's strapped close to her back, making sure to not be in the way of her running. Riley glances back out of the mountain and huffs as she moves through the winding, sandy path into the proper section of the beach. "Cragley's bloomin' face as I passed him an' Clara," Riley snorfles to herself. "Poor chap is gonna lose 'is ears, he will. She'll talk 'em right off!" After the sight she seems to be in better spirits.

The assignment, true to Jinora's word, is a simple one: move up the beach, check to make sure they aren't being invaded today, and return. Cragley's assignment? Not as easy. "Hoi, 'void her whenever possible. S'gettin' harder these days." The hare huffs, glad to be out of the mountain. "Yer /welcome/." As they trudge through the sand, upshore enough to be slogging through the loose, dry sand rather than the salty, hard-packed stuff. Unfortunately, they need to be able to see the land around them - yes, Jin has done her a /huge/ favor. "Guess we've 'ad reports of monitors gettin' brave. Didn't use to have th'brutes on this side of the sea at all, ugh." INVASIVE SPECIES.

"Ech," Riley snorts, hooking her thumbs into the straps of her pack as she moves through the loose sand. "Ol' taste-tongues ain't know we're low on numbers," she assures, but she keeps her voice down /because/. "I dun' think they're gonna give us guff 'til they do. S'long as they don't go near Halyard an' see we've pulled out our troops, huh? That might let 'em know. But they're too wild even fer that sea-spit town." Riley stills, watching the dunes carefully. Nose twitch. Just some sand bug milling about. Then she continues.

"I dun like it." Jinora admits softly, following Riley's pause-and-check. "Not even th'vermin like the monitors, bu' I worry about th'bloody vermin too." She rubs a paw at her temple. "I worry /a lot/ these days, Riles. Hordes movin', monitors in th'swamps, more'n 'alf our hares out fightin' too far away t'help." The hare shakes her head. "Bu' by badgers an'sweetcream we've faced tighter straits an' th'Patrol is still 'ere." It's obvious that she can't quite latch onto the train her thoughts are trying to take - fleeting concerns and anxiety brewed from insecurity, inaction, and insecurity in inaction. "I'm worse than bally Clara tonight, my apologies. Let's peek round th'dunes."

Riley turns an ear to Jinora as they march, scanning the dunes and the scrub-brush beyond for signs of movement. No ships, no camps... the beach is deserted as far as they can see. She shoots a grin at Jinora before bobbing her head and moving to a valley between two of the larger dunes. She scoots ahead, crouching as they move. "Yuh, well. At least yer prattlin' ain't about whatever buck yeh've decided tah make eyes at this week." Clara's nonstop buck-talk memory earns a shudder from Riley as she pauses along the side crest of the dune.

"Ugh." Jinora's face flexes through several varying degrees of disgust as she follows Riley between the dunes. "Y'know that's th'last thing I'll prattle about, get yer ears out yer bum. Poor Clara, her choices'r even more limited. Like they weren't all bone'eads before." Eye-roll. She pauses, making as if to scan the area, but a paw discretely rubs at her leg in the moment of stillness. "I say another mile then we call it a night." No pirates, no tents, no camps. Nobeast laying low in watch, right? Right.

Riley's sage green eyes squeeze up as she watches the brush and dune plants, but no sign of fresh breakage or ground clearing comes to her attention. "Same an' done. Every beast issa bonehead t'me. I jus' dun' look in the mirror, wot!" She laughs as she turns, clambering back down the slope between the dunes. "One more mile, yes marm!" Riley twists, throwing a sloppy salute at the officer.

Jinora rolls her eyes, trying to swat Riley's paw down from the salute. "Yeah, so I'm jus' stuck starin' down yer bonehead mug /for/ ye." The horror, the horror indeed. The landscape is boring - nothing to really hide behind, no signs of camps or hordes as Riley noted... It makes it all the more surprising when the arrow buries its head in the sand between the two does. Jinora lets out a hiss and immediately dives back, seeking the cover of the dunes. "Ge'down!" She orders, pulling her sabre free - but a voice stays her paw. "What ho! Are those hares?" "Of course they're hares y'daft waste'a water! You can see the ears a mile away!" "But that little one looks more like a rabbit." "What difference does that make, ya lunatic? We aren't out here shootin' at rabbits!" Jinora looks to Riley in confusion. "What is happening?" She mouths silently.

Riley rolls her eyes and is about to make a retort when the arrow slices through their conversation. She doesn't need the order... Riley is ducked down quickly with her pack sliding off her back. She keeps low, fishing her short sword out of the sheath tied to the backpack. "Someone thinks I'm a rabbit," the short doe snorts in a barely audible tone. Her eyes are narrowed and she leans up against the dune. "Sling in the bag," she half-mouths, half whispers as she motions. But Riley? She keeps her paw on her sword and tries to wait the blaggards out.

Sling in the bag? Jinora gives a wordless nod and mimes having it loaded. "HOI! Who goes?" She shouts from around the dune, daring to peek around. "-Coulda killed somebeast y'daft idjit, you think shootin' from th'shadows makes ye-" They're still arguing. "This is why we don't have a boat anymore!" The bickering continues. "Er, we may not be in any danger. Bu' it's hard t'say." Jinora sighs. "HOI!" She repeats again, louder, deeper, angrier. The voices silence. "Put y'weapons down an' come forward with yer paws visible, or the rabbit'll make a pebble feel like a boulder when it comes out th'other side yer skull." She sounds convincing enough.

Riley hefts her sword, glaring a tiny bit at Jinora, before relinquishing her weapon of choice to dive into the bag and grab her sling. She dumps the peddles from their pouch and loads the sling. Her shoulders dig a bit more into the sand behind her but for now she holds her fire, leaning to try and get a sneaky glance of the must-be vermin. "Who wants ah cracked skull, eh? Birds'll have a meager brain-feast tah'night, iffen ya don't stop where yah are!"

"WAIT!" Three or four voices cry out at once. Slowly, from where they hid amongst the tree-line, the shrews slink forward. Three females walk behind an admonished-looking male dragging his bow. "It were an accident, please don't put rocks in our 'eads, missum." He drawls when they are close enough, and drops the bow in the sand. They all keep their eyes downcast. "We thought you were more'a them Drewlyyd." Jinora hangs behind Riley with her sabre still drawn, scowling down at the tiny miscreants.

Riley keeps her sling up until the shrews are searched for other weapons. She stuffs the sling in her pocket and rests her paw back on her sword hilt. "That accident landed right bally close t'my skull," she chides the small creatures. "Always get ah confirmed sight o'whatever beast yer shootin' at, mates. Otherwise that's 'ow friendly fire happens!" Riley's nose wrinkles and she looks up and around. "I don't doubt the bravery o'shrews. Know you lot are tougher'n nails. But... still dangerous out here, eh? Wit' these... Dewylinds?" She glances at Jinora with a half shrug.

"We aren't used t'all this hidin' an' runnin'. We're river beasts, we are!" One of the females pipes up indignantly. "An' it were only Habber's arrow. Ye cin cart /him/ off iffin it pleases th'missues." They all curtsy in almost perfect unison. "It's th'Drewlyyds that's our problem." Another of them, a smaller female, insists. Jinora has confiscated a knife from her and throws it into the sand with a flick of her writs. She shrugs at Riley - never heard of them. "Set our barge aflame an' have been followin' us since we had t'flee ashore - pickin' us off one by one." "Yeah, now /Habbers/ th'only male we got left. We'll 'ave t'find other shrews soon, iffin we're any hopes to be married." Poor Habber.

Riley frowns as they shrews explain... kind of. She takes her paw off her sword and nods carefully. "Sounds like a rough lot it does. Tell me. Yeh got a good lookit these Drewlyyds? Rats? Lizards?" she still says the word oddly. Riley makes sure Jinora is still at attention before reaching down to fish one of the canteens from her pack. She holds it out to the shrews. Night might be coming fast, but the sands are still warm and quick to dehydrate a beast. "Ain't gonna cart no beast off, lessen yah shoot at us again."

"An' we ain't cartin' ye off if ye shoot at us more, either." Jinora grumbles, glaring meaningfully down at the shrews. They just look confused, and she rolls her eyes. "Go on, what's this Drewlyyd lot?" "Oh, they're awful." Habber moans. "Foxes, all of 'em, but they look... Wrong. They don't talk like normal foxes an' they all look like they grew all twisted." The largest of the women pushes Habber aside and falls to her knees to clutch at Riley's tunic. "Please, rabbit. Take us t'the village so we can get our new barge built an' be /safe/." Jinora steps forward on instinct as they reach for Riley, but it isn't violent, so her saber remains at her side. "Wait a tick, y'woulda /passed/ Halyard t'get /here/!" They all go dead silent, and as one, the women all turn to look at Habber. The large female at Riley's paws stands slowly, marches to the male, and snatches the kerchief from his neck. "I am our leader, now." She says, simply.

Riley recoils just a little, her canteen pulled away as she stares down at the shrew clutching at her. The poor hare is horribly confused and she looks to Jinora. Her attention snaps back as she makes the realization only because the superior officer mentions it. "S'right," she grunts and tugs out her sword. "Go on. Tell us wot th' bloody deal with you lot is, huh?" The canteen is tossed back into the bag on the ground and she kicks it behind her.

"/I/ wanted a drink..." Habber moans, and the new leader cuffs him over the ear. "We require an escort back t'Halyard. Th'.... They're out there. Their leader told us they were cursed an' needed to wipe out th'last of our line t'lift it." Jinora shakes her head. "Sounds like a fat load'a mud slidin' down a dry hill." ...What... "Alright, private. Guess we don't have much of a choice. We'll give ye escort." With a sigh, she asides to Riley: "we can stay at th'Tavern tonight. I'll buy ye a drink - still better'n Clara?"

Riley grits her teeth and picks up her bag, her free paw still on her hilt. She shoulders it and nods. "Still better 'n Clara," she reluctantly agrees. "A'right you lot. Yer under the protection o'the Long Patrol, see? So dun' make 'ny funny business or yeh'll have weird, ugly foxes /an'/ an army of hares on yer butts." The sword is drawn as she puts her pack fully on. "Front an' center." The doe waits for them to start down the shore. "What'cha make o'this, Corp? Ne'er 'eard o'any 'twisted foxes' in my life."

"Me neither." Jinora muses, ears perked to the max and saber drawn as she keeps with Riley, a wary eye on their surroundings with intermittent glances to the little gaggle of shrews. "Bu' I'll boil me own ears if it's actually a curse. Maybe... Diseased? Accident? Some scare tactics, I'd wager. Hoi - you there!" One of the females turn around. "Ye ever get close to these foxes?" "No missum! They always came in the dark, they did. Shootin' fiery arrers." Jinora gives a triumphant nod and 'hmph'. "Betcha s'all actin'." "We must make it there before the sun goes down!" The leader reminds them, anxiously. The sun creeps ever westward.

Lutea · Open Chat

Glad to see more oldies lurking around! Welcome back, man!

Lutea · RP Chat

Haha yeah I have an email that I only use for games and commissions for that reason! No worries, I'm happy to accept an object or a p #mail without formatting (I can add spaces and everything when I put it on the page). Thank you for pointing out the email inconsistency! I'll fix that right up; and thank you Aeysin for all your help and work, always! You are the best and we are not worthy.

Blisa, I also sent you a page about some LP matters with which we need a hand on Felicity - when you get a chance!

Lutea · RP Chat

Lol! Take another look at the Roles and Jobs page https://www.rwmuck.org/wiki/Roles_and_Jobs

Lutea · RP Chat

Important Updates to Consider:
https://www.rwmuck.org/wiki/Rank_Structure
https://www.rwmuck.org/wiki/Patrol_Divisions

Part of what we wanted to accomplish with making changes was to allow for more beasts to be promoted, as that was a really common complaint in the past. We've added and rearranged some roles to make it more accurate to an actual military structure, as well as to include positions that were used in the books but have not existed in the game before. The uniforms page has been updated to include these changes. The Patrol Divisions will continue to change as we get new characters and promotions, or as plots progress.

If you have any questions or suggestions, please reach out!

Lutea · RP Chat

So the website is, mostly, updated and I've run around as SalaBuilder fixing some things here and there. We now have a members page that gives some information on each hare! If you could find the little form HERE (https://www.rwmuck.org/wiki/Joining_the_Patrol!) and +paste your character's answers to Jinora or Riley, we'll get you added to the member's page HERE (https://www.rwmuck.org/wiki/Long_Patrol_Members_Listing).

If it is easier, you may also email your form answers to lutrapup@yahoo.com

There will be TP information posted soon as well! We are still fumbling around with the patrol divisions, but for the most part we are chugging right along.

For now, there is a spooky Halloween plot that anyone on the Western Shore can get involved with. It will run through the end of October.

Stay tuned!
-Jinora

Lutea · RP Chat

Blisa, thank you for your apology. We spoke in page, so I don't need to beat that dead horse here I'm glad that this is resolved.

Karth: that is already in the works! Fear not! There will be a short questionnaire on the website (it's converted from what used to be an application process to get into the LP), you can page your answers to Riley or myself, and we will have a page with a short 'about me' for each hare in the patrol!

I apologize for the time it's taking to get things up. RL decided to give me a swift, and repeated, kick in the rear so I haven't had much time while Riley has been out of town. But she'll be back later next week and we can finalize everything and we'll have an updated groups area on the webpage and some madness for the LP! We are also aware that she isn't on +skills, it hadn't happened back when she joined originally and there wasn't time for her to apply between me getting grant-access and her going out of town. No need to worry, y'all, but thanks for your concern!

If you want to get in on CURRENT madness, there has been growing talk of 'haunted' or 'cursed' foxes terrorizing the Western Shore! Bodies found that just... Don't look right, beasts scared out of their wits by foxes that looked twisted and deformed! What could be happening?! This will progress until the end of October, guys, GET YOUR SPOOPY ON!

Lutea · Art and Fiction

You have more talent in your left pinkie toe than I have in my whole body

Lutea · RP Chat

Thank you for your apology, Wanderer. I understand that my original post could have been worded more clearly. We were very excited to get the word out that we had big plans in store because we thought it would be fun for all players. I like how you put it - a "revival", that is what we are aiming for.

Blisa: https://www.rwmuck.org/archive/groups/long-patrol.html

This is the website we are discussing - I have been going through every page to update it to current players. This includes removing a lot of the "rules" structure, because - as you have been very clear on - that is too controlling, and we don't want that. We also had planned to update rank structure to allow for more smooth organization, promotions, and simpler ranking structures without changing too much of what has been played since this game began. This includes moving the high-importance and often decision-making positions (such as Colonel) towards NPC or shared characters so that no one player feels entitled to too much power, which caused huge issues in the past. Literally everything we are trying to do is done to make this more collaborative and less of a power-and-role-grab group.

This is a very annoying and lengthy process which requires more html and digging through dead webpages than I would like to be doing in my spare time, but Riley and I are working hard to make this game a more fun and welcoming place. I have been playing here since 2004, Riley has been here since 2001; we love this place and while all of your new faces are fantastic and we love to see the roleplay you do, we want to see and do more!

Blisa, please understand that your response sounded incredibly combative and controlling, in contrast to what you were saying.

The Long Patrol is not ours, just as it is not yours. If you do not like any of the plots we start or organization we suggest, then you simply may ignore them. As you said: no one is in charge, and there is no rule that says you have to reference or acknowledge plots, situations, or characters that you do not want your characters involved with. We wanted to add a structure that players can use at their will to enhance their roleplay and do away with confusion. We are not here to tell you what to do, and I apologize if that impression was given. In return, we expect the same courtesy.

We had been really excited to contact you about a plot we wanted to tie into the hares in the Redwall TP, which is how all of this started. Let's keep the spirit of Redwall alive by treating each other with courtesy and embracing the creativity that others have to offer! We are going to move forward with plots, I'll finish the lengthy website transition when I can, and we welcome anyone to be involved as they see fit <3

Lutea · RP Chat

After discussion with Dagda, who has been regulating the Long Patrol for the last couple of years, Riley and myself have decided to inherit the reigns, and move the group in a fresh direction. So! Riley's player and I (Jinora) are going to be putting in the work to re-organize things a bit and get some kick-butt TP's and plot fuel going for you rabid roleplayers. We'll be updating the website and group structure in the weeks to come and will be pushing forward with a few plot ideas that RP-starved hares may get involved with (including a spooky, Halloween-themed plot for October)!

Changes to come:
* Plots! Stay tuned!
* Overarching thematic shift (i.e. the understood 'state of the patrol and the mountain' that drives the feel and mood of scenes and plots)
* Re-Working the unit structure
* NPC list (just for spicing up scenes, placeholders for units that may lack 'critical' roles, or ideas for a future alt!)
* Some building updates
* AND MORE!

Want to get in on the fun? +skills apply l-patrol today! Please feel free to contact Jinora or Riley with questions or suggestions for the LP moving forward! Let's breathe some life back into ol' Salamandastron, wot wot!

- Jinora Shyluck Windbell-Totheim

EDIT FOR CLARIFICATION: this does not have anything to do with group control. The OOC regulation of the group has been neglected; there has not been anyone keeping track of the group's web-pages or the coded +skills group within the actual MU*. We are merely offering organization and plots that players may use or ignore at their leisure, since the webpages/rules/rank structure/etc. haven't been updated since the old website went down. Each and every player on this game has total creative freedom within the rules of the MU* and constraints of the Redwall universe. Any changes we offer are to make the LP more inclusive and exciting for all and affect ONLY those players or characters that wish to be affected by them.

Lutea · World Building and Coding

When creating a ship, I wanted certain rooms to be controllable as a vehicle while others are not (i.e. you shouldn't be able to, say, steer and look out to sea from the brig). I'm using @lock here=Vcontrol=$~anyone on rooms where control is an option. This works at first, but I've noticed that I have to re-do it from the ship builder (Seigrave) almost every time someone else wants to use a +vc #control command. Is there another command I should be tacking on to make that change permanent, or is this just a bug? To note, rooms that are locked to where NO control is an option remain properly locked to players outside of the builder, which is good.

Lutea · RP Chat

6 and I

He was captured by a tribe of sea-faring seals and taken to their cove, where they decided that he made a funny pet. He was well-fed and pampered by the sealfolk and, as a greedy and lazy fox, quite liked his new life - but all good things must come to an end...

Now he's no one's pet and has an insatiable appetite for seafood.

Redwall MUCK Forum

Redwall MUCK is an interactive, multiplayer text game set in Brian Jacques' Redwall universe.

Visit RWMUCK.ORG for more info!

#126 Logs » Now is Not the Time - Important LP log » 2018-10-24 05:58:07 PM

#127 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-23 05:02:04 PM

#128 RP Chat » A Helpful RP Tool! » 2018-10-17 10:45:53 AM

#129 Logs » It's hard to be Young » 2018-10-17 08:52:24 AM

#130 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-16 10:54:22 PM

#131 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-15 06:58:21 PM

#132 Re: RP Chat » Newbie seeking RP opportunities » 2018-10-10 09:47:32 AM

#133 Re: Open Chat » Hello. Newbie here. » 2018-10-10 09:45:00 AM

#134 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Members, Read On! » 2018-10-06 12:10:17 PM

#135 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-06 11:45:12 AM

#136 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-06 11:44:03 AM

#137 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-06 11:42:29 AM

#138 Re: Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-06 11:40:58 AM

#139 Logs » Whiskey, Tango, Foxplot - LP TP » 2018-10-06 11:39:03 AM

#140 Re: Open Chat » Foxing Back In » 2018-10-05 02:49:12 PM

#141 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Members, Read On! » 2018-10-03 04:37:24 PM

#142 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Members, Read On! » 2018-10-01 06:29:58 PM

#143 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Members, Read On! » 2018-10-01 04:50:42 PM

#144 RP Chat » Long Patrol Members, Read On! » 2018-09-29 03:18:25 PM

#145 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Updates, Wot! » 2018-09-23 09:48:42 AM

#146 Re: Art and Fiction » Character Art! » 2018-09-17 05:04:30 PM

#147 Re: RP Chat » Long Patrol Updates, Wot! » 2018-09-17 04:50:51 PM

#148 RP Chat » Long Patrol Updates, Wot! » 2018-09-17 01:27:49 PM

#149 World Building and Coding » Flags, Permissions, and Vehicles » 2018-08-07 10:57:59 AM

#150 Re: RP Chat » The Bandit's Fate! » 2018-08-07 10:43:49 AM

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