A Friend, a Fox, and (you guessed it) Fish
A Friend, a Fox, and (you guessed it) Fish
Players
- Jaksor
- Ferilla
- Vannon
Guosim Camp: Fire Pit
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Moving north, you arrive upon the outdoor meeting grounds of the camp; the earth
is compacted from constant activity, and the scent of smolder lingers heavily
in the air. A wide, shallow crater surrounded by meticulously selected river
rocks serves as a fire pit, and low-set, bark-stripped log benches are set
around the pit to serve as seating. Baskets of kindling and a small rack for
fresh firewood are often set nearby for easy utilization. At what appears to be
the head of the gathering sits a more intricately designed log stool from which
the leader of this union may overlook the proletariat, and gaze upon the River
Moss.
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The Guosim camp hasn't seen this much activity for several seasons, judging by the general state of disrepair. Several of the log benches around the fire pit are missing, and the blaze in the middle gives some indication as to why that is: half a bench is sticking out of it. The log stool has been relocated next to the fire, with a few iron rods scavenged from around the place propped against it. Jaksor can be found closer to the longhouse, patching up the roof with some wide strips of bark he's harvested from the plentiful birch in the area, probably killing the trees' growth in the process. The polecat doesn't seem too broken up about that, though.
With the sun rising rapidly, the growing heat and humidity down by the river has forced Ferilla to shuck her jacket, laying it in a little pile with her blanket and the little empty satchel she was using to carry her rations. She sits in the shade of an old willow tree, taking a break from her work assisting Jacksor with the longhouse. Her sword leans against the tree's trunk.
Nothing beat good old Mossflower summers. Hot as deserts, humid as swamps. The heat could do terrible things to a beasts mind, especially when hunger was added to the mix. It was hard to say which affected the poor fox's mind more, hunger or the heat or perhaps a healthy combination of both. The fox's grey pelt hung off of is boney frame as does the leather loin cloth about his waist. The fox has followed his nose to the smell of food, and it has led him to a camp site. A camp site guarded by two fearsome beasts. Vannon bites at his paw as he watches the camp from a safe distance in the bushes. He is in no condition to fight, but… GROWL. His paws clutch tightly at his stomach. "Alright Alright...quiet you." He says to himself then takes a deep breath. Slowly he begins to work his way through the bushes on all fours towards the camp.
Ferilla probably should be keeping a better watch on her break, but she neglects it somewhat. Getting to her feet, she grabs her sword and pads over to Jaksor. "How's it coming?" she asks, peering in through the low doorway. She's hoping the floor of the place hasn't been rendered too muddy or rubble-strewn for pleasant habitation. A respite from the humidity and sun would be much welcomed.
It is hot, isn't it? Jaksor himself has shed his tunic and mail, but the hook affixed to his left arm is still formidable. As awkward as it is, it has to be intimidating to justify its existence. The polecat glances over, a scale of bark in paw, as the jill pokes her head in. "Comin'," is the terse reply. The roof is rather low, because shrews, and he's able to reach easily to slide new pieces into place, but it's a little tricky with one paw.
Tail wagging like a velociraptor on the hunt Vannon slides himself up against a hut. The fox is struggling to keep his breathing slow and controlled but it's not working. He knows this is do or die. He can not go on like this, either he finds himself a meal today or the vultures will find his carcass starved to death on the road side. It would have been so comforting to at least be armed in some way, a knife, a club even. All he had on him were the claws mother nature had given him though. On two paws he stalks around the broken hut, daring to look over the corner to see that the jill has...VANISHED. The fox grits his teeth. Which hut did that ermine disappear into? Shaking his head he decides it doesn't matter so long as he stays careful. "Ok nose...do your thing." He begins to sniff the air, trying to find a scent of food. Veggies, meat, bread...potentially eatable woodlanders...he doesn't care at this point so long as it can be eaten.
A slight fishy smell might be detectable towards the campfire, where a freshly caught carp is aspirating on the dirt.
The jill bites her lip, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments. "I'm gonna go take another look around, see if I kin find anythin' useful." she tells him. Sure, it sounds like she's doing her part, but just as likely, she'd rather wander around than do any work on the longhouse. She sticks her sheathed sword through the back of her belt, not bothering to reattach it properly, and meanders out into the clearing, heading for some low huts across the expanse of flattened earth. As she passes the cookfire, her nose twitches slightly, inhaling the aroma of the fish.
"Sure y'are," Jaksor mutters from within the central longhouse, shunting a few more pieces of bark up onto the roof, wiping his hook and on his fur as he finishes. "That oughta do it," he remarks to himself, stepping outside. He's really just looking to make a corner of the place leak-proof, not convert it into a sunny home for the elderly. His nose twitches as it detects something much less appetizing than fish, and his hook slowly raises itself into a... raised position. It's raised, ok? An eye glances into the longhouse where his real weapon is, but he chooses to ignore it for now.
Vannon's mouth hangs open and he drools at the sight of the fish. A big, tasty juicy fish that he is going to gobble up and devour and...and the fox catches himself leaving his hiding place as if in a trance. Until he catches sight of the ermines movement in the open. He snaps back into his hiding place, breathing deeply and slapping at his snout. "No Vannon, think with yer head, not yer gut. There will be plenty of time for feastin and eating later. But not if your dead." Of course the fox realizes that he can simply ASK the beasts here for food. But, how often do vermin living this far out from normal civilization prove to be friendly? No, the fox is going to have to get clever on this one. Peering about the fox lays eyes of a small hut not too far away. An old shrew hut made of sticks with a thatch roof near the back of the camp. That's it! He can set the building on fire! Brilliant! The fox thinks...until he realizes that he has nothing to set the building on fire with. Rubbing his chin the grey fox thinks for a moment. As if a lamp is lit over his head he bends down and picks up a rather sizable rock from the ground. Tossing it once in his paw he grins deviously before throwing the rock towards the hut. It misses, coming up short by several feet. Eyes blazing with anger now Vannon picks up a second, smaller rock and throws it, hitting the old hut and creating a small noise.
Mere seconds after Vannon aborts his rush from cover, Ferilla's gaze sweeps back that way, just missing him by fractions of a second. Advancing steadily across the clearing, the white furred female stops short when she hears the sound of something small and hard thunking against wood. "Hm?" she muses, her paw sweeping back to rest on her sword hilt. She focuses on the noise's origin for several seconds, then whips her gaze back to the other huts. She's not certain it was nothing, but it did sound suspiciously like a rock hitting against wood, the oldest trick in the book. Besides, she's not going to wander off into the clump of dilapidated huts on her own just because she thought she heard something. She stays stock still, about three fourths of the way across the clearing.
A thud on the ground, followed by a rock against wood. "...who let th' dibbuns out t' play?" Jaksor wonders aloud, ducking back into the central longhouse to collect his sword, pulling it roughly from the scabbard. The sheath gets left behind. He's only got the one paw, after all, and it pays to think ahead in these situations. Careful brown eyes sweep the area immediately visible outside, spotting Ferilla standing still as a marble statue across a short distance. Quiet steps lead him back into the open, his gaze flickering around the area, trying to spot the intruder, nostrils flared to detect that same stray smell on the breeze. Something... unappetizing.
The fox waits a moment to see if his pan works, stiffingly a giggle by biting his lip. He waits a moment longer and the giggle stops on its own. No, no, no, NO! Thinks the fox as he pulls at his ears. This has to be the worst dumb guard in the history of foolish dumb guards. Doesn't she know how this works? Party A tosses distraction to distract distractable party B. Then party A swoops in and steals a tasy fish! Worse yet now all Vannon has likely done is make the guard more alert. Stupid stupid fox. Vannon pulls on his ears, "Fffffine! We do this the hard way." He says in a hushed whisper. Leaning against the side of the hut before him the fox dares to peek around his cover. Maybe if he can lead them away from the camp he can circle back and steal their food. Yes, yes! This is a good plan! A masterful plan! And then the universe throws yet another curve ball to Vannon. The wall of the hut, rotten with age and neglect, begins to lean forward under the fox's slight weight. He makes a surprised yelp and steps back as the small wooden hut collapses in on itself with a resounding crash, leaving the poor fox utterly and completely exposed to the other vermin. The fox blinks once, stares at the wrecked hut, then back to the vermin. "Oh shhhhhhhhhnap..."
Ferilla draws her blade swiftly, turning to face the hut as it collapses, causing a terrible racket. She studies the intruder for a long moment, then can't help but laugh a little at his supreme misfortune. Her mirth is loud enough to carry over to the fox, certainly just adding insult to injury. "Come look'it this, Jaks." she calls, not fully aware he's emerged from the hut behind her.
The rough chuckle from behind the jill should be enough to confirm that fact for her. "I see 'im," he agrees, nodding and grinning at the hapless fox. "Looks a little on th' thin side. Might be as he makes a nice gravy f'r that fish, though."
The fox seems to shrink now that his cover is blow, his ears fall falt upon his head and his eyes grow as wide as saucers. Then his eeyes narrow in anger and he lets out a loud growl. Beating his chest like a savage beast he then charges forward, hooting, howlering and yelling at the top of his lungs wiht his arms flailing about the air. When all else fails, come at them like a mad beast thinks the fox.
With a muttered curse, Ferilla shifts to one side, making her lithe body an even smaller target by turning side-on to the rushing fox. In addition, she holds her sword out in a sort of fencing position. It's really not how she prefers to fight, but the glint of sunlight across the razor sharp blade suggests that if the fox were to run straight on to her, he'll be having a rough time, favored style or no.
The fox looks incredibly stringy, and even as gravy, with that foul smell he's bound to ruin the meal. Perhaps he can serve a more useful application than the next course. Jaksor is taken somewhat by surprise when the fox makes his mad charge, but luckily there is a wide enough gap between them that he has some time to think before he reacts, and rather than just gutting the fox like Ferilla appears to be aiming for, the large polecat decides to square off with the malnourished, mangy todd. His sword falls and he charges forward as well, aiming a low tackle at Vannon's knees (assuming he swerves around Ferilla, of course).
The apparently mad vulpine continues his foolish charge forward, closing in towards the Ermine with the deadly sword. Then, at the last possible moment he abruptly changes course, banking to the right and towards the fish! The fox is admittedly slowed somewhat when the pole cat barrels into his legs. He yelps leaps over the polecat as he slides towards where his legs were just moments before. The todd doesn't quite land the jump, falling flat on his face in the dirt. If nothing else the vulpine is nimble, and filled with adrenaline. He rolls quickly back to his feet. Crouched low on almost all four paws the fox hisses at the pair of beasts. "My fish now!" The fox then turns and tries to carry off the fish in a desperate 'snatch and grab and run like heck' maneuver!
It really is such fun to have a sharpened hook attached to your arm, and the sheer joy it brings really can't be understood unless experienced. Fun things like tackling and rolling gain a whole new level of excitement, as who knows what damage your own flailing limb might inflict! Luckily for Jaks, this time it's only a nick on the arm, and so little blood is running it hasn't even dripped yet. Jaksor hasn't even noticed, occupied as he is by the fact that selfsame hook is caught in the fox's loincloth. He's dragged through the dirt by Vannon's scrabble towards the fish, and undoubtedly will complicate the fox's flight.
The fox can almost taste the fish that he is about to steal. Foolish polecat, foolish ermine! "No one turns Vannon the great into gravIEK!" The hook slowing down the fox is an understatement. It is only by some miracle that the fragile fabric is not torn to pieces or worse, torn away from the fox, which in the end ironically proves to be Vannon's undoing. The fox comes to an abrupt halt, his upper torso still moving forward while his legs come to a sudden stop. The fox topples forward at a most accelerated rate head first, into the dirt. His snout planted firmly in the ground the fox continues to lay still, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest to show that he is breathing.
Extricating his hook with some difficulty, Jaksor climbs onto the small of the fox's back with his knees, grabbing at his paws and pinning them down. "Vannon th' who?"
A few moments later find the dazed fox tied up with his paws behind his back, propped against the longhouse.
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