Fish are Food, and Friends
Fish are Food, and Friends
Players
- Jaksor
- Ferilla
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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A light drizzling rain falls over Mossflower Woods, including the old, abandoned remnants of a Guosim encampment. Down in the crater of the fire pit, a polecat has assembled a small teepee of wet tinder and kindling, banging against a piece of flint with a measure of frustration. Sparks fly and roll harmlessly off what appears to be a small bird's nest tucked under the twigs, and a side of filleted trout rests, damply, to his right.
Her flight not hindered by the light rain, Ferilla trudges onwards up the river bank, the ground turning progressively more muddy beneath her feet, producing an abominable squelching noise with each step. It's not loud, much to her delight, but it is certainly an obnoxious companion. She has a ragged old blanket thrown across her shoulders and draped hastily over her head in an attempt to keep herself somewhat dry. She pauses, her sword scabbard dipping into the mud again as her hips cease moving. She mumbles something to herself in an agitated fashion, unable to smell, hear, or see anything in the rain. All she can see is a little rise inland that looks like it might have a clearing on the far side. Which no better recourse, she makes for the low ridge.
Of course, down in the crater, little can be heard other than the sound of Jaksor's steel scraping on flint. The stone is held down roughly with one edge of his hook, offering little purchase on the uneven surface, while a rounded loop of steal beats against it, sending a few sparks against the bird's nest with each blow. A frustrated snarl squirms from between the polecat's lips, just as a hot ember lands and sticks among the strands of woven bark. All other activity immediately goes silent as he drops low on his paws and knees to blow gently against that small, hot spark, urging it to burst into flame.
With her feet slipping slightly on the slick grass, the ermine works her way up to the top of the little hillock. She just peeks her head up at first, cautious as always. And what do you know, this time it's paid off, giving her a view of the polecat long before he could see her full body. She watches him for a moment, studying his movements. When he drops to blow the tiny spark to life, she jumps a little, thinking she had been spotted, but calms herself after a moment. With a slight sigh, she slips the blanket from her shoulders and places it, along with a small satchel, on the hill's reverse slope. This done, she crawls over the top, her white-furred body as low to the ground as possible to avoid drawing undue attention.
A tiny tongue of fire slowly wicks its way up a strip of bark, eked on by Jaksor's slow, steady supply of oxygen. After a few moments, he rolls back on his heels, watching carefully as rainwater rolls off the end of his muzzle. "Finally," he breathes in a rough whisper, the whole bird's nest slowly combusting and catching the smaller twigs alight. Moving quickly, he stacks ever-thicker sticks onto the teepee, arranging some short, stout branches in a rough square around the blaze. He appears utterly ignorant of the ermine to his left.
Sliding down the slight incline, Ferilla gets to her feet again at the bottom, moving a little more right and forward to place herself just behind the polecat's left shoulder. With no indication that he's seen her, the slim ermine advances just a bit, her paws splashing in the mud a bit, her intentional attempt to alert him to her presence before getting too close. Her paw slips up to rest gently on the hilt of her sword, the ermine halting about twenty-five feet from the male and awaiting his reaction, or lack thereof. Her eyes work carefully over the wicked hook that serves as the creature's left arm, and pulls a face, deciding she'd rather not get in close combat with that. She's seen the terrible injuries inflicted by even small curved blades, and has no desire to find out what kind of damage a big hook like that could do with a grown polecat's full force behind the swing.
The rain dampens everything, including sounds, but the splashing of the mud is finally enough to cause Jaksor's ears to perk up and head to turn. Dark brown eyes take in the entirety of the pale, lithe figure standing a short distance away, including the subtle threat of her paw on her sword. His own lies covered by a cape a few arms-lengths away. Nevertheless, the bronze hook playing substitute for his left paw remains a factor. "G'day to you," comes the rough greeting, cautious but not aggressive. "Nice weather we got 'round here, don't y' think?"
The ermine runs the back of her free paw across her jawline, swiping at the drops that hang there. "Hardly." she replies, her voice carrying cooly across the expanse that separates them. "Who are ye, and what're ye doing here?" she asks succinctly.
"Buildin' a fire," comes the quick reply, a hint of roughness leaving Jaks' intonation as it warms to the task. "Thought that'd be obvious." There's a dry chuckle in the phrase, though it doesn't quite voice itself. "Name's Jaksor," he continues, wiping his paw idly on his tunic as he finally answers the initial query.
Ferilla looks him over, seeming to decide that his motives are innocuous enough for her tastes, and nods a little, a few heavy drops of water flinging forwards as she inclines her head. "You couldn't find anywhere more sheltered ta do this?" she asks, looking around the little clearing, hard packed earth turning gooey and slick as the rain continues. "Hardly an inviting location."
"Inviting enough," Jaksor replies with a shrug, resting his hook on his hip where it gleams dully in the wane light. "That longhouse ov'r there is full-a holes and like t' burn down." The polecat stoops over his fire, gathering up a few thicker branches and lying them over the top of the small blaze to burn off the damp. "'sides, it's just a drizzle. It'll clear up soon enough." Probably. "Where y' headed, there, friend? Or from?"
He raises good points, and though it may be a little too generous to imply that the polecat thought this much through, especially with how easy it was for her to get close, but the open nature of the area offers no routes for any enemies to approach undetected. She glances at the sky, as if in an attempt to dicern how much longer the rain will last, and is rewarded with a heavy drop right in her eye, making her close one eye and wince a little in obvious discomfort. "Weren't aware we were friends." she says, rubbing at her eye with her free paw. Her sword paw has relaxed some, but she could probably still draw before the polecat could reach her, depending on how fast he is and how good he is with that hook.
His question ignored, Jaksor carries blithely on, stowing a loose pawful of leaves under the branches to get a quick boost of heat. "Well, seein' as how you ain't pulled that pretty sword of yours, yet, I figured we might find some shared ground." Eyes down, one side of his hook sliding under the stone whereon his side of fish has been resting, the polecat lifts his meal and sets it gently over the flames. "Real shame as we can't, then. More than enough f'r one, here." The fire sputters and spits from the continuing drizzle, which seems to be picking up somewhat.
The only way Ferilla could appear more enticed by the cut of fish placed on the fire is if her stomach had given an appropriately timed growl. It doesn't, not quite so timely, but her eyes still linger on the meal for a length of time sufficient to reveal her desire. "If you're offering." she says gently, letting her paw drop from her sword hilt and taking several steps forwards, testing the waters. This could still be a trap, but then again, this is just the type of reward she's interested in right about now, so she's willing to take her chances.
Pulling a piece of damp burlap over, Jaksor takes a seat, turning the fish with his hook. At least it's good for something. "Never, /ever/ turn down a free meal, my pa always said," Jaksor murmurs, gazing into the fire for a brief moment before breaking from his reverie. "But I do ask that y' listen to a... proposal, of sorts. A little idea I've got. Fair enough?" The polecat raises one eyebrow as he looks up at her.
Ferilla closes the distance, coming to squat by the fire, a little bit of mud squelching up between her toes. "Mrm, what sort of proposal?" she asks, swiping a paw through her damp hair in an attempt to tidy it up a bit.
"Well, it's occured t' me lately that most folks don't take very kindly to folks like me," Jaksor begins, poking impatiently at the side of fish. "An' so it makes it difficult t' stay in one place very long. I find myself out in th' woods, sittin' alone by a fire with a one-course meal, nary a penny t' me name, an' I can't help but think as there's got t' be more like me out there." The hook skids under the fish again, turning it once more. "In fact, I know there /are,/ but it seems more oft'n than not /they're/ out sittin' 'round a fire all alone as well."
Not wanting to jeopardize her meal, Ferilla listens politely, waiting for the polecat to reach his final point. Still, she seems to identify strongly with what he's saying, nodding a little bit as her eyes go to the flames. "Right y'are." she says gently.
"An' so," Jaksor continues, meandering all around his point as he maneuvers the fish all around the stone frying 'pan', "I figured I might start findin' some other beasts like me, an' maybe if we stick t'gether-" a sharp crack as he slams the backside of his hook down, dividing the fish in half, "-we wouldn' be quite so penniless anymore."
"Mutually beneficial." The words, not ones you'd expect to hear most vermin throwing out, slide off her tongue gracefully. "I like that." she says, looking over to meet his gaze. "Anythin' more ambitious than that, or jus' sticking together?" she asks, curious how deep the polecat's plotting has gone, and how clever he is.
Jaksor catches her gaze for a moment, dark eyes still evaluating carefully, before reaching far to his right to latch onto his pack, dragging it over. As he rummages inside, he mulls an answer over. "Well, really it'd all d'pend on just how mutuals were benefitin', an' we'd go from there. Two of us, we can rob travelers. Three or four of us, we c'n rob villages. Ten or twelve, we c'n pillage towns."
Ferilla nods, a devious little flicker in her eyes for a moment. "Well, i'm in." she says flatly, eyeing the hunk of fish. "Now, I believe ye offered a meal?" she prompts. The way she figures it, this won't be a bad gig, for a bit, and if things go pear shaped or she loses interest, it wouldn't be much trouble to slip off into the night or to take care of her new business partner in a pinch.
"Glad t' hear it." Jaksor emerges from the pack with a pair of shallow, beaten tin bowls. "Ain't no reason we can't be civilized," he chuckles, handing one over to the ermine with his good paw and scooping up a half of fish with his hook, holding it out to her and letting it slide onto the bowl. "Not much t' work with, so don't hold it against me."
Frankly, she is a little surprised that Jaksor has any sort of dining wear, even as crude as this is. "Thanks." she says softly, accepting the bowl and the delicious morsel that follows soon afterwards, leaving a small trail of aromatic grease on the interior of the bowl as it slides down. She tries to show a little restraint, separating a little bit with her claws and then bringing her fingers to her mouth. "Mm, can't say that I do." she responds to his request. It's been a bit since she's had much, so the ermine is happy to dig into the fish, as simply cooked fare as it is.
Surfacing from the pack once more with a bent, rusted two-pronged fork, Jaksor flakes off a chunk of his own piece and tucks in, chewing slowly as he considers the monochromatic flavor swamping his mouth. "Touch overcooked," he comments, prodding the somewhat dry, easily flaked flank of fish. "So, where were y' comin' from just then?" The polecat glances over at his new companion, settling down even as the rain begins to finally slacken. "Seemed a bit on th' jumpy side."
The ermine finishes about half of her chunk of fish before she responds, chewing slowly and swallowing in a slightly dramatically pronounced manner, her head tilting back a little. "Ferravale. Business wasn't so good there anymore, so I got out." she says.
"What kinda business, if y' don't mind my asking?" After the initial taste test, Jaksor has gone after the fish with a level of abandon, picking soon at the last pieces still clinging to the skin. It's good to know what skills everyone brings to the table, after all.
"Theft, a spattering of hired killing, a history of slaving." the ermine female says casually, pausing to finish filling her belly with the remains of the fish, leaving only scraps of skin behind. "Ahh.." she sighs, rubbing her neck and shifting her weight to make the squatting position a little more tolerable.
"'m guessing it didn't play out too well, then," Jaksor prods, with a pointed look. The skin and scales are tossed into the fire with an easy flick of the wrist, sizzling gently. "Beasts in that place don't have th' stomach f'r real business like that. Kind of an embarrassment, really."
She nods a little. "It was more risk than there was reward. A few marks for barely any pay, and everyone was so stirred up I couldn't hardly show my face in th' place. Not to mention having to take the hassle of stealin' food and clothing." she points out, setting her plate down.
Jaksor runs his tongue over his teeth, scrubbing at a niggling piece of flesh stuck between a pair of cuspids. "Well, now that you're with us, we've got three sets a' paws t' get t' work with. Might be as we can recoup some of y'r lost inves'ment potential between th' three of us."
"Three of us?" Ferilla looks up. "You didn't mention a third," she says smoothly, giving a quick glance around, scanning for a third beast who might be waiting to pounce.
"Name's Bindi," Jaksor answers with a shrug. "He's 'round here somewhere," he elaborates with a vague, dismissive wave of his hook. "Crazy rat. Smells. You'll meet 'im soon enough."
This complicates things. It also doesn't entirely put her at ease, her eyes making another quick sweep of the trees. "Ah. Bindi." she says, forcing a little smile. "Well, strength in numbers, I suppose."
Despite his casual demeanor, Jaksor isn't quite as oblivious as he behaves. The forced smile and shift in demeanor are noted, but it would seem he's uninterested in assuaging her fears overmuch. "He's a /fat/ little thing. He's not goin' t' sneak up on you. Relax." Then it's on to new topics. "If y' had t' guess, which building would y' say has the most loot in Ferravale?"
That draws a little chuckle from the jill. "Got it." she says softly. She thinks for a moment on his question. "The craft district," she pauses to elaborate, "Carpenter, Tailor, dyemaker, et cetera, is in a slump, there's not much good there. The tavern is usually moving coin at a pretty constant rate, so if you were to hit it at the right time ye might have quite the payoff. There's probably some things worth grabbing in the town hall and some of the other official buildings, but cain't be certain."
"Town hall sounds like as it'd have guards," Jaksor comments, staring thoughtfully into the fire. His hook begins to draw in the dirt, something resembling words. "Town hall, like as not, 'as the most loot, but th' most guards. Then th' other official buildings, if any." Moving down, he scrawls another entry. "Craft buildings are movin' a poor profit these days, so not much there."
Ferilla looks curiously at the polecat as he essentially repeats what she just told him. Likely he's just processing it aloud. "Guards seem to be pretty light. There's a pawful, but nothing overwhelming. I could probably sneak in no problem, even though I am a little recognizable on account of my fur." she adds, brushing the back of her paw absently.
"We c'n change y'r fur if we need to," Jaksor points out, still mapping out the priority list of potential targets. "Anything else that might have good loot? Rich residents of note?"
The jill makes a little 'Hmmph," noise, clearly having not considered dying her fur, which was her interpretation of his statement. "Not that I know of. There's a residential district, but I don't know of any particularly wealthy inhabitants. There's this one crazy cat girl that was an ex thief or something, but I figure she drank all her spoils away." she waves her paw dismissively.
"Th' town hall it is, then," Jaksor decides, thumping his hook down into the dirt emphatically. "'Less somethin' better comes up. Maybe we c'n burn half th' thing down, while we're at it." The polecat gives her a small, slightly sinister grin. "We'll talk more later. As it stands, ain't no dinner here till I find somethin', so I'm headed back down t' the water. You're welcome t' look around here for better shelter if you've a mind."
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