I Shot the Sheriff but I Did not Shoot the Deputy...

Couldn't resist on the title. Derrin heads deep into Mossflower to rescue Byron, or to bring him to justice.

Deep in the forest of Mossflower the dark night is pierced by several large camp fires. The clouds over head have a calm, peaceful look that promises rain and stand in start contrast of the un-peaceful beasts below. The camp of vermin is nothing special to look at, mostly tents and sleeping bags placed with no real order or reason around fire pits. The inhabitants are mostly rats, mostly. There are a few stoats, ferrets, and weasels thrown in for good measure. Off in the distance thunder can be heard rolling across the hills.

In the darkness, another presence stalks through the forest, and unfriendly eyes gaze upon the camp; a bright blue in the absolute blackness. Slowly, Derrin makes his way closer and closer to the camp, his legs burning with the effort of staying crouched for so long.

The sentries posted along the camp come in groups of two, again mostly rats with some variation here and there. Each beast wears little to no armor. Those that do have no consistency to their uniform. In the center of camp there is a larger tent made from deer hide. The rarity of the hide makes it stand out from the others, if only slightly. It also has guards posted at the front. The tent opens up towards a large fire pit of its own. Other places of interest is the large pile of supplies of boxes and barrels towards the north of the camp, and what looks to be an infirmary to the south.

"Hmm...no way to sneak in..." Derrin whispers to himself, crouched at the fringe of the clearing that is the camp. "Or is there..." This speaking to himself is possibly the only thing that is keeping him sane for the most part. Being how he is, he can't really handle being alone for too long. For the moment, he would have to sit and observe the patrol patterns.

A patrol is coming down the side of the camp towards the otters hiding place. A brown furred rat covered in ill fitted iron breast plate and studded squirrel leather greeves walks along side a slender pine marten. A patch of light brown fur is exposed on his bare chest under the thick cloak hanging about his shoulders. THe cloak is a patch work of cloths and colors. The rat is armed with a mace, the pine marten has a broadsword with no sheath hanging from his belt. Both chatter noisily as they walk. "...did you catch that fight?" Asks the pine marten, "Oh! Man! That was epic man. Never been so entertained to loose coin on a bet like that..."

Without warning, a twig snaps close by rather loudly, though it is unclear whether the two guards would be able to hear the sound over the loud clanking, but Derrin hped that it would work. He needed to find a way to get in, and he had a feeling that these guards would be his ticket in.

The spry little rat turns his head sharply, "Did you hear that?" The marten rolls his eyes, "No. Now come on mate its almost the end of the shift, I just want to get back to fire and eat some grub." The rat calms a bit to smile and prod the marten in the stomach, "The way you eat you are going to be as fat as that fox." The marten pokes the rat back in the chest pushing him away, "Oh? Which one? The beast we picked up or the leader?" Both beasts laugh at their jest then quickly pause to see if anyone heard them making fun of their leader. Satisfied that no one is listening they chuckle a little more quietly.

Derrin nearly growls in irritation when the pair disregard the sound he had made. Picking up another sizable twig from the ground, he grips it with both paws and snaps it again, throwing the pieces at the two guards instead of on the ground. It wasn't the most conventional method, he knew, but at least it would get their attention. Hopefully they would underestimate who was throwing things at them.

"The heck?" Both guards look curriously at the sticks thrown at them. Right now would be a good time to raise the alarm but if they do so and wake the entire camp and it turns out that there was no reason to...well, they like their hides intact. Thinking it better to error on the side of caution the marten gesters with his head, "Check it out." The rat turns to the marten with a shocked gasp. "Go on. I have seniority over you."

"By two whole minutes! We joined up the same day!" The marten shoos him onward. With a sigh the rat draws his mace and heads into the bushes grumbling about greedy no good gluttonous martens.

Suddenly, a dark shape moves with startling speed, seeming to phase out of the darkness and grip the rat before seemingly disappearing into the brush again. This is closely followed by rustling and several impacts of a fist upon a flailing body, then all is silent, and it is like nothing had ever happened.

The marten makes a terrified eep as his friend is pulled away. Drawing his sword he lunges into the bushes with out thinking. Ok, he thinks, I can do this. Just remember my training and I will be alright. Just as Drakki said. Yeah...yeah...first step when confronted with the enemy is to resist the knee jerk reaction to head into the danger to take care of it yourself and raise the alarm...ah snap...

By the time the marten realizes his mistake, it is far too late. a strong paw grips the marten's sword wrist and pulls, which is followed by a paw pressing against the back of his shoulder, pressing him towards the ground with unrelenting force.

The marten face plants it in the dirt. He offers surprisingly little resistance for a fearsome horde beast, "ACK! Get off! Get off!" he tries to flail about but fails, miserably

The force increases on the marten's shoulder, and the paw tugs on his wrist, threatening to break his arm. "Stop strugglin', an' this will go much easier, vermin," Comes an icy voice close to the marten's ear.

The marten gulps. If the horde beasts find out he was so easily beaten he would be made a laughing stock of the camp! And killed. But at the moment the beast threatening to break his arm is higher on his things to terrify him list. The marten whimpers in reply, body going slack. "Ow, ow, ow...w-who are you? W-what do you want?".

A soft chuckle comes from the darkness; possibly the most terrifying thing to hear at the moment. "I'm here t' collect a certain fox that you vermin have taken, an' yore goin' t' lead me t' him, got it?" The voice is a strong baritone, and it carries an air of no nonsense, suggesting that things would go badly if the marten didn't comply.

The marten has a puzzled look until he realizes what the otter is talking about, "Byron..." His eyes widen in shock as he puts two and two together. Those Arundalers don't have the guts to pull something like this off. That means they hired out to the... "Oh light! They sent the militia after him!" The marten whines, "I'll do what you want just please don't make me into a hat! He's in the big tent in the center of the camp!"

Again, a soft laugh comes from the darkness. "No, the militia didn't send me, but you can be sure that I'm just as merciless if you don't comply with me, am I clear?" Suddenly, the force on the marten's shoulder disappears, and the paw on his wrist tugs him up to his feet, and now two icy eyes are staring at him. The dark outline of the otter is barely visible, but he mostly is invisible in the darkness. "You will take me in, sayin' that I'm a prisoner, an' I'll take care of everythin' else. Do well, an' I won't kill you."

The marten rulls onto his back and stares up at the beast. It looks like some dark avenger has come for his life. The terrified look he gives is priceless...

...The marten gets some odd looks as he marches the otter into the camp. Most are vermin warriors, others are their wives and children. Some are even woodlanders although by their dress and appearence they are slaves. Some look cared for others...not so much. The marten debates trying to stab the otter in the back, shouting a warning, dashing off away from the otter...but the look he was given still haunts him as it will for many more sleepless nights. Assuming he survives. So the marten swollows his fear and does what he is told. Marching the otter into camp.

Derrin keeps his eyes down as he is marched through the camp. He had a good idea of how he was going to get in, but it was going to be difficult for him to think of a way out. Especially since he was going to have to bring Byron with him. The otter completely ignores most of the looks he gets from woodlanders and vermin alike, and instead continues to walk, appearing as nothing more than a helpless prisoner.

The beast walks at the otter's side. Nervously glancing about he is trying to think of a way out of this as well. Drakki has always been known as a bit of a lazy fox with good humor...but he has also been known to have a mean streak in him to keep order. They arive at the big tent in the camp. Two rats stand guard. "Tell Drakki I have a prisoner! He tried to sneak into camp!" The marten says after a moment of hesitation. He was tempted to shout tell Drakki /he/ is a prisoner.

Derrin gives a low growl at the guards when they hesitate, and they both enter the tent after a look between each other. They figure it'll be better to just let Drakki deal with this instead of them. From inside the tent, a voice sounds from one of the guards. "A guard is outside wid a prisoner, sir."

There is a pause. A moment later a fox emerges from his tent. Drakki is only a few seasons older than Derrin and an inch shorter in height. In width he is quite possibly the largest fox to grace the woodlands. A very obese red fox he is bare chested for the most part with a short sword at his side. He looks at the otter prisoner and gives him a warm smile. "Hey Cousin, come out here and check this out." A moment later and it is proven that Drakki is /not/ the largest fox in the woods. The very, very rotund grey fox Byron comes out of the tent and nearly laughs at the sight of the otter, "Derrin! What are you doing here?"

Derrin sighs, closing his eyes slowly. He really wasn't wanting to deal with talking to Byron. Honestly, he hadn't given much thought to the possibility that Byron might not want to leave this place, but Derrin hadn't come this far just to give up now. "Oh, I was just poppin' in fer a little visit, mate." He says with a hint of sarcasm, properly annoyed that he hadn't planned for this to begin with.

The marten says nervously, "I...uh...caught this beast sneaking into camp boss..." Byron looks to the marten and then to the otter, he chuckles as he shakes his head, "No you didn't." Crossing his arms Byron says again, "That beast can twist a little coward like you into a knot." His red fox counter part smirks, "The ol' march yourself into camp as a prisoner gag? Wow, its been a while since I ran that, back when I was with Dylan's crew. So Byron, I take it you know this beasty?"

"Yep. He helped me out of a tight jam." Byron's smile fades slightly, "I must admit I didn't expect to see you /here/. What brings you here Derrin?"

Derrin brings his paws out from behind his back, where he had been pretending to keep them bound. "I'll be honest with you Byron, Edwin was finally put on trial a bit ago." He stops, looking between Byron and Drakki. The layer of ice that had seemed to cover his eyes had disappeared, though that did not mean that they didn't appear any less stony.

The ex sheriff nods his head, "Ah...I think I see where this is going. I heard that he got off free. Pitty that." Drakki gestures to the otter, "Need me to kill this riverdog for you?" Byron shakes his head, "Nah, I owe him a favor." The horde leader nods, "Right then, excuse me while I teach mr. marten here the basics about guard duty." The marten begins to plead and wail as a pair of ratty guards seize him and drag him away. The fox follows shortly behind.

"Edwin going free was one of the reasons why I came here." Byron says, unfazed by the martens pleas. "When you have no where left to run, hide with family. Drakki is my younger cousin." The fox sits down on a near by log next to the fire, "So...if you are here I guess you are either A, here to kill me, or B. Looking for shelter from Edwin too."

Derrin shakes his head slowly as he sits down with Byron. "I'm not here fer either of those things. The bushfolk are becomin' more rowdy, an' they're startin' t' attack other beasts on the roads. I need yer help t' get Edwin back behind bars. Tavis himself asked fer you so that he could ask you about wot happened."

The fox chuckles darkly, "Yeah...that's not going to happen." Leaning back on the log he twirls a paw in the air idly, "In case you havn't noticed Militia beasts don't just /ask/ questions. And if you think I'm going back to Arundal where I can be locked up in jail for the rest of my life just so some despot can get what's comin to him. You're crazy."

Derrin sighs. He figured that it would come to this. "Well I'm sorry t' hear that, mate," He says, standing up. Suddenly, he twists, and his foot comes up in a devastating sucker kick that is aimed towards the fox's head.

The fox doesn't even have time to yelp falling flat on his back and over the log...in the midst of the center of camp...where everyone can see. While of course this is a normal every day occurrence in a horde beast camp, some beast decking the leaders cousin is not. After the fox is rendered unconscious all heck breaks loose...