Let Sleeping Foxes Lie
Let Sleeping Foxes Lie
Players
- Jaksor
- Bindi
- 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 looked this good in seasons. Half the benches around the fire pit have been dragged into the center and burned, muddy pawprints litter the ground and run to and fro all through the encampment, and several huts have either been shoved over or completely cannibalized. All that being said, there is a habitable space at the front end of the central longhouse, re-roofed by our vermin friends, and the sun is peeking occasionally through a sparse cover of clouds. An unconscious, scrawny fox is tied up and unconscious against a nearby tree, lashed down securely. Jaksor regards the newest entry for most crazed with cool eyes, arms crossed over his chest.
Bindi emerges from the longhouse and looks around with bleary eyes. So much for an afternoon nap. The rat can sleep most places, but when it comes to GUOSIM longhouse, he can't bring himself past the musty smells and hard floor. With a yawn, Bindi starts to make his way over to Jaksor, calling as he does, "Oy, find anythin' out about fox-face?"
The ermine sits like an out of place marble statue atop the precariously balanced remains of one of the smaller huts, giving her a slightly better view to watch for anymore would be food thieves turned new recruits. Hearing Bindi's voice, which she has determined is naturally obnoxious, she tilts her head to one side, peering over to where the other two are.
"Still reelin' from tha' blow t' th' head, looks like," Jaksor replies, scratching at his chest fur with the end of his hook. "Either that, or he's starvin' t' death an' never wakes up." It could go either way, really. The polecat's tone doesn't seem to indicate a preference. "If he /does/ wake up, migh' be worth takin' along t' Ferravale, as a distraction if nothin' else."
Bindi can't help he was blessed with a perfect mix of gruff, squeaky and strained for a voice. The Little Rat arrives beside the polecat and survays the fox with a skeptical eye, "Oi suppose a destraction is 'about all he's good for. Er mebbe an inside ear to the operation; find the weak spots of the village." He shrugs, "Either way, when 'e wakes up, he's not gettin' my share o' the food."
Finding herself unable to hear the conversation, a dangerous position when dealing with a group of vermin, and having not seen so much as a bird on the horizon for almost an hour, Ferilla slips gracefully down from her perch, landing in a crouch on her feet and one paw. Straightening up and stretching a little after spending so long in one position, she strides casually towards the other two. "Please tell me you're not talkin' about eating him again?" she calls. Earlier, Ferilla made it quite clear that she would rather starve than touch the mangy fox, let alone eat him.
"Only as /gravy,/" Jaksor replies, spreading his paws mock-apologetically. The polecat gives the jill a grin, then shakes his head as he turns his eyes back to the fox. "We /will/ have t' feed him if an' when he comes 'round," he mutters. "An' I'm gettin' sick of pullin' fish outta th' river. Either a' you got any skills /whatsoever/ that migh' put some food in our guts?"
Bindi squints at Ferilla as she makes her way over. He's still unsure about the ermine, but as long as she's not killing him, he'll make do. He wrinkles his nose at Juksor's statement and mutters, "Oi mean, we wouldn't /'ave/ to feed 'im." His raises his voice to normal pitch as he continues, "We're a band o' vermin. Why don't we do wha' we planned to all along? Let's go /steal/ our food." The rat looks fairly happy about the idea, "and iffin' we need more after tha', we can take over a small place and force 'em to work as our slaves." Indeed, he has very big plans.
"Mm, lovely." comes the ermine's sarcastic reply to Jaksor's proposed meal plan. Ferilla has absolutely no experience with hunting or growing food, and it shows in her long silence after the question is put to her. Thankfully, the obnoxious rodent has supplied a plan that flows along with the jill's sensibilities: steal it. She nods a little, showing nonvocal support of the idea, as if speaking is either above her or that vocalizing her agreement with Bindi would be like an approval of him, something she is not ready to supply. She stops nodding when he elaborates to the point of enslaving a group. "You can't make any profit in slaving." she comments thoughtfully.
"We don't have th' numbers for slavin' on that scale, either," Jaksor notes, despite the fox (slave...?) tied to the tree a short distance away. "Stealin' food directly seems more difficult than jus' stealin' loot, which was the original plan anyway. Mayhap we jus' need t' step up th' timeline a touch." He scratches now at his cheek, brow furrowed thoughtfully.
Bindi rolls his eyes at the ermine, saying in a tone that says he thinks what he's saying is obvious, "Thar /is/ if they're feedin' your face. Or iffin' you sell 'em. Or mebbe make 'em into your own army." He waves his arms around, stopping himself from continuing with what he thinks is a long and functional list, "Tha' point is, salves have plenty o' profit tied into 'em." Bindi takes a breath and seems about to continue, but decides to rest his case. His attention is caught by Jaksor's words and he asks, "Do we 'ave enough o' a plan to up the timeline?"
The stare Ferilla gives Bindi says what she doesn't: 'how could someone possibly be so dense and still be able to breath?'. "Well, i'm glad you felt tha need to list out all the uses or slaves, barring maybe one er two." she advances on him just enough to be uncomfortably close, but not close enough to touch him. "But I wouldn't eat a single scrap of a meal a slave prepared for me. You want to be poisoned? Selling them off is all well an' good, but ye've gotta have bulk, and ye've gotta move them to somewhere where there's a buyer." she huffs, sounding like she's speaking from experience on that one. "An' a slave army's rubbish too. Ye think someone who already wants ta kill you is gonna kill fer you?" she asks, a touch of incredulity in her tone. "Not to mention almost every slave has friends, and those friends will eventually come an' track ye down." she finishes, stepping back and crosses her arms. It may seem a bit out of character for the graceful ermine to rant like this, but it comes down to efficiency and odds of survival, and she's all about those.
"...well." Jaksor puts an end-cap on Ferilla's rant. "I uh. I think we'll be avoidin' th' slavin' business, at least at the start. Too much overhead f'r a small group like us, an' overdone in these parts, from th' sounds of it." Not to mention it works best when the natives actually turn the slaves over to you in the first place. "We ain't got th' logistics, plain an' simple." With that settled, Jaks moves on to the actual plan, of sorts. "We know they've got some decent loot worth takin' over there in Ferravale, an' Ferilla's lookin' for a way t' spit in their eye as much as any of us. We slip in, sack th' town hall for loot, an' make our escape."
Bindi asks, "Gaawh, 'ave you no brain? Tha's why you keep 'em seperated! Like Jaksor said, we'd need more man power, but after 'while tha' wouldn't be a problem." He stands straighter in an attempt to be tallers, but remains much shorter then the ermine, "An' how do yew spect' em' to get their paws on poison?! They're /slaves/." He makes a disgusted sound with his mouth and waves a paw at the ermine, signaling he's done with the descution. At least for now. He turns to Jaksor, doing his level best to keep his temper in check, "Oi like it. Noice and simple. Mebbe we can leave somebody behind to take the heat." He coughs suggestivly over his shoulder in Ferilla's general direction. Ah regrets. The rat is certainly burning his own bridge. "
A cooler head prevails, and Ferilla jerks her angry violet eyes away, focusing back on Jaksor. "Aye, and I kin even go in before and try to cause some sort of- " she's cut off by Bindi's suggestion of leaving her holding the bag. "Just remember how runs faster." she warns the rat, fantasizing about a quick sword stroke across Bindi's Achilles tendon during the escape, a faint smile on her lips as she imagines the look on his stupid face as he.. Nevermind. Business, right.
Jaksor glances back and forth between his new companions, swallowing the bad taste that this whole thing might be a terrible mistake. "We need t' scout out the village for a day or two. See what defenses they 'ave, where th' guards watch, where th' best loot is like t' be. They're friendly t' our kind, so should be no problem gettin' in, and they're friendly t' th' Robes, so should be no problem gettin' out."
Bindi misses the smile on Ferilla's lips, but if he had seen it he would have to admit to a certain unsetteled feeling in his gut. As it is, he stands facing Jaksor with crossed arms, "Wha' about 'im?" He gestures to the tied up fox, "He can't come along 'till 'e's awake an iffin we do bring 'im along, what says he won't make trouble?"
Ferilla chews her lip thoughtfully, looking at the fox in question, mangy and underfed. "I'm disgusted that you suggested I be left holding the bag when such perfect candidates present themselves!" she exclaims, extending an open paw to indiacte the fox.
Jaksor gives the fox a evaluatory stare, hook pressed casually against his hipbone. "We could always jus' dump 'im in th' middle a' town as we're headed out," he muses, raising an eyebrow as he considers how best to make use of the incapacitated fox. "That sorta assumes he stays out, or we /keep/ 'im out, o'course."
"An' we'd have t' carry him," the polecat adds.
Bindi eyes light up at the ermines words and he nods agreement, though it's a bit subdue. He shrugs at the draw back of weight, "Ach, he can't weigh that much. Look at 'im! He's tiny as it is. If we decide we can't carry 'im, we'll just 'ave ta wake 'im up and drag 'im along with a knife to 'is thorat." He nods decisivley.
Seemingly beyond caring much what they do with him at the moment, Ferilla just nods a little. "He's just dead weight. If he wakes, he can join the raiding party and help us, or die. If he doesn't, we leave him here." she says decisively.
"Or we drape 'is lifeless form in golden chains f'r th' Ferra...val-ians? t' find." Jaksor stumbles on the demonym for the villagers, but launches immediately onto his next train of thought. "We should get movin'. We c'n come back here if pursuit is light, an' like as not, it will be. I'll carry th' fox till he wakes." The burly polecat certainly looks capable as he roughly pins the knots down with his hook and pulls them loose with his paw, planting his shoulder in the scrawny fox's abdomen and hoisting him up. The hook wrangles his pack up off the ground and loosely onto his other shoulder.
Everything looks well covered on this front! Bindi spins on his heel and starts to head off towards the river, calling over his shoulder, "Oi'll meet yew all thar'." He slips off onto the bank of the river and disappears upstream.
"Good riddance." Ferilla mutters. "I'd almost rather have the fox." she states. "At least he doesn't talk back."
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