Now We Match

Players:

Lutea, a female otter and the Taggerung of the Juskaskor

Heskra Skor, a male fox and the Chieftain of the Juskaskor

Location: Deep Within Mossflower Woods

The sun shines overhead as Heskra steps through the now-familiar woods of Mossflower, the Juskaskor chieftain's eyes peeled for signs of home; they're all around him, and he's thankful for that. Still, there's ample time in the day, and they've made such good time that there's no harm in taking a break. "We'll rest 'ere fer a while." He passes some rations and the wineskin to Lutea, letting her take food first, then asks her, "So, ye given' any thought as t'where ye wan' yer Taggerung tattoo? Back, ches', or face?"

Lutea mutters a 'thank you' around a mouthful of vittles, wineskin hanging loosely in her paw as she mulls his question over. She swallows and nods, taking a swig from the wine skin before answering. "Back, Ah think. 'Aven't done anythin' there yet." She takes another swig from the wine skin, her cheeks expanding as she swishes it back and forth in her mouth before swallowing again and offering the skin back to him. "'Ow far out are we, anyway?"

Noticably Heskra hasn't bothered to take anything for himself, instead deciding to focus on getting out his tattooing supplies again. They'd been tossed back into the satchel and ignored after those two weasels interrupted the first attempt, but now that they're nearing the Juskaskor camp, it would be best if Lutea had the proper markings. He takes out the needle and the tapping stick, then pulls out the green ink. "Back'll do. We need t'get yer face done as well." Taking a look around him, analyzing their bearings, Heskra responds, "We're 'bout a few hours' walk at 'is poin'."

Lutea grins and claps her hands together jovially. "A'righ', let's do it, then." The otter stands, stretches, pulls her sash up over her head, and then lays down on the log on her stomach, her arms draped lazily over the sides. "So what's this gonna be, then, eh?" She asks, rolling her shoulders to work the tension out. A little bit too casual about letting a fox with a skull on his head work on her unprotected back with sharp weapons; not to mention just trusting her back to his unknown artistic intentions.

To be fair, Heskra's already shown his artistic pedigree with the tattoo Drystan was given. If he can make that, then surely he can make something reasonably nice for Lutea. He takes off his skull mask so his vision is unimpaired, and uncaps the green ink, dipping the needle into it and kneeling down next to Lutea, his muzzle inches from her back as he looks for the proper place to start with extreme precision. His eye flicks over her back, until he at last settles on dead center between her shoulder blades. "'tis goin' t'be yer markin', only fer our kin'." The needle touches Lutea's back, and he starts to tap on it with the hammer, every tap jabbing the needle and ink into Lutea's skin. "Ye kin talk while Ah work. Jus' don' move."

Lutea winces with the initial needlework, but her body becomes accustomed to the pain pretty quickly. Of course, there are some spots that are more tender than others, but she's used to it by now. "Sounds good. Ow. So, 'ow did ye get involved with this group?"

Heskra is close enough to his work that no doubt Lutea can feel his hot breath ruffle her fur as he breathes, one eye shut tight as he marks out the path of the design, "sketching" the outline of the tattoo. It seems that he's chosen a somewhat large canvas, and whatever else goes on Lutea's back, her honorific is going to be front and center. "Ah'm 'e chieftain. Ah made 'is group, 'at's 'ow. 'e Juskaskor're younger'n some of 'e other tribes. Better though. Ah don' kill my beasts fer nothin'." His last comment is somewhat barbed, as if he has history with that sort of thing.

The mystery of not knowing what is being inked into one's back just makes the experience that much more exciting. Lutea occasionally will let out a sharp exhale or wince when the needle strikes bone or nerve. "So what's 'e history of 'e Juskaskor?" She should probably know. "That's admirable, that is, makin' somethin' out'a nothin'. Ah'm 'appy ta be 'part of a tribe again. Aimless wanderin' is fun fer awhile, bu' 'e uncertainty starts ta weigh on ya after a time. Ow. Ye seem - ah - sharp on tha' comment, ye got bad blood wi' somebeast important?" She might as well know more about this new life she's committed to, since the incessant bite of the needle is just the first step.

None of the exhales or winces are paid attention to; it seems Heskra's well past the point where he's inclined to stop because the beast he's tattooing displays pain. The design continues, twisting itself into knots to match the Juskaskor tattoos all over Heskra's body. "Oh aye. Real bad blood. Such bad blood 'at Ah'm wearin' 'is skull. 'tis me old leader, back when Ah was jus' a seer in 'e Juskanask. Chieftain of 'e Juskanask went... well... 'e went crazy. Started gettin' suspicious an' wild once 'e 'ard times came in an' 'e tribe was starvin'. Our fishin' at 'e coast was bad, an' as 'e Juskanask started gettin' unhappy, 'e chieftain got scared all three 'undred of 'em were goin' t'get ideas 'bout takin' over 'e tribe 'emselves."

Varying degrees of discomfort are an integral part of the process, nothing to worry about. "Ahhh - so that's where that comes from. 'E makes a fine accessory." The mystery is solved! "'Appens in tha 'ard times. If tha beast in power is in power fer 'emselves, when 'ard times 'it they only worry fer 'emselves. Rathah than focus on tha sufferin' 'a those under 'em, they get paranoid." Were her stillness not imperative, Lutea would have nodded sagely. "Wha' 'appened then?"

"Aye, 'zactly righ'," is all Heskra has to say about Lutea's statement on leaders. There's nothing to add to it that could make it any more true. "So Ah tol' ye Ah was a seer fer 'e tribe at 'e time. 'e leader comes t'me an' starts makin' demands, tellin' me t'tell 'im who's conspirin' 'gainst 'im, 'ow t'make things better, an' all 'at. But 'ere wasn' a thing Ah could do. 'e'd already killed beasts on suspicion alone, an' at made everybeast worried, an' scared. With nothin' Ah could tell 'im makin' 'im feel better, 'e jus' got worse. Started killin' beasts at random t'keep everybeast else in line. Killed 'em cruel too. Burnin', skinnin', breakin' on 'e wheel, 'at sort of thin'."

Lutea winces, but not because of the tattooing process. "Nasty blighter..." She mutters angrily. "No beast 'as a righ' ta take life at random fer their own purposes. Ye gave 'im wha' 'e 'ad comin', then?" Her back itches like crazy, but she resists the overwhelming urge to mess with it.

Heskra sighs and shakes his head, and the tapping continues without comment for a brief while. "Not fer a time. Ah was diff'rent back 'en, less brave. 'e seer's of 'e tribe rarely are. An' of course eventually 'e started gettin' mad at me. Started askin' why Ah couldn' tell 'im anythin' t'make it all better, an' well... 'is most loyal members of 'e tribe weren' fond of me either. So 'e ordered me 'anged 'en shot with arrows." Heskra pauses, the tapping continuing for a brief moment before he reaches over and grabs a bit of cloth, dabbing up leaking blood and ink from Lutea's back.

"Tha' bit obviously didn' go according te plan, Ah'm assumin'." The otter interjects with a sly smirk, taking the brief moment of respite while he wipes at the blood to scratch her nose. "'ows it comin'?" She asks as well, in relation to the art progressing liberally across her back.

"Goes well. We're almost ready 'star' colorin' it in." Heskra shakes his head. "No, it went jus' as planned. Ah was 'anged, an' shot with three arrows afore Ah was cut down an' ordered t'be draped o'er a tree in 'e woods fer 'e birds t'pick at." Heskra grins, a savage, feral look of triumph that makes him look slightly unhinged. It's hard to say whether or not what he says next is true, but Heskra, for his part, seems to believe it, and it's a good bet that it's an accepted fact amongst the superstitious Juskaskor. "'ey say all seers're touched by Vulpuz, an' 'e way Ah figure it, 'e put me back on earth t'fix wha' 'e chieftain messed up. So Ah went back t' 'e camp in secret, an' started gettin' beasts t'leave. 'ey followed me 'cuz 'ey saw me die, an' 'ey were willin' t'follow anybeast who could cheat death. In 'e end Ah got o'er sixty beasts away afore 'e chieftain started comin' after us."

She certainly wasn't expecting the story to go in that direction, and the otter isn't quite sure what to say. Such a tale works wonders on the superstitious, and it certainly affects Lutea's perception of the fox in a remarkably positive way. "Ye were /dead/?" She asks in baffled disbelief. "Do ye remember anythin'? Ye know - while ye were gone?" She doesn't have any trouble believing the tale - but it's already been firmly established that she is trusting to a fault.

Another shake of Heskra's head that Lutea can't see, and he continues to work on her, coloring in her new tattoo with the needle, tapping it and filling in all the empty space as he continues to tell his yarn. "Ah don' 'member much. Jus' a feelin' of bein' in pain, an' floatin', but not 'avin' any weight. An' Ah could feel my foresight growin' more powerful while Ah was 'ere. But what Ah 'member mos' was a voice 'at said 'Heskra, go back. Go back. Go back.' o'er an' o'er, an' 'en Ah was back, wakin' up as if it were from a dream." He gives a brief shrug. "Ah'm not sure Ah kin tell ye what 'e other side was like, as Ah ne'er fully got 'ere."

"That's crazy, mate. Yer righ' magic ye are. Why do ye 'ave another seer then if ye 'ave the sight?" Lutea asks, referring to Drystan. "No 'fence ta 'im, seems like a bang-up fella an' all. Little quiet an' smiley, though."

"'e showed up an' said 'e saw somethin' Ah wasn' able t'see, 'at thin' bein' ye. Seems 'e was righ'. My Sights always been better at findin' out wha' Ah need t'do with my tribe, rather'n seein' thin's 'at're as far away as ye were. It is wha' it is." Judging from the path Heskra's been tattooing, he seems to be almost done with filling in the markings on Lutea's back. "As fer 'e old chieftain, 'e was chasin' me, an' Ah challenged 'im t' a 'un on 'un figh' while 'e rest of my tribe fled. 'is pride demanded 'at 'e take it, an' Ah slew 'im right 'en an' 'ere. Took 'is 'ead fer me own afore gettin' away from 'e rest of 'e Juskanask an' 'e shores forever. My tribe's been livin' in Mossflower e'er since."

"A good, noble tale, tha'. Well...noble as cin be, at leas'." The otter smiles, even though he probably can't see it. "So, er, all this - ah - 'Taggerung' hullabaloo. Ah'm still a little shaky on tha details. Wha' is ta be expected of me from 'ere on out?" A question whose answer she probably should have been much clearer on before embarking on a journey with a bunch of vermin in the woods.

More tapping on Lutea's back, though it seems like the circle that Heskra made during his coloring is nearly finished. No doubt the Taggerung-flower symbol, etched with the same knotted designs that are much beloved by the Juskaskor, will draw plenty of attention to Lutea's new, "noble" position in the tribe. "Yer goin' t'be our best. 'e Taggerung's 'e best warrior of us, 'e strongest beast, an' a symbol of 'e strength of 'e tribe. 'elp us survive, figh' our enemies, be somebeast our tribe kin look up to." Really, Heskra hasn't told her too much more than he'd told her before they left, but he shrugs. "Ah'll guide ye as we go along. 'e Taggerung an' 'e chieftain work with each other. After all, Taggerungs an' chieftains en't always 'e same beast."

"Ah...An' Ah'm tha best jus' because this legend says so? Tha's jus' an expected...thing?" If she were able to, she would have shrugged. "No...contest or nothin' of the like? No set of duels 'round a fire, every beast 'as some ale, places bets...seems like ye 'ave a great opportunity fer a party n' feast." It would be a shame not to act on an opportunity to party. "An' Ah'm nah good with politics an' the like...las' time Ah got tangled up in tribe affairs Ah was ruinin' the diplomatic relations, startin' a riot, an' sneakin' out."

"Aye, 'at's 'e size of it. It's 'ow things work. Yer trainin' bears fruit better'n most others, yer fightin's meant t'be better." Heskra still doesn't bother letting her know that some beasts might want to kill her and take the title for themselves, as the Taggerung title can only be passed through blood or prophecy. "Oh ye kin duel all ye like, in fact, Ah 'spect ye to. Give 'em all a good showin' of 'ow 'e Taggerung fights. Not t'mention 'at sparrin' an' trainin' is somethin' we do reg'larly 'ere anyhow. Trus' me, when we get back, 'ere'll be all kinds of fightin', drinkin', an' carousin'. My tribe's been waitin' fer 'is fer a while." He taps out the last few dots on Lutea's back and cleans off his needle with a cloth, wiping away the last bit of stray ink and blood from Lutea's back, and gives her a pat on the shoulder to let her know he's done. "As fer 'e tribe's runnin', 'at's still my job. Think of yerself as... our champion."

"Champion...Ah quite like the sound of it, Ah'd be lyin' if it dinnae feel nice te be needed." She pushes herself upright, moving with some caution to avoid reopening the already leaking wounds. "Ah'd say it looks great - but Ah cannae really judge tha' fer meself." Lutea grins and throws a paw out to the fox. "Thanks mate, Ah cannae wait te see a reflection at me firs' chance. Felt intricate - were ye copyin' tha mark on me paw?" She lifts the paw in question as she asks, the speedwell marking prominent against the dark paw pad. "So, Ah'm piercin' ye nose now, righ'?" She teases.

"Trus' me. It looks good on ye. Ah've been doin' tattoos fer my tribe since afore 'e tribe wasn' mine. But aye, 'at's 'e Taggerung symbol, an' it's more easy t'see coverin' yer upper back'n jus' a little speck on yer paw." He redips the needle into the ink and shakes his head, looking at Lutea. "No nose piercin', but Ah've yet t'do yer face. Jus' a quick 'un on 'e side in our green. Ye kin talk, but don' move yer 'ead. Ah'm not wantin' t'poke yer eye. While Ah'm workin'... 'ow'd a rough beast like ye come t'live with 'e weak woodlanders?" Clearly Heskra already considers Lutea one of "his" more than an actual woodlander at this point.

She's going to be a swollen mess come morning. "Aye, ge' on wi' it." She settles into a seated position after some last minute stretching and gives a small chuckle. "Ah come from a tribe in 'e North. Me pa was from 'ere, 'e was adopted by a fox as a dibbun - 'es some fancy 'otshot at Redwall now. Ah met 'im for 'e firs' time a bi' ago. Anyway, my pa wen' an' traveled 'e world an' settled in wi' a tribe in the North - all snow an' ice n' such. 'E me' me mum an' settled in. Was mostly sea otters an' seals, bu' a few vermin types as well - jus' a hardy tribe ou' in a harsh land. Bu' we was peaceful, 'ad good relations wi' other groups nearby. Ah grew up knowin' me granda' was a fox, an' me friends were all mix 'a woodlander an' vermin beasts, Ah didn' know they disliked each other everywhere else." She keeps her face as still as possible. "Me tribe was me family - Ah'm banished now, though." This isn't said with as much sadness as one would expect, more a simple statement of fact.

Tactful he may not be, but Heskra does listen to Lutea's story with silence, leaning in close to her face, one eye closed and his nosetip inches from her cheek as he works on her face with the same sharp precision that he did on her back, putting needle to cheek and starting to tap out the design into Lutea's flesh. When she's finished though, apparently his silence used up his tact, as he gives as close to a sneer as has ever been heard from Heskra. "'e fox in Redwall? 'e fake-fox? Don' much care fer 'im. Ye'll be 'mongst better fox company in 'e tribe, 'at's fer sure. 'tis mostly foxes in 'e Juskaskor, with 'e odd ferret an' 'e like. Still, glad t' 'ear yer used t'harshness. There've been some rough winters in 'e past. As fer 'e woodlanders an' vermin not likin' each other 'ere... ye shouldn' 'ave t'worry 'bout 'at with 'e tribe. Jus' show 'em wha' yer made of an' 'ey'll warm up t'ye."

"'E seemed nice enough." The otter, does not, however, know her estranged grandfather well enough to defend his name. Family or not, she's only met the bloke once. "Winter tis nothin' 'ere - we've 'ad 'em so cold tha' the elders march ou' inte 'e snow in 'e dead of night so they cin freeze te death an' le' 'e younger beasts 'ave more of a chance. Ah'll be fine 'ere wi' ye cushy winters." She folds her paws in her lap, the stinging and throbbing in her back overshadowed by the sharp pains in her face - this crap /hurts/, but she keeps her face taught and still, a difficult feat. "Bu' Ah was jus' wanderin' Mossflower aftah bein' chased out. Ah wanted te meet me grandpa', see Camp Willow where me pa' grew up. Ah didn' 'ave a plan aftah tha', so it's nice you lot showed up."

It takes considerable effort for Heskra not to start talking about how much of a fool that the otter's "grandfather" is, at least what Heskra learnt about him from their last meeting at the abbey when Heskra was trying to do his duty to ensure that a former member of his tribe was still at rest. "'e tried t'disarm a Juska. En't fond of 'im fer 'at e'en if 'ere was nothin' else." Unfortunately, Heskra's needle work is relentless, and even though he works quickly enough, he's not exactly gentle with the tapping. That ink is going to get under the otter's skin one way or another! "Considerin' yer story, sounds like we're together by prophecy, as if we din't know 'at already." He's still leaning awful close to Lutea's face, and every time he moves his mouth his pointy teeth show. He's thankful that Lutea's not the type of woodlander to shy away from that sort of thing.

To be fair, Lutea is currently being tattooed in the middle of woods by a fox who wears a skull, a fox whom she only met a few days previous. She is on her way to go join this band of vermin, whom she knows very little about, based on a prophecy that she has never heard of before. She isn't the type of woodlander to shy away from /anything/, what are a few pointy teeth? Her expression remains as stoic as possible throughout the process - at least with the facial tattoos she knows what sort of pain to expect (although Heskra is a bit more heavy handed than her mother was). "Eh, well, grandads are suppose' ta be a bit fuddy." She offers, shrugging off the topic of her estranged, adoptive grandfather and refocusing her attention on /not/ itching her back or face. "Tha circumstances surroundin' all 'a this do seem...odd, Ah'll give ye tha'. An' me mum, towards the end, she would 'ave fits 'a sorts, she'd always tell me ta travel. Tha' my 'spot in tha world' was nay en some hole in tha ice. She'd get real insistent abou' it. Ah think she 'ad a 'and in the mixup at this wedding from beyond tha grave ta get me out'a the North."

Thankfully, it seems that Heskra hasn't got too much more work to do on the face tattoo, the fox apparently having spent enough time doing this sort of thing that he can do it reasonably quickly. Of course, the heavy-handedness is the tradeoff for this, but what Juska can't take a little pain? Lutea's taking it admirably enough anyhow, so Heskra sees no reason why he should even attempt to be gentle with this. Regardless, it'll all be worth it when the Taggerung walks into the camp, already tattooed, and ready to help provide for the camp. "Ne'er new my own gran-da. 'e was dead long afore Ah was born. As fer 'e circ'stances, kin't really say 'ey're 'alf as bizarre as other prophecies. Ye e'er 'ear 'e story of 'e las' tribe t' 'ave a otter Taggerung? 'opefully ye won' be 'at kinna disappointment. Yer ma wanted ye t'do somethin' great, not somethin' treacherous, after all." However much he tries to hide it, the idea that the Taggerung might turn traitor like the mythical Deyna and destroy the tribe is something that Heskra dreads.

"So tis nah common fer an otterfolk ta be 'e Taggerung? Ah 'aven' 'eard tales 'a any of 'e Taggerungs past." Having no knowledge of the legends surrounding her, she would not know of Deyna. "Why would 'e turn traitor? Otters is loyal beasts, we are." She is almost indignant that a member of her own species - and legendary lineage, apparently - would be labeled as something as despicable as a turn-cloak.

A shake of Heskra's head, which at this close range brushes his whiskers against Lutea's nose. "Aye, 'tis not common 'un bit. Only 'appened twice 'at Ah know of. Not t'mention 'at 'is Taggerung was raised by 'e Juska, treated 'im like proper family fer years 'ey did, an' 'is Taggerung, who later claimed 'is name was Deyna, left 'e tribe an' betreyed 'eir trus' t'live at Redwall." Is that how the story goes? That sounds about right to a Juska's ears. "Traitorbeast 'e was, an' 'at's jus' 'ow it went. Caused all kinds of trouble, got e'erybeast saddled with a fake leader who tried t'be a fake Taggerung, an' 'e e'en killed other beasts of 'is tribe." Heskra flicks his head away from Lutea and spits at the ground. "Scum!"

Lutea inhales sharply to avoid sneezing or laughing as her nose is whisker-ed, managing to keep her face under control in the presence of needles. "Tha's 'orrible!" She comments, once the danger has passed. "Jus' up 'an lef'?" Her own experience at Redwall was pleasant enough, but overwhelmingly tedious. No fights, very civil parties, everybeast was careful with their manners - something that the otter appreciates, but her understanding of 'manners' and 'politeness' occasionally include fist fights. How else is a beast supposed to know they're being rude?! "So, 'e Taggerung is, er, special enough ta mess all tha' up?" She swallows. "'ow will Ah know if Ah'm even a good 'un? Tis a lot of pressure, mate. Threat of total chaos 'an death an' all."

A few more taps, and Heskra finally moves his face away from Lutea's, looking at his work and giving a satisfied nod. He cleans the needle and then, as he's talking, pulls out a small hand mirror from his satchel, clearly part of his tattooing supplies. After all, most beasts like to see what they look like when the work is done, correct? He hands it to Lutea and gives her face a quick wipe with the blotting cloth. "Aye. 'e din't like 'e chieftain's choice of punishment, but rather'n stickin' it out an' fightin' or arguin' with 'e chieftain like an honorable beast, 'e ran off, denied 'is family, an' stopped bein' a Juska. Apparently 'e e'en managed t'get 'is tattoos removed... some'ow." The face Heskra pulls shows that this part of the story is an especially distasteful one, and it's easy to see why. To anyone who would know how to read Juskaskor symbols, Heskra's entire life is laid out on his body, as well as his allegiances. The idea of that being removed would be like denying his entire existence. "Don' go makin' yerself sick o'er it though. Yer goin' t'do fine so long as ye don' get it into yer mind t'start turnin' traitor."

Freedom! Sweet, painless, freedom! Lutea stands and stretches, several things popping audibly, before she reaches for the mirror and grins. "Ah'll be sore fer weeks bu' tis worth it." She offers the mirror back, and stretches out her other paw for a handshake. "'Preciate yer work, mate!" She makes a few faces and twists her body back and forth gently, experimentally, gauging how careful she will have to be for the time being. She stuffs her sash and dagger into her rucksack, holding her walking stick in her paw; she can't have the leather rubbing against her raw (and a little leaky) back. "Ah dinnae even know t'was possible ta 'ave 'em removed. Yer inks apart'a ya." She doesn't focus on the possibility of her ruining the lives of the tribes members for long, she's too jolly a beast to wallow in negativity for long.

Heskra smiles. Genuinely. Hearing that somebeast appreciates his tattoo work is always welcome, as it's something that he takes painfully seriously. A stray line and suddenly a tattoo that was meant to have meaning now means nothing, and the beast who it's attached to is stuck with it forever. "Glad ye like it. Yer goin' t'be 'appy in 'e Juskaskor. Ah know it." Something of a lie... more like a hope. The Juskaskor don't need a repeat of 'the Deyna incident'. "'opefully 'e storeness won' get in 'e way of yer celebratin'. 'e tribe needs somethin' t'celebrate lately, an' it kin get a bit... rowdy. Soreness from celebratin' en't 'xactly uncommon."

"Ah feel like yer righ', seems ta be a good fit fer me so far!" She grins, still blissfully unaware that the woodlanders she is associated with would not consider her to be of a more 'evil' alignment. "An' Ah'll tell ye -" She pats the fox heartily on the back " - /Nothin'/ gets in tha way of me celebratin'!" She laughs before taking a few steps away to swing her staff with cautious, slow movements, still trying to stretch and move her body to see where her weaknesses will lie for the time being. "Ah guess Ah'll be sleepin' on me stomach fer awhile."