Only Good Enough to Suffer
Only Good Enough to Suffer
~//~ A Traveler's Tale ~//~
Players
- Magramba
- Samara
Mossflower - Dirt Road -------------------------
The road travels on, to the north and south, as a winding ribbon of
simplistic service. Unchanging, and plain, the hard-packed dirt that
forms the road is riddled with a myriad of small ruts, and printed with
the marks of countless beasts' footpaws. A sprinkling of wildflowers
offer random dots of color against the sun-scorched brown of the road.
To the east, a charred skeleton of a church rises from the grasslands
as only a sad remembrance of what was once a magnificent structure.
Westward, and all around the church, grasslands stretch onward, swaying
lightly in the moonlight.
"Rain again?" Magramba looks upward as the wet droplets begin to fall from the sky, pulling up the hood of his cloak and hurrying off the road into the treeline. "Come on," he calls back to his traveling companions, stepping quickly under the forest ceiling. After Samara's last campsite selection, he's determined to find something better for tonight, and as fate would have it, a small cottage is visible hiding behind a stand of pines. "Up ahead!"
That's convenient, and a little sketchy. Sam hurries to get her cargo out of the rain, calling "Hurry up!" to their straggling companion. Under the canopy, she slows, and follows Mag with a bit more caution - she prefers sleeping in trees to the comforts of an actual home (mostly to avoid dealing with other beasts, the grump), and approaching a random one in the woods is something that sets her on edge. "Should we not just...camp?" She asks, catching up and falling into step beside Magramba.
"It looks abandoned," Magramba replies as they draw nearer, weaving between a pair of low-spreading alders. He's right; the cottage is looking more like a shack than a proper cottage, but the thatch of the roof doesn't look too patchy. "It's worth checking."
Samara has to agree - the place looks pretty decrepit, not the sort of place that any respectable beast would live in. Hopefully less-than-respectable inhabitants haven't taken up residence in its moldy walls... the squirrel shrugs her backpack higher up her shoulders and approaches the cottage, peering through a broken window. "Looks empty enough...just dark."
"Like my heart," Magramba replies, face totally serious. He squints through the window as well, rubbing at the cloudy pane on his side. "Seems safe to me." He circles around to the front, testing the doorlatch. "Locked."
"I always knew you were secretly dead inside." Sam shrugs out of her bag and rests it against the wall, taking a moment to stretch and pop her back a few times. "I got it." She pulls the handkerchief from her head and unties it so that she can wrap it around her paw before smashing what little glass was left in the pane free, running the cloth around the perimeter before pocketing the kerchief and climbing through the window. It's dark, and the rain has left an unsavory damp smell inside, but it's shelter, and there isn't anything that a little fire and food can't fix. She squints through the shadows and, with a little work and a small amount of force, unbolts the rusted lock and shoulders the door open.
When she opens the door, she's greeted by empty air. "Yeah, so," Magramba's voice sounds from beside her. "There was a hole." He points to the left of the door, and sure enough, there's a chunk of plaster and lathe just missing. The squirrel has a big knife in his paw and is glancing warily around the room.
"Could’ve hollered before I went through the trouble..." Sam grumbles, but there is a smile on her muzzle. Following his example, Sam pulls her knife from her belt, but without any hint of immediate danger, she is more interested in seeing what the previous owners left behind. "Well, we won't have to go looking for firewood, at least." She notes, nudging the collapsed remains of a table with her foot. "But we can still send Cas out to look for more, keep him busy for a while."
"Right." Magramba paces carefully to the window, the floorboards creaking worryingly under his feet, and calls out through the broken glass. "Go find firewood!" Castus' whining voice comes back with a wisecrack, but he does seem to be willing to collect more stuff to burn. Good. The warrior nods approvingly and turns his attention back inside. Looking up, he notices a trapdoor on the ceiling. "Some kind of loft."
With a smirk, Sam moves past Mag to lean out the window and drag her backpack through. She nicks her side on a loose shard of glass, but it is nothing serious and as such is paid little heed. Once her bag is safe inside, she follows Mag's gaze to the ceiling, and the diminuitive squirrel crosses to the other. "Give me a lift and I'll see if I can push it open..."
Magramba bends down on one knee, sticking out his paws as a stirrup for her to step in. "Just be careful up there. Who knows what might have crawled up there to die."
Stepping carefully into his open paws, Sam reaches towards the door, stretching a bit to reach. She gives the door a shove, but it doesn't budge. "It feels like there's something on top of it - hold on." She punches upwards with both paws, the aged wood splitting in the middle with the sudden force. "Wow, I'm glad that worked. Get ready to move, whatever is on there might fall when this gives." She strikes again, shielding her eyes and jumping out of the way quickly as it gives way in a small explosion of dust and splintered wood.
Magramba jumps back as advised, giving Sam's feet a bit of an extra shove as she leaps to clear her out of the way. A cloud of dust accompanies the trapdoor and some sort of object down into the room, concealing it from view and provoking a storm of coughs from the older, bigger squirrel. "Ack! What th'..." More coughing. "What is it?" He waves at the dust, trying to settle it down but likely doing more harm than good.
"It -" A mouthful of dust hampers the reveal as Sam sputters and coughs. "Looks like a trunk? But..." She pulls her dagger from her belt suddenly, looking up at the hole in the ceiling with distrust. "That had to have been pushed over the door, it just seems...weird." There couldn't possibly be anybeast up there, but the situation is spooky enough to set her on edge. She coughs again, flicking her tail at the dust cloud (lucky squirrels have that built-in Swiffer), attempting to get a better look at the object that fell, but she stops, her ears flicking back. "Castus?" She asks, turning to look out the window, but the only sounds she hears are those that the storm is making. "Nevermind, thought I heard something."
"No, I heard it too," Magramba counters, ears pricked forward as he strains to hear. "Stop," the squirrel tells her, putting out a paw to still her movement. That big knife is back in his paw, and he's looking up at the ceiling. "Sh. There it is again."
Again, Sam looks over her shoulder into the rain, squinting to see through the deluge, and she frowns. "There's something outside, too..." She concentrates, trying to detect any movement, but something from above them draws her attention again, her ears twisting towards the ceiling. A dry, shuffling sound. "I don't like this..." The female grumbles, her fist tightening around her dagger, her frown deepening. "If it were vermin they would have attacked already..." She hears something outside, in the storm, once more and she growls. "Enough of this, I'll be right back." And with that she leaps back out through the window that she crawled in through, and steps out into the rain. Still in view of the window, she looks left, right, and then up - and shoots up the closest tree. Then there is silence.
"Oh, alright, just /leave./" That seems about right. Magramba, left alone in the ramshackle cottage, shifts his big knife into one paw and produces a smaller one from somewhere else. It's really incredible how he can just magick gear almost out of thin air. Barney's bag has nothing on Mag. The big squirrel positions himself in the corner while the shuffling above intensifies and multiplies, until finally a large, dusty figure drops through the new hole into the room. It's oddly shaped, and Magramba just stares for a few moments at the amorphous blob until suddenly it spreads its wings. Literally. It has wings, because it's a raven. A very dusty, very old, very gray raven. And then another. And then another. The squirrel blinks.
"Thief!" The first raven squawks, advancing a step as its compatriots offer a racous encouragement. "We can add it to the collection, oh yes... I'm sure it's tasty!" The deranged raven lets out a cackle, and the two behind it join it. "First, we peck out its eyes -" and it's at this moment that a fourth figure drops from the hole in the ceiling, crashing onto one of the squawking, shrieking birds and ripping out a pawful of black feathers as the winged creature flails, unseating its assailant as she slashes at it with her dagger. Samara is winded as she hits the floor, but scrambles upright as a beak stabs the patch of ground she had just vacated. "I will pluck the brain from its HEAD!" The attacked bird shrieks, frantically, thrashing after the smaller squirrel amidst a flurry of feathers and confusion. "I told you I would be right back!" Sam finds the time to yell out, backing away from the huge, dusty beast, her dagger levelled towards its face.
"...that you did!" Magramba agrees loudly, dropping one of the knives in favor of his sword, which he draws with a soft rasp made a bit louder by the speed with which the blade springs into the air. The ravens, no doubt familiar with this sound, immediately turn to face him. "Thief-one has a claw! Thief-one has a claw," the largest raven crows, scratching at the floor and spreading its wings. The other two follow suit, and the cottage's single room now seems very crowded. Magramba keeps the blade stretched out towards the feathery trio, menacing each in turn with its tip. "Settle down and no one becomes my next headdress," the warrior warns.
Utilizing the distraction, Sam leaps once more onto the back of the raven she assaulted before and is treated to a deafening cry as it tries to spin and knock her loose. She manages to hold on, and hooks an elbow around the raven's neck and presses her dagger to the dark feathers of its throat. Its fervor emboldened by the sudden, and very real, threat of death, the bird throws itself backwards, flapping itself against the wall. Sam is slammed back against the wall, and her grip loosens. Her dagger clatters to the floor as she falls, and the raven looms above her, beak wide open. "Yes, yes, yes!" It cackles, almost dancing in glee. "I will enjoy adding it to the collection. It will make a fine trophy!" The raven lunges, and Sam scrambles sideways, only just managing to grab her dagger and thrust it forward as the raven strikes - it's own weight and force driving the dagger deep into its eye, effectively stabbing itself in the brain. Its screams cut short, it topples limp to the ground.
De-escalating the situation is always the best course of action in these situations. Samara surely agrees, which is why she chose the worst possible course of action. Magramba watches in shock and terror as the smaller squirrel lunges, tumbles, and kills, realizing as soon as the first shrieks sound out that they'll have to kill them all. Might as well get to it. One of them turns to watch Samara's tussle, while the other lunges at the warrior, beak snapping. His lean frame dances sideways as the blade lashes out with ferocious speed, slapping against the hard beak with the flat of the steel and managing to move it far enough to the side to avoid having a limb crushed. The impact jolts all the way up his arms to his shoulder, but the warrior hangs on gamely, spinning a half turn in to slash at the head with his knife, causing the raven to reel back in angry pain. The tight space makes the sword ungainly, but Magramba manages it well, thrusting out at the other bird and piercing its wing, hoping to distract it from his friend.
Living alone has bred a violent streak within the small female, but that alone was not the cause for her ferocity. Wiping the dagger on her pants, the squirrel rushes the second raven and uses Mag's distraction to leap atop it. But this time, she isn't aiming to attack from its back - instead, she uses the bird's height to jump back into the attic. Snapping after her in a rage, the raven screams. "YOUUUU-" It is ungainly to climb back into a hole when it is too small for its wings to spread. "IT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE COLLECTION! IT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO DEVOUR - IT IS ONLY GOOD ENOUGH TO SUFFER!" But Sam has escaped into the attic, and the thuds and crashes coming from the ceiling suggest that she is up to something. The bird manages to get its upper body through, but its wings are pinned to its sides and its shrieks continue, full of rage and grief. "I WILL RIP ITS LIMBS OFF, I WILL SQUEEZE THE JUICES FROM ITS EYES, I WILL -" Its voices is suddenly muffled, and its lower body flails and kicks on
the other side of the door. It finally falls, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. A ratty length of rope tied about its wings, and the stuffed head of an ermine shoved in its beak, gagging it. "I'll get back to you." Sam growls, her voice dangerously low as she moves to help Mag with the last of them.
Magramba's raven is decidedly less aggressive than the other two, snapping cautiously forward with its beak but keeping the bulk of its body at a safe distance. The pair circle each other, turning back the other direction when they get too near the bodies of one of the other ravens, for a few moments, Magramba menacing with his bloody blade and the raven's beak clacking out. Suddenly the squirrel lunges, his sword thrusting up at the raven's head. The big bird turns it easily with its beak, but the warrior's feet keep going forward, bringing him close enough to sink his long knife into the avian body and push a long gash across until he hits a rib. One taloned foot rises to slash viciously at his chest and face, but then the bird goes down.
Well, he didn't need her help after all. "Are you alright?" She asks Mag, unsure if the raven's last assault had found its mark. At the sound of muffled shrieks and the struggles of the bound bird, Sam spins around and approaches the only living raven left, and presses her dagger to its throat, roughly removing the ermine's head from its beak. "You're going to answer some questions, scum." She demands, her voice low and dangerous. Her eyes seem glazed over, a fire burning behind them that has not shown before. She saw something in that attic. "I'll tell it nothing!" The raven shrieks, tears in its eyes as it strains to free itself. "Dead! All dead!" It cries. "I'll rip its spine from its back and shove it down its-" "ENOUGH!" Sam slaps the bird across the face, a gesture meant more to surprise it and shut it up, rather than cause injury. "The dibbun in the attic..." She takes a fistful of the raven's feathers and attempts to shake the creature - a difficult feat for one so much smaller than it. "Where did it come from? Where did you take it from?" Surprisingly, tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes. The bird just laughs - a high pitched, horrible laugh.
Across the room, Magramba wipes at his face with his sleeve, trying to clear the rivulets of blood out of his eyes. They appear to be mostly superficial scratches, and his duster took the brunt of the assault to his chest, though it is gouged and where it doesn't cover blood seeps. Her words jar him back around to the squalling raven. "A dibbun?"
"They had some...trophy room up in the attic." She nods over her shoulder, backing away from the deplorable bird in disgust. "They had a mole dibbun up there, stuffed like the rest." Her voice cracks at the latter part of her sentence, and she angrily wipes at her eyes, the fight leaving them. She looks defeated, despite having 'won' this unexpected battle. "We need to get you fixed up." She sidetracks suddenly, clearing her throat and moving towards her pack for some basic first aid supplies. "And do something with...that one." The raven continues to scream and crow in increasingly unintelligible sentences describing the horrible methods it will use to bring about the two squirrel's demises. "It's your call...I lost control of myself back there." She digs a pouch of herbs and wraps from the depths of her bag. "Let's find somewhere else to make camp and I'll take care of those wounds."
"But... it's such a cozy spot," Magramba counters. It's unclear whether he's kidding or serious. The blood all over his face continues to leak all over his face as he walks over to the fallen, tied, formerly gagged, and unconscious raven. The twisted story of what awaits upstairs and the blood he's dripping onto the floorboards are both weighed in the balance, and his sword makes a quick chop across the bird's throat. "Evil things." His shudder of revulsion suggests he found no particular pleasure in exacting judgment. "Let's go," he finally agrees, nodding towards the door.
