Scouts and Snakes

Scouts and Snakes

Players

- Vannon

- Two Scouts (Timothy)

- John Wesley

Guosim Camp: Entry Path

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Foliage and shrubs of a colorful array flank the winding path. It's a modest trail, only small animals

being able to walk on it without getting slapped by the branches or bitten at the ankles by

vegetation. The light is dim here on the forest floor of Mossflower, for the trees knit together high

above, creating a protective dome from any flying predators. The light is tinged a light green from the

canopy, giving everything a cool, crisp appearance. Up ahead the path grows larger and the protective

canopy falls away, revealing true light and what appears to be a camp of sorts.

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A scout’s work is never done; as soon as your sent out one way and return it isn't long before your soon sent out again in a different direction. This particular direction as had some very interesting leads indeed; just rumors and hearsay. but certainly enough to warrant attention and investigation. These current scouts are actually some abnormally tall mice decked out with chainmail, javelins, a steel rimmed round shield painted with a red sun that covers most of the body. The only large difference between the two other than their faces and color are the melee weapons. One of the mice carries a flail while the other has a short spear added to his javelins. "A few more days on this road and I think it will be high time to head back to the Abbey." Abbey? These certainly don't look like Abbey beasts.

A bandits work is never done. The fox figures that enough time has passed for the gang to cool down a bit, at least enough to let him slide with only a verbal lashing...instead of a literal one. Possibly, maybe. Jaksor isn't exactly the most reasonable beast. But credit where credit is due, the pole cat has put up with Vannon's personality this long with out trying to kill him...yet. So there was hope he would welcome the fox back into the gang with minimal pain to said fox. If nothing else Vannon was resourcefull. He spent the entire week telling tall tales in a road side tavern, earning him more than enough free drinks and food to keep his belly full and happy. The grey fox stretches as he walks along the road before addjusting the quiver strapped to his back. Over one shoulder is slung a bow. His clothing is unfortunetly starting to show some wear and tear. The black tunic has a hole around the shoulder and the red vest is starting to fray a bit.

The Mice either haven't noticed Vannon or they don't seem particularly worried about him as they pass by the fox, rather quickly thanks to longer strides. It's hard to say however, their faces don't really give off any cues to say otherwise. The pair can be heard occasionally swapping back and forth lines of conversation as they walk.

These woods are practically swarming with vermin... actually, the count is up to two as John Wesley appears from behind a tree, apparently out on some sort of scouting mission of his own. More like a scowling mission, based on his expression and level of effectiveness at, well, any task, really. The weasel catches sight of the fox first, not having seen the mice pass by him. "/YOU!/" The shrill shout pierces through the veil of woodland chatter. "YOU shoot John Wesley Weasel! Norra da streamdogs! /You/ shoota me!" The small, slightly rotund mustelid practically bounces with rage, pointing his rusty cleaver in Vannon's direction.

The fox nods to them, 'good day.' even as he tightens his grip on his bow. Nothing like the sight of two well armed woodlanders marching towards you to sober you up. The fox begins to quicken his pace away from them, trying to remember if he has any bounty on his head in this area. Not one to wait around and find out the fox begins to scrurry along when out of no where...WEASELS! Horrible angry weasels with grudges to grind. Vannon let's out a terrified shout at the sudden appearence of the Weasly before turning tail and runing back the way he came, towards the mice..."Gang way! Mad Weasel!" He shouts, not carring if he bowls them over or not.

Might be a bit hard to bowl them over; sturdy looking fellows they happen to be. But Vannon manages to squeeze through them just as they start to part the way for the fox to run through; giving him a strange look... and then back towards the weasel as it comes charging down the road. "Odd that a fox is running from a weasel. Wouldn't you say Brother John?" John turns to look at the other mouse and nods. "Indeed Brother Michael. Should we interfere in whatever this is? By the sounds of it the fox shot that weasel."

Seemingly unperturbed by the martial aspect of the mice, John Wesley gives chase, flailing wildly with his cleaver. It's possible he might smack one of the mice with it as he races past, surprisingly quick for someone as... for someone who is the way he is. XD He continues to shriek insults at the fox as he runs, cleaver brandished high. "Stoopid skinny fox-face shoota John Wesley Weasel! Norra /no one/ shoota John Wesley Weasel!"

In true horror movie fashion Vannon trips over his own two feet. He yelps as he falls, quickly picking himself up to a crouched stance and slinging his bow over his shoulder, "You crazy weasel! Stay away from me!" The fox begins to reach for an arrow from his quiver. "I Didn't shoot you! I mean...I didn't mean too! I mean...IT'S NOT MY FAULT! Now stay back or else I'll ventilate you again!"

True to their currently calm demeanor The mice act just as Wesley manages to smack one of them with the broad side of that cleaver. John raches out and slaps his hand on the cleaver to keep it from flailing about anymore as Michael slips out a foot paw beneath Wesley's feet followed by a quick thump of his fist on Welseys back to assist in tripping. "I think we should intervene Brother John. Someones liable to get injured, shouldn't let dibbuns play with weapons." Obviously they know he isn't a dibbun; but that certainly was the way one might act. Michael looks over to Vannon and gives a soft stare.

John_Wesley thuds to the ground, stopped in his mad charge at the fox, whom, to be fair, did recently shoot him. The little weasel hangs gamely onto his cleaver as he rolls about halfway over, scrabbling back to his feet and off of the road. It would seem he knows how to take a shove, at least. "Ha/ha!/" he crows, backing away from the pair and menacing them with the rusted steel, moving towards Vannon as he does so. Who cares about a puny arrow? "You norra stop John Wesley like-a dat, mouse-face sun-butt!"

THis is bad. Vannon Realizes. Not just the whole mad meat cleaving weasel aspect but the fact that Vannon can't let Weasely get himself killed off either. He can just imagine that conversation with Jak. 'Hey boss, sorry about shooting Weasely. The good news is I got him killed! Oh and two armed mice tried to follow me back to the camp!' yeah...no. He had to calm the Weasel down. It would take a great deal of tack, cunning, and charisma to talk Weasely out of killing him. The fox drew an arrow quickly and loaded it before launching it at the weasel's tail. Or he could just wound him now and short out the mess later. That works too.

The Mice watch rather passively, finding the whole thing rather amusing. "The Weasel even talks like a dibbun doesn't he Brother John? Those insults are terribly put together." Who nods in agreement and starts to draw a Javelin out of his set of three. "This might stop him p..." well it seems the Fox is going to take care of it himself; leaving the mice wonders just what in blazes is going on and John to let the Javelin slipe back into it's bag.

The mice might feel less calm when John Wesley's sashaying tuckus, moving in opposite time and direction to his cleaver, ambles out of the way of the arrow. The feathered quarrel careens off a rock towards destinations unknown, but not before alerting John to its flight. "You shoota John Wesley /again/?" The little weasel can scarcely believe it. The audacity!

Before Vannon can reply there is a loud, ear splitting shout from the forrest beyond. There is a rustling noise as a creature appears further down the road. First comes her head, then the rest of her long, scaley body. Green and black with fins down the side of her head the snake lifts herself up to her full hight. Tulip plucks the arrow head from her back using her tail. She lifts it accusingly in the air and shakes it. "Who doesss thisSs belong too?"

It obviously wasn't the mice, they have no bow, and the madly dancing weasel had nothing to do with it! So it's only logical to assume that the arrow belongs to the poor fox sitting off in the distance. Brother John turns to look at Miochael and then the snake as the pair slowly start to shuffle away towards the nearest town. "This just keeps getting more interesting by the second." "Definately going to have an interesting report this time..."

John_Wesley may be stupid but he's also dumb. "Snake-tooth lookit fox-face!" The cleaver points accusatorially at Vannon, backing towards the underbrush and snickering gleefully. "Lookit lookit!"

"M-me?" Vannon almost squeaks. He tooses the bow to Weasely. "It was him! All him! Not me!" yeah...this day just got so much worse. Vannon turns to the rapidly fleeing mice, "Where do you lot think you're going? Y-you can't just leave us here with this...this snake!"

The snake for her part only replies by crushing the arrow in her tail. She slithers forward, murderous hate burning in her eyes. "I will sstrangle you withss your own ssSspine..." She doesn't make it particularly clear WHO she is going to strangle, then again, is it really important? The snake quickens her pace towards the beasts.

The Mice call back to the fox as they rapidly make their exit, grabbing their weapons as they do... just in case. "It wasn't us who shot the arrow! Maybe try and apologize! Failing that RUN!" They are going to do the smart thing and high tail it out of there; but can you really blame them?

John_Wesley lets the bow clatter at his feet. For some reason the weasel seems unperturbed by the arrival of the snake, more concerned with the apparent escape of his foxy foe/friend. "You norra get 'way fr'm John Wesley!" For some reason he's doing more threatening flails with his cleaver than running, all of them directed at Vannon, not the snake.

"John Weasely!" Vannon then proceeds to call John every name in the book as he turns and runs in the same direction as the mice, away from the weasel, and away from the snake. Tears are streaming down his eyes as he flees. THe snake behind him cackles in grim delight, "Yess run run run, you can't esscape Tulip, cause I'm going to rip your bloody little head off!" She slithers forward, if only she had not eaten that late lunch last week she would have already caught up with them. Mice are always tasty, but these are covered in armor. How is she supposed to digest that? The weasel looks plump and tender but, for right now she is focused on the fox who managed to harm her beautifull scales. "I'll rip all your headsssSSss off! Come back here!"

John_Wesley laughs twistedly as the snake chases the fox, certain that for once Fate has repaid him by doling out adequate justice to his oppressors. Satisfied, he heads back towards their camp.

Brothers John and Michael keep running. "Michael; why did you forget the climbing rope back at the Abbey? Why?!" The Mouse replies with an equally terse reply as they make a big zigzag through the trees towards some sort of safty and hopefully losing Vannon in the process. "Because you said we wouldn't NEED it this trip. Mayhaps you forgot that we aren't exactly squirrels."

"Why does the world hate me so? WHY! WhyyyYyyYYyYYyYyY!" The fox continues running even after the mice depart from the path. The snake continues following the fox, slithering past them all and onward until both are out of sight, dissapearing around the bend. The snake cursing out the fox, and the fox shouting for help.

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Groups:

• Reavers