Through the Fire and Flames

Through the Fire and Flames

~*~A Tale of the [[Long_Patrol%25E2%2580%259D|Long Patrol]]~*~

Starring:

- Collin, a Long Patrol fighter

- Torsten, a Long Patrol recruit

- Sidney, a Long Patrol Lieutenant

- Ava, a Long Patrol healer

- Dagda, a Long Patrol healer

Logger's Note: This story is a part of a continuing plotline. For the previous installment, click here. For the first, click here.

Collinsel Port

How many ships are they up to, now? Three, right? Two are anchored further out at sea, for stealth's sake, while the one is now docked at the Collinsel port. Collin has, not surprisingly, adapted fairly well to ship life, and is a fair hand at assisting now. He hops onto the dock to secure the dockline over a piling, tying a serviceable knot. He scans the port, of course looking for their first objective, before glancing back to the others on deck.

"Hah! Collinsel." Torsten has hopped off the boat as a sort of understudy to Collin, and laughs as something seems to occur to him all at once. "It's like your name, wot." The recruit grins at Collin, not so much watching the knot because /gosh/ how many times are they gonna ask him if he knows how to tie knots, he knows! He knows how to tie knots!

As Collin - and presumably, some of the others - has gotten more comfortable with the ship(s), Sid has gotten more comfortable letting them... touch things. As they dock, he secures the tiller, gives an approving nod to whoever's tying the mast, then steps up to the rail alongside the dock itself. "Alright, no pub-hanging this time. We're real close, so..." Whatever he might have said next is interrupted by Torsten's joke, which startles a low laugh out of the Lieutenant/Admiral.

Ha! Haha. Collin's long reach reaches, and Torsten is hooked around the neck and tugged in, as he is subjected to a rough head noogie of sorts, and then an ear flick. It is possible he has assumed Little Brother Status. He leans down, smirking at the younger buck. "Didn't I tell you I own a whole kingdom?"

Torsten cringes, winces, bats at Collin's ribs with an elbow. "Hey- rrf." The recruit pulls away from the rough treatment, laughing. "You neglected to fill me in on that recon, Col," he jokes back before turning to face Sid, taking a long breath to stifle further laughter as he awaits orders.

"... /anyway/," Sid mutters, and clears his throat, glancing amongst the other hares. For now about half of the party have remained at the other ships, until they get a feel for the place. "No pub, no boozing it up, no 'hanging out' for the evening. If our information is correct - and it damn well better be - the Walrus is here, somewhere." His gaze turns out toward the port, taking in the array of other vessels. "Find it. Find wherever slaves are kept. Find whoever and whatever is involved. Don't /do/ anything, until we have all the intel, and then we'll go from there."

Clearly Sidney does not appreciate Collin's rough-housing. But that's okay! He flashes the older buck a grin and then loses it, because he's listening. Straightening to his full height, his eyes scan over the heads of the creatures present on the dock. "Yessah," he assures the lieutenant, and then taps Torsten on the shoulder. He calls Tory! He's a commodity, apparently. "I'll take the kid 'round with me. He's got a good eye. We'll report back."

Torsten's attention raises as he's tapped, and he grins at the fighter before turning towards Sidney. He doesn't say anything, just gives a nod of understanding and holding his position, at ease but hardly casual.

Once Sidney has dismissed them, Collin grips the shoulder of Tory's shirt and gives a tug before releasing, smirking sideways at the younger buck before falling into an easy stride as he walks the dock, his ears perked forward. "Ya know, this is the first time I've evah traveled from home," he notes with a shake of his head. "Andrii'll be jealous," he snorts.

"Yeah? Me too, wot. I don't even know how far away we are." Torsten stays on pace with Collin if not in stride due to their difference in size. "I think there's a lotta hares back home that'll be jealous. I'm even gonna have a scar, and everything."

Aw, look-it him all excited about a scar. Collin glances over, his eyes shifting briefly to the back of Tory's neck with a grin. "Just hope you don't end up with any more 'fore we're done." Except he probably will. He slows as they reach some of the larger ships along this dock, giving a visual scan of the decks and occupants. No Wayward Walrus, but certainly enough sketchy characters. "Stick close, 'ey?"

"Just hope none of these blightahs come up behind me again," Torsten responds, seeming pretty confident! The recruit scans along the docks, looking for any semblance of a slaver ship by the name of Walrus. He raises his brows as Collin addresses him, and takes a few half-paces closer to the fighter. "Right," he responds, keeping a wary eye out for any ill-meaning slaver types.

There are actually four docks at the Collinsel port, though they are walking out on the largest and most crowded of the four. Collin's eyes turn over the water, peering towards the near-distant docks before his attention shifts back to the ships closer at hand. He doesn't see anything Walrusy, but he /does/ see a ship that looks rather similar to the one they commandeered. The same shipwright, perhaps? He eyes it curiously, observing the apparently crewless deck as he indicates it with a nod of his head. "'Cha think?"

A shrug is all Torsten can muster in response, eyeing the ship as well as he can from this distance. "Might be," he states after a long look at it. "Think we can get what the name is from one of these folks?" the recruit asks, his eyes slipping away from the ship to the beasts milling about on the docks nearby.

Collin seems to take a moment to consider the risk/reward ratio on such a plan, but in the end he shrugs and nods. "Sure, um." He eyeballs the other buck, stepping back a step. "You look less... suspicious. Might be best for you t'give it a go, ya think? I'll back ya up."

"Yeah," Torsten starts, balking at the suggestion. "...Yeah," he repeats, a little more confidently. "Keep... an eye out, wot." He rubs his paws together and approaches a loitering weasel who doesn't seem to be engaged in active conversation. "Ah, excuse me, sah. Would you happen tah know the name of this ship, here?" He tilts his head up to face the tall, lanky vermin, smiling a friendly, naive little smile.

Well, that's a very direct approach. Collin's eyebrows shoot up as he hangs out nearby, absently scratching at his back so that his paw is in easy reach of an axe should the need arise. The weasel in question glances 'round at Tory, and then down, his eyes narrowing on the young buck before his eyes shift to the boat in question. Which only darkens his countenance. That a look of recognition, there? He reaches out, and shoves his palm, flat, against Tory's shoulder, to back him off. "Ain't none'a yer business, whelp."

Torsten's at least got the presence of mind to backpedal, though he flinches away from the shove before it actually happens, stumbling away on the dock and teetering back before he balances. "Aaactually," the hare states, resisting a look back to Collin. "You're right, it's not. My pater's sent me down here to do a roll call of all the ships in the dock, wot. So it's his business."

Just as it's taking Torsten a lot of effort to resist looking back at him, it's taking quite a lot for Collin not to lodge a new divider in the weasel's face. But he manages, while the weasel gives Torsten a grimacing look-over. "Well, aincha just a good little son, then?" His eyes cut to the ship in question, again, with a frown. "Thought we'd taken /care/'a that. With the payment?"

"Right," Torsten responds, trying to think quickly. "With the payment. But he has tah send me down here tah make sure -- there're a lotta boats, ships, y'know -- that every one that's docked has paid." He smiles brightly, trying not to show how pleased he is with himself for that explanation.

"We was left t'understand our privacy'd be /respected/, like," the weasel complains. But with one final glance at the ship, and then the kid, he grimaces. "S'the Wayward Walrus. Docked 'ere for the winter. An' don't you go spreadin' it around, whelp, or we'll be feedin' ya your arse." With one final, displeased look, he shakes his head. "I'm off t'the pubs. This is bollocks." He then bumps past the buck, heading towards the city.

Torsten's eyes widen, but he checks himself. "...Right," he nods, as if keeping that name in his head. "Right, got it. Don't worry, sah, your privacy's safe with me." And. He almost gets bowled over, leaving him checking his balance again... And after the weasel's gone, he turns to Collin and... Walks briskly to his side. "That's the bally ship," he whispers, head tilting toward the Walrus.

Collin's focus isn't so much on the ship, though. He's giving the back of that weasel's head a dark look, and the only thing that keeps him from visiting him in a darkened alley is possibly what Torsten announces. He glances down at the kid, furrows his brow. "No kiddin'?"

"That's what he said, wot. Wasn't happy about tellin' me," the recruit whispers, giving another glance to the ship. "Wayward Walrus, right? He told me it was the Wayward Walrus." Torsten can hardly believe it himself. That was easy! That was way too easy. "...That was way too easy," he thinks aloud.

It was. It /was/ way too easy. Collin's eyes narrow on the ship in question. He considers Sidney's instructions. 'Don't do anything' sounds suspiciously similar to 'investigate the ship when you find it', doesn't it? It's uncanny, really. "Let's go check it out," he mutters, with a little nudge of Tory towards said ship.

"Right," Torsten responds, though he... Is hesitant, here. "Didn't Admiral Sid say we shouldn't actually do anything?" he asks, pretty sure that's exactly what he said, but walking alongside his adoptive big brother for this excurison anyway.

"Way I see it, that weasel could'a been playin' us. Can't just go back t'Sid without vettin' the information first, righ'?" Collin reasons with a shake of his head. "Hardly responsible-like." Pause. "'Sides, we're not /doin'/ anything. We're just gonna look." He approaches the edge of the dock casually, glancing around to be sure no one's paying attention, before he grabs a line and hops across to the deck of the ship.

Torsten nods. That is... Sound reasoning, actually. Tory follows suit behind Collin, and lands on the deck with a pair of thuds for each of his boots hitting the boards beneath. "Alright, so..." The recruit's ducking a little as he speaks. "Now what?"

"Now... we look," Collin points out with a quiet laugh. He lances back at Tory with a grin and gestures him forward, leading the way across the deck with as silent of steps as he can manage. He knows from their short stay on these boats that the sounds from above deck echo very easily below. He approaches the hatch leading below and with a final glance around, eases it open a crack, squinting down. It's dark. Of /course/. "Ya see a lantern 'round, Tor?"

Torsten's trying to be just as quiet as Collin, keeping on the toes of his boots. He looks around, squinting into the darkness and heading over to a crate that's on the surface of the deck, picking up an iron lantern. He inspects it, reaching into his pockets and shaking his head as he carries it over the fighter's way. "Can you light it?"

Collin's brow furrows and he begins patting at his jacket pockets, first on one side and then on the other before finally palpating something that is vaguely matchbox-like. He digs into the pocket and digs out the small box with a grin for Tory, and slides it open. There's all of two left in it, and he withdraws one and strikes it, cupping a paw 'round the flame 'til he's close enough to open the lantern and get it lit. "Good'un. You keep 'hold of it," he instructs. Turning back to the hatch again, he tugs it open once more and, waiting for the light to be cast, heads down the steep steps below. The main hold below appears empty, though there are some rooms off to the side that are shut. Collin hears nothing, though, his ears twitching.

Torsten watches the lantern get lit, and closes the lantern shortly after. "Right," he confirms, of his role holding the lantern, holding it forward to allow Collin to descend the dimly lit steps until they're both down at the bottom. Tory's ears, too, are perked up and alert, though things are generally silent. The lantern switches paws, and he puts a paw on the hilt of his cutlass. Slaver ships give him the heebie jeebies.

As they should. They're full of both heebies /and/ jeebies. After another moment of silent investigation, he breathes out a quiet sigh of frustration and shakes his head. "Bloody think it's empty," he mutters to Tory, and then proceeds to the next hatch, which will lead to the cargo hold below. He tugs it open, waiting again for the lantern to come and shed light before proceeding downward.

"Or they're sleepin'," Torsten whispers back, but that won't really stop them, will it? The recruit follows along dutifully with the other hare, lowering the light into the hatch to at least shed light on where they will be descending while Collin makes his way down, the recruit following shortly after.

The cargo hold is much like the other. Two rows of cages on either side, with naught in them but a basic metal tin and scrummy old blankets balled up in the corners. There's an odor to the place, too, and it wrinkles Collin's nose. Even still, while that halo of light falls to just the area around the steps, he's hopeful that they'll find them here, but as the light casts wider that hope is dashed as the cages prove empty. Collin strides forward to the bars of the nearest and smacks his palm against it, with a frustrated noise.

Torsten's climbing down shortly after, and as lantern light floods the hold, he, too sees the cages are empty. His shoulders drop, and he frowns. "What does this mean?" The recruit looks around at the cages. "...This might not be the Wayward Walrus, right? That weasel was probably lyin, wot." He sounds hopeful and hopeless at the same time. And then Colling bangs his paw against the metal, letting it ring out, which silences the younger buck instantly. "...We should get off this ship before anybeast comes back."

Argh. Collin leans forward briefly against the metal bars, fingers curling 'round, but only allows himself a second before he straightens and turns back to Torsten. He folds his arms over his chest. "Means they're not here. Means they could be in the city, or... sold who knows where." Or dead, but he keeps that one to himself. The suggestion to leave earns Tory a glance. He's loath to do so, his eyes casting about in the lantern-lit cargo hold. "All right," he allows, grudgingly.

"So maybe we should set the boat on fire so they have nothing to come back to and float away on." Comes Ava's voice as she steps out of the shadows as she has been creeping along to track them. She has her hand on her short sword, pulled and ready. "You check below yet to see if they have any more slaves?" She continues to glance over her shoulder from the way she came, ears perked and listening carefully.

"...But we don't know for sure that this is the right ship, right?" Torsten doesn't seem to like the implication of all of these empty cages. He jumps, startled by the sound of Ava climbing down and speaking. When he sees that it's Ava, he settles down, audibly swallowing. "No, we haven't," he reports. "We were just about tah leave."

When Ava appears, Collin grunts quietly, and gestures around. "Empty. Empty 'n' empty," he near-growls. "We ought t'report back. Let Sid kn-" Thump, thump, thump, thump. Collin's eyes turn upward at the sound, just a bit above their heads.

"What you two dolts should /not/ be doing is being on this boat without telling anyone, or at least having a plan. You are lucky I don't drag you both out by the ears and -- " Ava gives a pause as she glances upwards to the sound of thumping, then directs the pair with a withering glare.

Torsten's eyes go up when he hears the sound from up above, and he takes a deep breath, holding it. He looks at his lantern, then at Collin, then at Ava, then up at the ceiling, then at Collin again, his eyes wide and shoulders raising in a tense shrug, mouthing 'What do I do?'

Cutting his voice low, Collin returns Ava's glare in equal measure. "No one followed us. Did they follow /you/?" he hisses, low. But then he rolls his eyes towards that ceiling again. Pissing matches can happen later. He considers the question, quietly, and then turns an arched brow on Ava. She is their superior, after all. 'Your call', his expression says.

"I was not followed. They would not be so calm up there if I was." Ava says as she gives her short blade a twirl at the wrist, then motions towards the ladder. "They have to come down one at a time, so they will be at a disadvantage and a bottle neck." She says in soft whispers. "Tort, stand behind the ladder, I'll be out in front and make some noise. When the first comes down, grab them by the ankles from behind, cause them to fall down. Collin, you take them out. If a second comes down, we take them on the stairs. Opening is too small for multiples to fit." She says, motioning with her paw here and there along the floor.

Tort? No, he's not gonna go on this wild ride of a trip and come out the other end with a nickname like 'Tort.' Still... Torsten follows orders and gets behind the ladder, getting his cutlass out of its scabbard and looking up, waiting for the assumed vermin to start their descent.

Ah, well. Collin's good with all that. Collin steps out a short distance from the ladder, in clear view to anyone coming below. Because, well, why not? He grabs one of his axes and nods his understanding to Ava, and then waits. The thump-thumps are moving this way and that on the deck above, but seem to be moving closer to the ladder access. There's a voice above, and then an answering one. More than one of them up there.

Taking in a slow breath, Ava comes around to the other side of the ladder across from Collin. She gives a quick nod of her head to the recruit, then calls upwards. "EY! LOOKS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES A STOWAWAY DOWN ERE'!" She hollers upwards in a gruff voice. She gives a loud 'thump thump' on the floor with her foot.

Torsten nods to Ava, tensed, poised, ready to act. His eyes are upward, just waiting for that first descending vermin. He's got those butterflies again.

And speaking of vermin, here they come! There's a rather lot of ruckus up there following Ava's shout, and then some more thumps coming to the ladder, and then rather large booted feet descending the ladder. "What the 'ell d'you mean, a stowaway?" comes a voice.

"Some snot nosed brat! Was hiding unda a tarp ah' say! Should fetch a pretty coin!" Ava calls up as she takes a step back, giving a Collin a nod of her head as she thumps her foot again on the ground loudly.

Okay, this is the moment! Torsten waits until the first set of boots comes down about eye level, then reaches out with the arm that isn't holding a cutlass and yanks on the boots, looking to send that vermin tumbling right down the ladder.

Predictably, that is what said vermin does! The boot is yanked backward and the rather sizeable stoat pitches forward, dropping like a stone, planting face first to the dirty floor of the cargo hold, with no time to get a paw under himself to stop the smash of his face into ground. Collin grimaces in sympathy and the steps forward, raising his axe. But he hesitates, glancing from the hob to the access leading above, as surprised sounds issue from above. "We ought t'capture 'em, not /kill 'em/," he hisses at Ava as the idea strikes him. He flips the axe to the blunt side while the ferret, dazed, struggles to his paws and knees. Just waiting for her okay.

Giving a sharp nod of her head to Collin, Ava motions to him quickly. "Knock him out fast then." She says as she jerks her head upwards to the ladder in case another descends. She nods to the recruit. Stay there. Repeat the motion.

That went well! Tory thinks this plan is working well enough, so he waits until the next vermin comes down -- a rat -- and he reaches out and trips him, too, grabbing his boot right as it was about to lift and causing him to hang from the ladder, grabbing on and dangling by his arms.

With a satisfied nod, and just as the large ferret - I mean, we're talking Collin, almost Alpie large - starts to gain back his senses, Collin knocks the ferret upside the back of his head with the flat of his axe. Lights out, at least for now. The buck's eyes turn upward to the now-dangling rat, and he clears the distance to the ladder, grabbing him 'round the ankles to yank him down.

As the rat gets manhandled by the large buck, Ava snags some rope on the ground and pushes the ferret to his stomach, then starts to tie his wrists together, then ties the other end to his ankles. Her paws make quick work as she continues to eye the opening between yanks and ties. Flashing a grin to the youngest buck, she gives him a thumb's up.

Torsten looks over at Ava with a grin, coming out from behind the ladder. He helped! Woops, there's three of them. There's a weasel, just as big as the ferret from before, storming down the ladder. Tory panics and reaches out with his cutlass, sticking it right at the weasel's chest. "No!" is the first thing that comes to mind for him to shout. Give him a few seasons, he'll get wittier.

The rat strikes his chin on the yank down from the ladder, and drops to the ground in a heap of bloody face. Collin drops, putting a knee into the back of his while he pulls his arm up behind his back. Despite spitting and growling and squirming, there's not much fight he can put up. Collin's eyes shift upward to the descending weasel, and his ears flatten back as Tory faces off with him. David and Goliath much?

Ava rises up and holds her sword out, making her way to Tory's side as she gives the weasel a glare. "Step down, slowly, do not make a sound or we'll cut your throat. Get on your belly and spread your arms out at your side." She says in a soft whisper.

The weasel is not excited at all. He does as Ava asks, at least as far as stepping down slowly and not making a sound. Getting down on his belly he starts to do, but as he leans over, he decides that he's going to instead lunge at Ava with an outstretched dagger, looking to take her down and get a good stab or two in before his inevitable death.

Torsten jumps back when the weasel lunges, swiping down with his cutlass and getting nothing but air and a bit of his shirt as the surprise attack at least gets the best of him.

Holding her sword out as she watches them, Ava steps along with him. She starts to drop her shoulders a bit as he moves for the floor. As he swings out at her, she jerks herself back, but not quickly enough as the dagger tears through her trousers and slices along her leg. Sucking in the pained noise into her throat, she stomps down onto his wrist with her good boot to try and disarm him, followed by a lunging knee towards his jaw with the other leg.

Meanwhile, Collin watches all of this with a grimace. He's still holding the rat down, who he's loath to knock out as he'll be the easiest to walk out of here. So for the moment he waits, and watches.

"Ava, look out--" Torsten shouts, after the doe gets stabbed. He's still got his cutlass out, ready to strike, but Ava's able to disarm the weasel and, as evident from the snap when the knee connects, break his jaw as well. The weasel cries out in muffled pain, grabbing for that knee and trying to upend the doe and use his size to drop her on her back and pin her. Torsten, meanwhile, can't get a good strike in for fear of hitting Ava instead.

Outside, a small skiff eases gently up against the vermin ship. "Pahtrol protocol is t' 'come in case'a trouble /if convenient,/’" Dagda hisses to his father as he latches onto the side of the ship, pulling himself upwards toward the railing. "That means y' should stay in th' boat." It seems the pair have done their own espionage that landed them at the same place and time as the others. The buck wrangles his body up onto the deck, moving towards the sounds of a struggle nearby, one long dagger held reverse in his paw. "Jus' once I'd like t' visit a place without killin' any'a th' locals," he breathes, stopping behind a pair of barrels to watch, waiting to see if more vermin will attempt to make their way down the hatch or if his friends have things under control.

Blood trickles out of the cuff of Ava's leg as she moves about in a boxer’s stance, despite holding her short sword in one hand. The sound of a broken jaw is music to her ears, though she does not have much time to celebrate it seems. As he snags her by the knee and topples her back, she hits the ground, then rocks herself backwards as her legs wrap about his waist and cross at the ankles to lock him in place, followed by a two fisted overhead smash of the handle of her sword towards his forehead.

Torsten watches, cutlass raised, waiting for a good time to strike as the weasel takes that blow right on the head, stunning him, the vermin falling forward with his full dead weight on top of Ava before he seems to clear the butterflies and push himself up, using a conveniently located paw placed right on Ava's throat as he does so.

Muttering out an expletive as he lands upon her, Ava struggles to shove him off with her free paw, that is until he rises up and grabs her by the throat. A gagging noise comes out of her throat as her legs drop down, then pushes upwards with her knees into his gut. With the paw clutching the sword, she swings it once more, this time with the blade looking to drive it straight into his side once her strong legs shift him forward.

The weasel doesn't take swords to the side very well, and rolls off of Ava with a pained gurgle, clutching his side and rocking there, bleeding quite a large amount on the cargo hold floor.

Torsten stands between the weasel and Ava now, holding his cutlass out once again. Now that the weasel is disarmed, there won't be any more funny business. "Don't move!" Oh, he'll be doing a whole lot of not moving once he bleeds out.

"All right, Ava?" Collin calls to the doe, as he strong-arms the rat forward towards the other pair. He shoves him against the front of the cage with a paw, while extending his paw down to her.

Ava reaches up and snags his paw, hefting herself up to her feet. Yanking off her sleeve, she ties it around her wound with a scowl on her face. "M'fine." Sheathing her sword, she kicks the weasel's dagger to the side, then heads over to him as she slips her medical bag off her hip, then lets out a hiss. "I'm going to save your life, because we need you alive to give us information. I'm also a nice guy, so stay still, and do not attack me or the guy with the really large axe will cut your fool's head off. All you had to do was lay down." She grunts at him as she eyes his wound.

The weasel doesn't seem to interested in speaking right now. Torsten just gets out of the others' way, putting away his cutlass without having used it. "...We should /really/ get off this boat," he reiterates his concern from moments ago. "Admiral Sid isn't exactly gonna be chuffed with us."

"I wouldn't've," Collin informs Ava with a brief smirk and a shake of his head. He tugs the rat back from the bars of the cage and then knocks him forward again, smashing his muzzle again. Just for funsies. "Kid's right," Collin agrees. "C'mon, Ava. Let's leave these two. We've got this idiot rat." Who is face-bleeding.

"Hey, you said don't kill 'em." Ava says with a smirk to Collin as she slaps a few bandages on the weasel after applying some glue to the wound to help seal it shut. Maybe one of his friends can get him to a doctor for porper sutures. Marching him into one of the caves, she locks him in with the tied weasel, then heads for the ladder. "Tory, take the rear, I'll go up first. Collin, you're in the midle. That way we keep the prisoner moving." Starting up it, she peeks her head out slightly to do a 360' before motioning the others up and out if the coast is clear.

The coast is indeed clear, with Dagda keeping watch, and the hares make good their escape.

Time Passes

It's late evening, and after discreetly gathering some information on his own around the docks, as well as a map, Sid occupies the small cabin of his sloop. He has the map unfurled across the table, pinned open at one end with an empty bottle and at the other with his dagger, while the buck carefully examines the details, compares them to mental notes, and marks a few areas in red ink. Though he could've passed out a good hour or two ago, he's remained awake and focused, waiting for his hares to return with their own intel.

Which they should've done, most likely, quite some time ago. But there was the matter of... things. Happening. There's a quiet knock at the door, and then the knob is turned and the hatch opens outward as Collin descends into the small cabin. Aside from perhaps being a bit rumpled, he looks no worse for wear. He stops when he reaches the bottom of the ladder, and snaps a bit of a salute. That's unusual. "Sah," he greets.

"Ah, good." Sid's tone is low, a little scratchy from fatigue, and his ears angle forward toward Collin. His head remains ducked for a moment longer, as he finishes carefully outlining another section on the map. A glance upward catches implication of the salute, as Collin's hand drops again, and he cracks a smile, then adds a few scribbled words. "Got a bit lost, did you? Go on, then."

"No, sah. Not lost." Collin watches as the buck works, his ears dipping back a fraction at that little crack of a smile. "No, sah. We, ah. We found the ship, sah."

There goes that little smile. The salute didn't set off a red flag, not that Sidney really seemed to notice it anyway, but then there's the 'sah'. Twice. From /Collin/. His eyes narrow fractionally, and they look quite dark in the lantern-lit enclosure, pupils and irises seeming to merge. "Excellent." He straightens, reaching to set the pen back into the little jar of ink. "Location? Crew aboard?"

Well, he /does/ sah, but admittedly it's gone a bit to the wayside this trip with the close quarters. "The biggest dock, docked sixth boat in on the righ'. Tory discovahed it was the ship, sah. He's... a good kid." He shifts slightly, glancing briefly around the now-familiar cabin. "Ship was empty."

With an approving nod, Sid drops his eyes to the map, and takes up the pen again. He leans forward, turning the map slightly, and takes a moment to locate the indicated dock - then approximates the location, and makes a deliberate mark there. The initials 'WW' are printed alongside, and circled for emphasis. "Appeared," he corrects the other buck, absently, his attention more on the map than Collin - like already he's working out the options in his head. "Appeared empty. We'll have to confirm whether anyone is in the cargo hold, though if you didn't see any guards, the captives have likely been moved to one of these holding facilities..."

"Was. /Was/ empty, sah. We boarded. /I/... boarded. Tory only followed. The ship was dead, sah, 'n' empty. No crew, no slaves. Nothin'." His ears flatten back a fraction more. "Ava saw us board, 'n' followed on t'call us off, 'n' three vermin came aboard while we were below. Two're dead. One captive, sah." He straightens imperceptibly. "Minah injury to Ava's leg."

As he considers the map, Sid raises the pen so the scruffy end of the quill-feather brushes his lips, brow knit with thought. Then, as Collin speaks, his ears slowly fall backward, and his gaze sweeps up to rest steadily on the other buck. "... explain yourself, private."

"Sah, I saw an opportunity with no crew t'rescue them. I thought... if we reported back, 'n' the ship was gone by the time we returned..." But they weren't even there. The frustration he felt in that moment shows briefly in his face before Collin straightens to his full height, then, and stares straight ahead with a set jaw. "Went against your ordahs, sah. I take full responsibility."

With his lips in a straight line, eyes unmoving from Collin's face, Sid only moves to slowly set the pen back in the jar. Then, both hands brace against the edge of the table, and he leans into it a little, his expression quickly darkening. Like gathering clouds, heralding a storm. "Do you.. understand. What 'wintering' means. In this context?"

Collin's eyes snap briefly to Sidney's face at the question, but from the blank look it's clear he does not. He waits several seconds before admitting it, with a stiff shake of his head.

Those hands braced against the edge of table tighten. His knuckles pale, fingertips trying their best to puncture through the wood. "'Wintering'. Like birds, private. A ship spends the /winter/ at a port. In other words: it. does. not. /leave/."

Collin's muzzle screws up slightly. "... We're not 'wintering'. We're leaving. It's not yet even wintah for a fortnight." He says it not in a challenging way, necessarily. His muzzle shakes once, back and forth. "... M'sorry, sah. I used m'best judgment. Tyree's... he's a good Majah, 'n' the lass, she's just... a little thing." His ears slick back. "I wanted them t'be there, Sid."

"/They/ are wintering." Sid's voice finally loses its even keel, though it doesn't raise in volume. Yet. "That ship, the /slaver/ ship, is not leaving this port. For /months/. That's an established fact. That's why we're here. Which invalidates your excuse, your /best judgment/." He straightens, and though he's a few inches shorter than Collin, there's a clear air of looking down upon the other buck. "If you'd used any kind of judgment at all, you would've followed my damn /orders/, instead of trying to play hero. Or do you actually not have any sort of inkling as to why I specifically said: 'don't /do/ anything'?"

Usually Collin's first choice is to go on the offensive, to fight, but perhaps the buck's finally starting to learn the way of the things in the Patrol, because instead, his eye dropping from Sidney's face, he remains mostly silently, only answering the buck's question with a brief shake of his head and an, "I did, sah."

"Then by all means, private," Sid replies, his throat tight around the words. Trying very hard to keep them level, but with mounting ire and frustration blatant in his posture, his tone, his scowling expression. "Go ahead. Elaborate. Explain why I commanded the /exact opposite/ of what you chose to do."

After a moment, his eyes downcast, Collin answers woodenly. "S'not my place. My place is t'follow ordahs, sah, not t'undahstand them."

A sudden growl escapes Sid's muzzle, lips twisting, and he brings a tightly curled fist down on the table. Not overly hard, but with enough force to punctuate his anger with a /whump/ as it strikes the wooden surface. "You are not /stupid/. You wouldn't have stepped foot on my ship in the first place if you were. So tell. me. /why/."

"I didn't know they were winterin'. No one /told/ me," Collin finally reacts with something bordering on frustration, definitely more than the placid obedience he has been displaying. "The reason I'm here, sah, is because I'm good at killin'. That's why, that's /it/. M'not evah going t'be an officah. You don't need me t'undahstand. If you did, someone woulda bothahed t'tell me the ship wasn't goin' anywhere. But they didn't. You just need me t'follow, 'n' kill what needs killin', 'n' do as I'm told. Which I should've done. And which I /will/ do, sah."

Sidney draws a slow breath, for all the good it does. He doesn't look calm, and his voice is only barely kept within a vice-like control. "You have every damn potential to be an officer." Maybe that's part of why the Lieutenant/Admiral is so livid, and why it seems to be focused on Collin. Maybe he's just the most convenient target. Or maybe he's earned it. "But not /today/, private. Today you deliberately undermined my authority, and you put this entire mission at jeopardy. And here's /why/, if you can get your stubborn head around it: slaving in a business. They don't do it for fun, they do it for profit. Their /product/ is /people/. Doesn't matter who it is. Doesn't matter that they snatched Patrol hares, or that they've got more Patrol coming after them. As soon as they catch the slightest whiff of trouble, they're going to move their /product/ as fast as they damn well can, to turn a profit before any vengeful kin or plain old vigilantes can interfere. Our best chance at finding our hares, at getting them back, was to bide our time. Collect intel. Pinpoint their location. And /then/ strike, with every advantage stacked in our favor. Now we'll be /lucky/, no, we'll be /miracle-wrought/, if we can figure out where they are before they've been sold and packed off to whoever might take them for a handful of /pocket change/."

It's the very first thing that Sidney says that sets Collin's jaw and raises the fur at the back of his neck, and earns a quiet shake of his head. But then he subsides, his eyes dropping to stare at some spot on the floorboards while he listens, his scut flickering and his ears practically plastered to his skull. "... M'sorry, sah," he finally responds, but then, his jaw working, he glances up. "... We do have a captive, sah. We can gathah intelligence from 'im, 'n' find out where they've taken 'em."

Sidney's jaw clenches, and he abruptly turns a half-step away. That rising torrent in his eyes fixes onto one of the small, circular windows. His hand curls into a fist, which he presses to the end of his muzzle. "And how, exactly, do you expect the captive you took.. today.. to be able to tell us where they're sold.. tomorrow?"

"Why d'we have t'wait? Why can't we go 'n' get them /t'night/?" Collin asks with a frustrated press of his muzzle. "They can tell us where they are /tonight/."

"And while you're taking the time to question your captive, do you expect the slavers will be sitting with their thumbs up their arses waiting for you to finish?" Sid nearly growls, swinging his head back around to look at Collin. "Or are you operating under some fantasy that it'll take more than /maybe/ a few hours for them to realize what's happened? We didn't need a /captive/, private. What we needed was time, and the element of surprise. And now we have neither."

"Slavahs don't /evah/ sit around 'n' twiddle their thumbs, 'n' they don't /evah/ sit on a slave. If they've been docked longah'n' a day or two, they're /gone anyway/," Collin retorts. "The trails /already cold/, sah, 'n' gettin' coldah." He reaches up, rubbing a paw over his face, and pinches the bridge of his snout. "... I already said m'sorry. I shouldna' disobeyed your ordahs. I /know/ that. But you c'n eithah use what we got now, when maybe it'll help, or don't 'n' continue beatin' on me." Pause. "I've got /no/ problem with pickin' it up latah."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you're an expert on the habits of sea-slavers. In fact, I was under the impression that you've hardly been on a ship at all. My mistake," Sid deadpans. His hand jerks in a gesture toward the direction of the mainland. "There are at least two warehouses here where slaves are kept, sorted, analyzed, priced, and /then/ auctioned off. When they /don't/ have rescuers hard on their arse - or aren't aware of it - the process can take several /weeks/, in order to milk as much profit as they can. Especially when the ships aren't able to just turn around and go back out again. While you've spent the evening doing whatever the hell you want to inflate your ego, I've been trying to determine the best method to get a look inside without calling attention to ourselves." He pauses, drawing a rough breath. "You want to question a pointless captive? Congratulations, there's your assignment. Meanwhile the rest of my Patrollers will be finding a way inside those slave buildings. Hopefully we can still locate our missing comrades despite the damage you've done."

"If that's the case, /here/, then my apologies but these slavahs are /stupid/. It makes no sense t'keep slaves for /weeks/, when you c'n sell them in their best condition 'n' pass the cost of feedin' 'em onto the buyah. I /do/ know sea slavahs, I /grew up/ in Halyard. My /mate/ was one of their slaves," Collin fires back at the officer. "And I killed her godsdamned ownah. May I be excused, sah? T'tend t'my assignment?"

"And I was /born a slave/," Sid snaps back. "Now I'm your commanding officer, and if you mouth off to me again, you'll be rowing your own damn boat back to Halyard. /Dismissed/, private."

Time Passes

With Collin left with the docked sloop to question the most recent captive, the others have accompanied Sidney to investigate the two buildings where slaves are known to be stored. The first was mostly empty, recently cleared out, and they've just arrived at the second, approaching through an alleyway to avoid the poker-playing guards tucked just within the front entrance. A few windows, several feet above head-height, seem like they might offer the best view. With a hare posted at either end of the alley to keep an eye out, Sidney then gestures Torsten toward a window, which has a few rickety old crates below it and a little to the side. "Need a leg up, or?"

"No thanks, I got it, sah," Torsten steps up to the crates, placing them in a three-box step ladder, and carefully stepping on one, then the next, reaching up to the sill to steady himself once he's partially up. He pulls himself up, his ears pinning back as he peeks through the window, narrowing his eyes to try and see what's going on inside?

As she tags along with the pair, Ava has equipped her medical bag and her short sword for the trip. As the little one goes for a window, she stands guard to watch their backs as her blade is pulled from her sheathe.

"Well?" Sid prompts Torsten, once the recruit is in position. "You're looking for huge cages - ought to be fairly full. If you can't see any, we might have to go around the other side of the building."

Torsten's face almost pushes up against the glass of the window, then he lowers his head, shaking it before hopping down from the crates with only a slight stumble afterward. "I see cages," he stage-whispers to Sid. "Couldn't quite see past some boxes stacked up, sah. Looks like they were tryin' to block the windahs."

Ava frowns as she listens to the news with perked ears. "Well, that's a shame. How many entrances are at this building? Could see about causing a distraction near one of them, and sneak in through the other if there is more than one. Get at least eyes on the place before they come back."

Sidney nods at Torsten's description, then shifts a look to Ava. "I think we've done plenty enough already to suggest that we're after them," he replies, keeping his voice low. "I'd rather not add to that if we can help it." He turns his muzzle up, to glance up along the height of the building. "We'll circle to the other side. There's a back way in, but it may be locked. If we can't get a full view between the two, someone's going in - but /discreetly/."

Torsten looks between Ava and Sidney as they speak, and he nods in understanding, waiting on his next orders. "Who'll take point circlin' around, sah?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet and casting alert, nearly paranoid, glances at his surroundings.

"I vote for Trosten. He's small and quick. Can be easily overlooked." Ava says with a dip of her head to the recruit. "He's proved his bravery a few times now. I think he has what it takes."

After a moment of consideration, Sid nods, and sets off at a brisk pace toward the back of the building. Reaching the corner, he gestures to the far side. "Torsten, you check the windows on the other side. Hurry back and let me know what you see. If you have a decent view - look for Corbeau. Flashy black and white markings, two-tone hair. If you can't see much over there either, we'll try the back entrance, even if that means breaking the lock."

Sorry, Sidney. You're going to have a mess to clean up back at the ship, and blood is the /worst/ to get out of hardwood. As the group stops at the corner, Collin is coming 'round the far side Sidney has just indicated for Torsten. The sleeves of his uniform are rolled up above the elbows, but that still didn't save the uniform jacket. He's pretty stained with the stuff. His axe, the blade also bloody, is tipped to his shoulder, and when he spots the grouping he doesn't even break stride, just continues forward like it's a stroll in the park. There's a dark look to his eyes as the large buck stops just short of them. "... Sah," he greets Sidney.

Torsten nods smartly and heads to the corner of the building, peeking around it, and quickly ducking back. Of course, he notes the long ears and the axes and the... Hugeness, and steps out around the corner. "...Col?" The recruit's brows raise, chin hanging down noticeably after he speaks the fighter's name.

Ava tilts her head at the sight of the hulking form of Collin heading over, covered in blood. ".. I see you took care of the rat." She says as she slips her sword back into her sheathe. "Feeling better, big guy?"

When he sees Collin headed their way, Sidney raises a hand to signal Torsten to pause. "Shh," he reminds the others, then steps forward to meet Collin with a cautious glance around the back-end area of the building. Turning a quick, assessing look to the tall buck to be sure none of the blood is his own, he nods. "Go on, private."

Torsten looks over his shoulder to Ava. Oh, the rat. He lets out a soft 'hff' and turns back forward, watching the exchange between Sidney and Collin, an eye going over the copious amounts of blood coating the fighter's entire front.

Collin's eyes shift to Tory at the greeting, but there's really no reassurance there. Sorry, kid. To Ava he only shakes his head as his eyes sweep the lot of them. "... Questioned the prisonah," he grunts. He reaches up, swiping the back of his paw across his chin, smearing a little blood there. "The Majah 'n' the lass, they tried t'escape. Few days back." His muzzle presses briefly together, and his eyes cast to the side, towards the wall of the nearby warehouse. "They were killed."

Ava wilts her ears back at the news, clenching her fists up tightly together. ".. He was lying then." She hisses out between her teeth. "Until we see their bodies, we're to assume they're still alive." Scrunching her nose up, she wipes at it with the back of her hand.

There's a little twitch in the muscle at the corner of Sidney's jaw, indicative of just how tightly it's clenched. "Quiet," he mutters to Ava, low and sharp, without looking away from Collin. "Tell me what he said. /Exactly/."

Torsten's lungs fill with a sharp breath at the news, and his shoulders slump noticeably until Ava speaks, and he gives Collin a slightly more resolute nod. At Sidney's repeated admonition, though, he stays quiet, listening on Collin's report.

"... Well, y'know, he /screamed/ a lot." Because Collin. The buck's laughter is short and quiet, and completely humorless. "Few days back. Tried t'escape 'ere from the warehouse. Didn't work, they tried t'recapture 'em, but they were killed in the fight. 'E told me where the bodies are. S'neah heah, back behind the warehouse district." His muzzle draws back in a little grimace. "I went 'n' scoped it out. I didn't get a close look, but. They're burned. S'not just the two, eithah. Lots of 'em. 'E said there was disease through the place last few weeks." His eyes shift over the three of them, and he tips his axe off his shoulder and points it towards the warehouse. "We need t'take care a'these arseholes, Lieutenant."

Flaring her nostrils at the story, Ava walks a few paces away from them to get her breathing under control as she clenches her fists together tightly to the point her knuckles bleed white beneath the soft alabaster fur.

"Was it /them/?" Sid demands, barely remembering to keep his voice in check. "Or just some.. some pair of slaves that escaped? He said it was /hares/? Adult male, young female?" His head jerks, turning in the direction Collin gestured. "Show me where."

Torsten's shoulders fall again, his ears wilting. That sounds... Fairly convincing. He watches Ava walk away for a moment, his own feet frozen on the ground, somewhere stuck behind too sad to move and simply waiting for an order to do so.

Collin nods to Sidney, his eyes following Ava as she walks away. "Hares," he confirmed. "'E wasn't lyin'. No one lies with /bad/ news at a time like tha'." He grits his teeth and nods, turning with a gesture for them to follow as he leads them through a series of alleys. It's late, and the streets are deserted. When they reach the back edge of the warehouse district, he leads them down a final alley that opens up into a back loading area, of sorts, and a pit to one side. Without approaching himself, he gestures with the head of his axe.

Sidney follows at a brisk, focused pace, and remains wordless for the duration of the short walk. With a cautious glance around the area, he approaches the edge of the shallow pit, squinting in the dark at the jumble of charred remains. Some are little more than ash-coated skeletons, while others haven't been fully burned, with sections of twisted, blackened flesh and scraps of fabric. The smell is absolutely noxious, and with a grimace he pulls up his shirt over his muzzle, then stoops to inspect a set of scorched corpses to one side. There's little to make out, but the size is consistent - a tall male hare and smaller female. Some bits of fur. His hand extends, to gingerly lift a palm-sized section of grayish-green fabric, which crumbles into brittle fibers upon contact. Half-intact, and discolored from the flames, he picks out what looks to be a fabric strap with a metal clasp at the end. Suspenders.

Torsten follows Sidney and Collin, leading Ava, as they arrive to the pit. He walks behind Sidney to the edge, casts a glance over the blackened and burned remains over so many beasts, and lifts up his arm, the front of his snout buried in the crook of his elbow. He takes a step back, and another, before falling down onto his scut, eyes wide as dinner plates as he stares -- not even /at/ the corpses anymore, but past them, far, far past them.

When Ava sees the pit, she turns her muzzle into the sleeve of her jacket and also steps to the edge. She doesn't have to get as close as Sidney, having seen enough while she waits for Sidney's verdict.

Collin has already seen enough of the pit, and so his eyes are not there. They're on the other hares, and specifically Tory when he falls. With a grimace, the bloodied buck walks up behind him and squats, swiping his paw off on his pants before resting it on his shoulder. "... 'Ey," he mutters. "C'mon away from there." And he grabs into his shirt and gives a gentle tug upward.

Sidney slowly straightens from his stooped position, the soot-smudged remnants of the suspenders dangling from his fingertips. His eyes burn from the fumes - a combination of recent fire, burned flesh, and rot. Still, he stares at the hare corpses, what little is left of them, for a good minute or two, making no movement but to slowly coil the suspenders within his hand. Gripping it tightly, he finally turns and walks away, letting his shirt drop from his face when he's put enough distance between himself and the pit. "... bury them. Someone," he grates out, then looks at Collin. His eyes are faraway, haunted. "Kill them. Free whatever slaves are still inside. Then torch it," he directs, voice cold and biting "/All of it/."

Torsten's arm comes down off of his face, and when it does, his muzzle is twisted, his lip curling upward in half of what would be a sneer, his brows forming high arches on his forehead over nearly unblinking eyes. He staggers to his feet, almost a struggle, and he takes another step back, his breath short and his jaw quivering. And his eyes locked on the pile of burned remains as if he's physically incapable of looking away. Somewhere in the corner of his consciousness Sidney is saying something, but it's not taking, whatever it is, until he is nearly finished. His eyes dart to the commanding officer, and he blinks a few times, eyes wet at the corner. "...Yes sah," his voice quakes.

From behind, now heedless of the blood, Collin hugs his arm around the front of Torsten's torso in a comforting squeeze. And then he twists him away, to put his back to the pit, and gives him a light shove to get him started back towards the warehouses. "Yessah," he echoes Torsten's response to Sidney.

Sidney gazes off toward the slave building for a moment longer, as the others quickly remove themselves from the vicinity of the burn-pit - with someone, warily, hanging back to conduct a burial for the remains of Tyree and Corbeau. Then he starts walking, his strides long and purposeful. "Back way," he says in a clipped tone to Collin, who seems to be the most composed, having already seen the bodies previously. They can see as they approach that it's kept shut with a large, iron lock, so Sid stands to the side, drawing his sabre while giving Collin room to do his thing.

Having been instructed to grab the last two remaining members of their party and bring them to the warehouse, Ava leads the pair of bucks with an intensity in her eyes. Her short sword is drawn and clutched in one one, while her bow and satchel are across her back. Outside of the quick instruction to 'gear up' and head to battle, she has not spoken much, almost as if afraid her own thoughts will betray her. As the trio draws near, she gives a motion of her free paw to try and catch the other's attention.

Shortly behind Ava comes Dagda, the other healer's ubiquitous satchel foregone in place of a few extra pouches on his belt. The buck's face is somber, which is essentially the norm for him, but even so there's a certain chill in his frosty gaze as he joins the others. His lips are clamped shut tight, and no witty rejoinders fly tonight. Instead, he simply falls to one side of the doorway, taking the cue from Sid.

With the lock taken care of, courtesy of Collin's axe, the three bucks have already entered while Ava went to fetch the others. At the center of the building, a half-dozen large cages hold slaves, maybe forty or so in total, divided according to whatever system the slavers use while awaiting buyers. The overnight watch has been left to four vermin, three of them at the front entrance playing cards, out of immediate view and earshot, while the last guard meanders between the cages, acting intimidating, prodding the slaves between the bars with a stick. Startled by the sound of the hares barging in, he has no chance to call out before he takes a forceful sabre-thrust through the back. Sid shoves the corpse off, then pauses there to take stock - first gesturing Collin toward the locked cages, then glancing to the back doorway as Ava and the others arrive. "Dagda, with me. Ava, help Collin. Get those slaves /out/ before the fire reaches the cages." Even as he speaks, voice firm and clipped, there's a /clang/ as Collin's axe takes care of the first lock.

Once she crosses the threshold of the doorway, Ava reaches behind her to snag her bow and satchel, dropping it to one side. Her face turns from stoic to murderous as she bares her teeth in hostility. It is only the orders from Sidney that prevents her from rushing in headstrong. With a jerk of her chin towards Collin, the pair starts along the catches, working the locks off and freeing their prisoners. One is handy with the axe, the other with a hairpin with practice.

Dagda falls in behind Sid, noting with a measure of satisfaction that their task seems to be focused more on the killing side than the freeing. The buck unsheathes one of his long fighting knives, nodding surreptitiously to the Lieutenant, his long ears bouncing with the movement.

Though they're at the far side of the building, the three remaining guards aren't oblivious once they hear the repeated, loud clanging of the locks being destroyed. As Sid strides toward them, his sabre dripping blood and Dagda a step behind, they scramble to their feet. Their movements are fumbled and awkward from inebriation as they reach for their weapons - two rats and a stoat, the former both with shortswords and the latter with a spiked club. A rat rushes at Sidney, clashing a shortsword against the buck's longer blade, bringing a snarl from the Lieutenant.

As she works off another lock, Ava pulls it free and moves on to the next. As the others engage in battle, she glances over at them as her hands work on the next lock, popping it free with a wiggle of her pin. "If you want to join them, I can take care of the prisoners." She says to Collin.

The throwing knife that jumps magically into Dagda's left paw from the brace on his hip flies at the stoat from four paces back, burying itself near the left armpit. Hm. Out of practice. The other fighting knife spins up to take its place in his now-empty grasp, the twin of his first, in time to catch a downward swing from a shortsword with the crossed pair and turn it aside. Before he can step into the opening to off the rat, the club-wielding stoat comes lumbering in with a bellow, flailing out at the buck. Dag's response is a quick hop backwards, ill-equipped to parry such a weapon.

All of this metal-on-metal is terrible for Collin's axe edge. The repeated force is a bit jarring on the bones, too. The bloody buck grimaces as he liberates yet another cage door, yanking it open and ushering the slaves out. "Out, get out!" he orders them. His ears twitch Ava's way and he shakes his head. "No. Let's get this /done/." There's a young rabbit lingering in one of the cages, too weak to walk herself, and Collin ducks in to scoop the kid up. Of course, with the buck all covered in blood, the poor kid starts screaming. But beggars can't be choosers. He nods to Ava as he passes, moving at double-time for the door.

With one leg braced behind him, Sidney shoves his weight forward, causing the rat he's engaged with to stagger a few steps back. He lunges after with a quick diagonal slash, which cuts deep across the rodent's side, making him yelp. Panicked, the rat dashes toward the front entrance, and in the time he spends grappling to open that door, Sid catches up and brings his sabre from above, piercing between his shoulder blades. Jerking the blade free, he turns toward Dagda and the two remaining guards, stepping in as the Sergeant dodges a blow from the spiked club. His attempt to catch it against his own blade when it comes back around falls a bit short, and two of those spikes graze long cuts along his forearm. With a hiss of pain, Sid twists away and backs up, trying to lure the injured stoat after him so Dagda can deal with the remaining rat one-on-one. "C'mon, you drunken pillock!"

Yanking open another door, Ava steps in and drags an old woman to her feet, giving her direction to follow after Collin. With every cage she opens, the more frustrated she becomes. She can't believe that there are beasts out there in this world, even vermin, who would do such unspeakable crimes. Another lock is wiggled free and she forces a smile on her face to the younger hares she finds who are clutching each other in terror. "You are safe now. Head for the door. If you are healthy enough, try and help the others."

There's just one of the half-dozen cages left, and when Collin returns he breaks the lock open with a particularly loud clang. He drops the head of the axe to the ground and shakes the cage door until the broken lock falls free, and then yanks it open, ushering them out while he waits, his eyes turned to the fighting.

The stoat seems reluctant to give Dagda up after that throwing knife, but drawing blood against Sidney might be enough incentive to follow the jibe. He leaves his compatriot to the healer. The buck seizes the opportunity to press the rat, raining a barrage of blows down with his long knives from a variety of directions. The strategy is mostly just to overwhelm his opponent, which seems to be going well until, in desperation, the guard lunges forward with a Hail Mary thrust at Dag's chest. A twist of the torso saves the buck's life, but not his shoulder, which is impaled on the short blade even as he tries to trap the rat's arm between his, an effort that turns into a pure tackle, bearing the rat to the ground.

Despite the injury already inflicted by Dagda, which leaks blood down his side from the armpit, the stoat's other, dominant arm is unaffected, and he goes after Sidney with a ferocious grin and a series of overhead blows from the club. Sid deflects them off his blade, grimacing at the power in each strike, which very quickly sends a deep ache all through his arm and compromises his grip on the sabre. He backpedals as he goes, leading the stoat toward a side wall, then ducks aside a step short of letting himself get pinned in against it. The next blow from the club comes down right into the wood of the wall, and the spikes embed there - just for a moment, but long enough for Sidney to snatch a burning torch from a wall sconce. The stoat yanks his club free, but is spooked by a sudden jab of flames into his face, scrambling away with scorched whiskers and then facing off with the buck again. By now Sid wears a distinctly mean and utterly mirthless little grin.

Moving past two empty cages, Ava finds the third and cracks the lock with a few flicks of her pin. The poor thing is getting bent all to hell. Once she reaches in and drags out the next prisoner, shouting to him to hightail out of there. She gives Collin a quick look, then back to the battle as they head to work on the last two. "C'mon... c'mon..." Snap! ".. Ah.. dammit." She stares down at her pin, then lobs it to the side as she pulls her sword and starts to hack at the metal.

His work with the locks done, Collin now spends his time urging the remaining slaves out, ushering where needed and carrying where that is. A squirrel slung over his shoulder and an otter dragged by the arm, he disappears back out of doors once more.

On the ground, the sword pulls free of Dag's shoulder with a slick sucking sound and a hiss from the buck, and the two grapple on the lawn. The buck's face is furrowed into a deep frown, while the rat gasps irregularly, his arm flailing in Dagda's grasp, trying to get the sword into a working position. "That. Wasn't. /Them!/" The words push unexpectedly from Dagda's throat, spitting the syllables into the guard's face, punctuating the last with a push of one of throwing knives, worked free during the struggle, under the rat's chin. Victorious, he lays in a heap for a moment. "It can't be. It can't be." Soft mutters.

As Dagda brings down the rat, Sidney uses a double attack with the sabre and torch, driving the stoat back until he knocks into a stack of crates. In the moment that he trips and fumbles, the buck ends him with a forceful stab through the stomach, then wrenches his sword out sideways, spilling blood and guts. Taking a step backward, he turns to survey the rest of the guards, and finds none left to go after. "You good?" he directs to the healer-buck, with a twitch of his mouth as he picks up just what those muttered words are. It's followed by a glance toward the back of the building, where he can partially see the empty cages and some stragglers still making their way out. "Torches!" he barks back toward Collin and Ava, then dips his own against the still-oozing carcass of the stoat, letting the slaver's scrappy attire catch fire.

Once the last prisoner escapes through the door, Ava heads for a torch along the wall and pulls it free. She starts at the far end of the building first, setting pieces of tarp on fire and tucking them against the wooden walls to spread faster. Once she is sure one of the walls is going up, she heads opposite to the other to continue with her lighting ceremony.

"Yeh. Yeh, I'm good," Dagda calls, having got himself up into a kneeling position, fingering at his shoulder where blood is oozing freely down both sides of his arms. The operative word is 'oozing;' no blood vessels have been severed. The buck dips his head and blows hard through his nose, then sucks up whatever snot failed to come free. Emotions and injuries fill up the airways. A deft wipe of his knife on the rat's tunic cleans the blood away before it is restored to the holster at his hip. "Fiyah sounds good," he mutters, standing upright and seeing that most of the arson has already been accomplished. "Looks good too," he notes.

It's a big building. Where Ava's started, the flames quickly devour the tarps but take their time setting into the wood of the wall. A smoky haze quickly forms against the ceiling, as Sid moves his torch to the crates the stoat had tripped on, then back to the overturned card table where the guards had been seated. "C'mon, then, Sergeant," he prompts Dagda, his own emotion over the recent discovery channeled toward a sort of morbid fixation on the destruction that has only just begun. He snatches up one of several bottles of liquored, still corked, and passes that over to Dagda. "Take a breath, have a swig, and put the rest to use." He sheathes his sabre, still sticky with blood, and takes up an unlit lantern from near the doorway in his other hand - then with a satisfying growl, hurls it against the still-closed door. Oil and glass shards go everywhere, and at a simple touch from the torch, the door turns into a wall of eager flames.

After setting some more parts of the walls on fire with the aid of some torn up tarp and cloth, Ava returns to the entrance and collects her bow and satchel she laid down earlier, slipping it over her shoulder. She gives a quick glance behind her to the smoke and flames, then steps outside with a long sigh into the fresh air.

Dagda takes a breath, has a swig, and chucks the remainder at the nearest wall, which gives a satisfying belch of flame as it catches. A torch is taken up as well, and he takes the time to light at least one wall-hanging on fire. "Sid! We should get outta 'ere! Doesn't take much!" Anyone who's lived around Halyard for any length of time knows that. The lieutenant seems to be enjoying the activity a bit more than might be healthy. "Let's go!" The sergeant waves towards the exit.

With the front door wreathed in a hot blaze, the only way out is through the back. As the others head that way, Sid moves with a kind of calm efficiency, shattering a second lantern along the floor and stepping past the spilled oil before pausing to light that as well. He seems intent on setting fire to everything that might catch, rather than just leaving the existing flames to spread on their own. With his shirt over his muzzle to guard against the smoke, he gestures for Dagda to go, while he himself lingers at the empty cages, to light the clumps of straw bedding in each one. Meanwhile the whole place is quickly taken over by eager, roaring flames.

Collin has been outside all this time, because 40-some freed slaves are a bit of a task. They required minding. It was not pleasant for the buck. When the warehouse is thoroughly caught and only Ava has exited, the buck gets it in his head to make sure no one's burning to death. He reappears in the doorway, pulling the collar of his uniform up over his mouth as he spots first Dagda as he hollers, nearer to the exit, and Sidney - over by the cages. He hunches low, mindful of all of the many flaming surfaces as he comes up behind the lieutenant, and grabs the back of his uniform, yanking him back. "/C'mon/, Sid, time t'go!"

Content to let Collin go after Sid, Dagda lurches towards the exit, brow furrowed at the odd, sluggish rhythm his limbs have taken against his wishes. One sleeve is entirely crimson, but there's really no time to deal with that until he makes it outside. Seeing Col grab onto their officer, he finally stumbles forth into the free air, only to find himself staring at a mass of freed slaves. "Eh. Hello theah!" He puts a paw up in what he imagines is a jaunty wave, but in reality is a paw going up and back down. "We- we are th' flippin' Long Pahtrol!" The buck wavers unsteadily on his feet, but continues gamely on. "Come t', y' know, libahrate an' uh. Liquidate!" This last word is accompanied by a reeling wave back at the burning building.

The burning building, the flames quickly filling the interior and nearly blocking the exit, the /smoke/ - it may as well not exist to Sidney. Not until he's finished. Being suddenly grabbed and pulled back, just as he reaches to touch the torch to still another pile of dirty straw, causes the buck to jerk and turn, bringing the torch up reflexively, defensively. Then it lowers, as he takes in Collin's tense expression, and with a parting glance around them, he heads with the other buck toward the back door, gripping his arm in return. The torch is tossed aside, and he brings his other arm up to shield against bits of falling debris from the roof, as the flames eat through the shingles. By the time he emerges, the shirt covering his mouth has fallen away, and his eyes are streaming. From the smoke, of course. Only from the smoke.

Collin doesn't even flinch as the torch comes around. But some of the tension does go out of him when it lowers. He is obviously the better off of the two toasted bucks and so when they exit, he slips an arm around Sid's waist and guides him towards a crate. "Sit," he instructs him, and then glances 'round at Dagda as he... addresses the slaves. "Oy, Dag. Ya all right? Stop bleedin' all ovah the place 'n' scarin' the poor buggahs." The liberated parties, that is.

Torsten rubs soot from his eyes as he rounds out the group, walking flat-footed toward the gathering of Patrollers and freed slaves. He goes to his knees, then rests back on his shins, wiping his cutlass with his sleeve, leaving a streak of red up his forearm on one side, then the other. He lets out a very shallow, brief noise from the throat, stowing away his sword and listening to his superiors as they speak. He looks fine.

"Bleedin'?" In all the excitement, it seems Dagda forgot. The healer looks down abruptly at his shoulder, mouth forming a small 'o'. "Yeh, yeh, I'm alrigh'," he answers, chuckling and waving the question off before taking an abrupt and heavy seat on the ground. Again, this seems a novel occurrence, and draws a chuckle. "Yeh, I'm good." He fidgets with the laces securing his scarlet sleeve, then drops the whole thing off, rummaging in one of the pouches on his belt. "You!" he calls, pointing at one of the prisoners, a young female dormouse. "Give a chap a paw, would y'? Jus' hold this gauze on what's bleedin', wot." She steps forward, wide-eyed, and follows his directives, chattering away while he uses her paws as an extra set of his own. "Wrap it, tight now. Just like y' tyin' y' mum's slippahs."

First it's a few small twinges, then Sid's shoulders jerk quite heavily, several times, as his lungs do their best to vacate the smoke-filled air. His muzzle twists into a haggard grimace, and he drops onto the crate as directed, unable to speak at first for the choking coughs that force their way out. When he can finally suck in a few hasty breaths, the Lieutenant turns his head aside from the others, discreetly swiping at each cheek with the heel of his hand.

This close to Sidney, Collin is kind enough to look away from the buck to give him sufficient privacy to be discreet. His muzzle presses together and he glances back towards the warehouse, as a gust of wind blows the flames - and the debris. He narrows his eyes. "We oughta move out, 'fore the whole area goes up." His eyes fall on Tory, kneeling, and he frowns.

After taking a few moments longer to get the coughing under control, and his composure back in place, Sid pushes his hands to his knees and stands. One sleeve is streaked with blood that has soaked through, but the cuts seem to be superficial, and not particularly concerning. He clears his throat, and his voice comes out scratchy. "We're finished here. Back to the ships." Taking a slow breath, which twists uncomfortably in his chest, he casts his eyes up over the mass of flames that consumes the building and stands out bright in the late-night darkness. "Time to go home."

Torsten lifts up a paw to brush soot off his brow, which ends up just leaving more there, and he makes his way to a slow standing position, walking over to Dagda and pressing his paw to the gauze as he kneels again, taking over for the dormouse. "Hold still, please, sah," he states, quietly, doing his level best to wrap up the wound. He's no healer, but he can at least do this.

"Ah, thank y', lad," Dagda manages, looking more than a little piqued. His ordinarily gray complexion has faded a few shades, and his ears hang limply atop his head. "Finish it an' let's get up, if y' would. Time t' move. Ava'll take care'a that bettah laytah." Once it's tied off, he gets back to his feet with Torsten's help, leaning on the younger buck's shoulder. Dag spends a moment blinking at the throng of slaves. "...we're givin' them y'r spot on th' boat," he whispers down, with a grin and a wink.

Ah. Home. Collin's ears twitch back against his skull. Then he, too, glances towards the slaves. "What're we doin' with them?" he wonders.

Gaze lingering on the massive bonfire, which has come to closely resemble the ever-burning gateway to at least one circle of hell, Sidney belatedly looks toward the huddling, bewildered group of freed slaves. Under his breath, he sighs out a low curse, and brings one hand up to ruffle into the hair at the back of his head. "We don't have nearly the capacity for all of them," he responds, low, so as to only be heard by the hares standing nearby. "They need to leave, as soon as possible. Else they'll be recaptured. If any of them are from near Sala, we'll try to make room. Otherwise..."

Torsten helps Dagda up to his feet and looks up at him in response to the whispered joke. It takes a second, but the recruit smiles back, dipping his head down. "It'd be the fair thing tah do, sah," he jokes back in a similar whisper, a smile spreading over his lips for just long enough to dimple up his cheeks before fading to a straight face again, listening to Sidney as he talks, posture slowly slipping as he stops paying direct attention to keeping it upright.

Huh. Collin considers Sidney's words, then nods to himself. He turns and walks back to the slaves, slipping in amongst them until he reaches the young rabbit from before - couldn't be much more than 4 seasons. He crouches down and scoops the kid up against his chest and turns, speaking to the slaves. "Those of you that can need t'get outta here. More'll come, recapture you. We've ships. If you're from the western shore area, come with us. If not..." You're on your own. A murmur runs through the slaves, and, mostly dazed, those that can start to disperse. Those that can't, well. Collin walks back over to the other hares, nods to the kid in his arms. "Pretty sure 'e's from the Sala area."

Sidney's gaze follows after Collin, and there's a flicker of what might be a smile at the corner of his mouth. It becomes more pronounced, albeit quite sad, when the other buck locates the small rabbit and lifts him up. "Dag, Ava," he directs the two healers, turning toward them, "patch up any who need it, but don't linger. We sail at dawn's first light." To Torsten he gives the task of helping those few who are bound for the western shore find their way to the ships. With a final glance at the flaming building, he turns and starts away from it, reaching briefly to squeeze Collin's shoulder. "... let's talk."

The little rabbit's all but exhausted, but the little guy has enough strength to reach an arm up around Collin's neck to tuck against his collar, which draws the buck's glance briefly downward. His brow furrows and he follows Sidney, though he doesn't look at the other buck at the shoulder squeeze. Rather he scans the alleyways as they traverse them, making their way back towards the dock. "'Bout what?"

In the dark of those alleyways, leaving the angry blaze of the slave warehouse behind them, it would be so easy to sink into a brooding silence. For a while, it seems that Sid has done just that, as he walks for a while without speaking - hand rested on the hilt of his sheath, form tense with either alertness or upset. His gaze is distant, not all there, until the docks come into view, and he pauses to let his eyes trace over the sleek lines of his sloop from afar. "I was... harsh," he finally says, addressing Collin but not looking at him.

When the sloop comes into view, Collin's steps slow, leaving him a little behind and to the side of the other buck. His head turns, observing the sliver of his profile visible from this angle. He frowns, casting his eyes back to the ship as he gets moving again, with a shake of his head. "You were doin' your job." He snorts, but there's no humor in it. "Trust me, I'm well versed in dressin' downs." His ears twitch slightly, and his shoulders shrug as they reach the edge of the dock. Hugging the kid against his chest, he steps the short distance onto the deck. "Doesn't mattah now, anyway."

After the little while he took to himself, to control the coughing - and his emotions - Sidney has slipped back into a facade of calm focus. It's tenuous, though, which might be why he subtly keeps his eyes focused anywhere but Collin's face. Moving along the dock and then onto the sloop provides plenty else for him to focus on. He indicates one of the bedrolls and blankets on the deck, for the rabbit-kid, then turns his face skyward for a moment, checking the thin red ribbon attached to the peak of the mast. "Strong wind," he comments, voice low. Dull. Then he quiets, again, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off at the dark, restless water beyond the port.

Very gently, careful not to jostle the sleeping kid, he lowers to a crouch and then a kneel, leaning forward to set the kid on one of the bedrolls, that someone was kind enough to stretch out. The sleepy kid holds onto his collar, though, and Collin leans his head forward to accommodate, reaching back to ease the grippy fingers free. He tucks the small paw against the rabbit's chest and pulls a blanket overtop. He stands. "Good, if it's goin' our way."

Sidney glances to the ribbon again, and nods. "It is. For now." He pauses, then lifts his hand with one finger extended a little more than the others, pointing. "See that, though? How it flickered, just now? Twisted up a bit? Means the wind isn't steady. We'll probably ride the edge of a storm on the way out." His arm falls, and his eyes do as well, coming to Collin's face. His throat tightens. "You did good, alright? What you.. found out."

Once standing, Collin turns to face Sidney. He listens to the other buck's explanation of the wind, his eyes casting briefly downward. He starts unbuttoning his bloody uniform jacket, easing it off his shoulders with a small grimace. It's an unpleasant sensation, the tackiness. He lets the jacket drop to the deck, his undershirt just a little pinkish in places. His eyes come back to Sid's face at his words, his expression briefly unreadable. His eyes narrow, slightly, not directly responding. "You won't like the mess I left in your cargo hold. Come t'it, you oughtn't t'let anyone down there 'til I clean it up."

They're kind of talking in circles around each other. Communicating, somehow, but much of it is left to subtext. The quiet between phrases. Body language, shifting glances. Sidney's lips twist, briefly, his expression both pained and vindicated, and he acknowledges the unseen mess - and the implication of how it was made - with another nod, while his eyes turn over toward the other ship. The commandeered slave vessel, her cargo hold painted with rat gore. "Still needs a name, too."

"I say burn the damn thing," Collin mutters darkly, his paw coming up to rub absently at his opposite bicep, slightly sore. "'Parently I haven't had enough burnin' of things." He snorts, quietly, glancing sidelong at the other buck. "What d'you want t'name 'er?"

A ship-naming is supposed to be joyful, hopeful, meaningful, but under the current circumstances, they'd be settling for one of the three. Sid drags his eyes away from that ship, shakes his head, and turns to twist the handle of the hatch door. "No," he mutters, not answering the question. "One more ship means.. we'll be that much better prepared. Next time. Everything else on this trip has been... a bloody travesty." His quiet voice carries deep bitterness and grief.

There's silence from Collin's end for some time, just watching the other buck in the darkness, his head lowered. Eventually, his eyes cast up, the whites of his caught by the moonlight, reflecting. "Not everything," is all he says. He leaves it hanging there for a moment, his posture tense as his eyes zero in on Sid's paw at the hatch door. As if in afterthought, he gestures back towards the rabbit. "We saved him."

Sidney, ever the optimist, counters Collin's words with a bleak look. His hand rests at the handle of the hatch door, tensed to hold it in a partially turned position that isn't yet completed. "Yes. And two-score others. But not .. /them/." His muzzle jerks slightly away, and his eyes press shut.

"I don't think /he'll/ care," Collin points out. The kid, that is. But he subsides, because he knows there are others who will. And Sidney knows it, too. "/You/ didn't do this, Sid." It comes forth, abruptly and with intensity. "S'not something /you/ did. /They/ did. We tried. We did everything we could."

The hand on the handle draws back, and Sid turns. He slumps, back to the hatch door, butt resting on the narrow ledge just in front of it - the little rise to keep water on the deck from leaking down into the cabin. His head drops a few degrees, elbows digging into the spot on his thighs, just above the knees. "Do you.." he starts, voice scratchy and uneven. ".. do you know the, um. The story of Icarus?"

The question surprises a laugh out of Collin. He... shakes his head, his expression a little wry. "... not the sort'a stories they bring you up on in Halyard," he mutters, gruffly. As Sidney sinks, Collin drops to a squat, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks at the other buck.

After these events, the Patrollers sailed for home.

To read the next part of the story, click here.

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