What They Left
Stubb (spoofs), Trace, Amos, Dangeon, Darkmane
Location: Ancient Temple (Collinsel)
Darkness hangs heavy upon the rounded walls of this ancient, Romanesque chamber. Vines, disgorging misshapen blossoms from sickly gray-green peduncles, cluster in unsightly profusion around the cracks in the domed ceiling, like the excrescence of some netherworld beast. Some of them claw tenaciously at the columns, which hold strong despite the offenses of nature at its most ruthless. Brown slime paints the floor, save for a slender, snaking path kept clear by the passage of paws. Through this clearing, hints of silver and white tiles peep anemically through, suggesting two points of a star.
The morning sounds of awakened wildlife strum distantly at the gloomy silence of this chamber, as if to sharpen the contrast between the interior of this neglected temple and the warmth that suffuses the early spring day outside. But these light sounds, for all their gaiety, do not penetrate far; not here. In the light cast by the several thin shafts of sun dropping down from above, signs of recent struggle are dimly to be seen.
The team is assembled. The location is determined. It's time to get into this creepy old temple and get back their weasel. Trace has fallen back to her old military roots, leading the charge. Even if they do happen to be charging into this place with the intent of stealing Stubb back, it'd be stupid to just walk on in without at least a little hint of stealth. It helps that the temple is dark, if not for the few rays of light drifting down. And the rather disgusting layer of slime underfoot. "Keep vigilant." Trace pauses, leaning back against one of the entry walls as she looks toward the others underneath the soft green material of the cloak's hood. "Stubb is in here somewhere. This should be simple enough, as long as we remain unseen." A freshly-sharpened dagger and her trusty whip lay just within paw-reach at her belt, fingers drifting against them as she leads the group toward the hints of a recent struggle.
Amos has his paw firmly on his weapon on his hip, ready to pull it at a moments notice as he follows behind the rat. He curses, "Where that useless fox go, thought he was suppose to be leading us... " He tenses at a noise, pauses for a moment before considering it nothing and following after.
Dangeon really doesn't do so well at the sneaking and creeping around thing. She's unhooded, blade in reach at least, and sort of sauntering along a vague distance back from the others. She could almost be out for a pleasant stroll if she wasn't wearing her serious face.
The scene only begins to paint itself into clarity after a few moments elapse; even then, there is little to see but the devastation that time has wrought. Where frescoes once decorated the walls, mud now smears all but the faintest of details. The brackets from which oil lamps once hung now wreath themselves in a furry costume of lichen. Exits must once have led off from here in several directions. Now, the arches, all but one, are clogged with mud.
A droplet of water splashes on Trace.
"This place is.. unsavory." Truer words might never have been spoken, if Trace hadn't just said them right then and there. Suffice it to say, she's not the most pleased about traipsing through some distrubed old temple that smells of rot and mud. Her eyes scan the area, murmuring only a, "He's probably in here, needing rescuing as well," to Amos' question as she pauses in her steps. Well. It would appear none of the archways are going to lead them anywhere except for one of them. Trace suddenly reels back, flinching involuntarily as water drops down on her. She quickly steels her nerve, holding her head a bit higher as she gestures for the other two to follow. "Unless they're miracle workers as well as kidnappers, I doubt they're going to be through either of /those/ doorways," she murmurs aloud.
Amos wrinkles his nose and grunts, "The way seems clear enough, sooner we rescue the lot of them the sooner we can leave, " he look from the rat to the hare, "Ya sure you're up for this Dangy?"
Darkmane sits staring at the door with a slab of wood in one hand and a knife in the other as he carves absedmindedly, no door is going to move on his watch, nosiree, no doors having parties here
Dangeon waves a paw away. "'M up, 'm up... Ya and Maney woke me up, r'membah?" She pauses to look at the indicated doorways and snorts a little. "That foxy had movin' stones... Could just be false panels." She shrugs though. "It is bally well unlikely though, I'll have to admit. Don't much like havin' the limited option though..."
They plunge deeper into the temple.
"Anything's possible. Keep an eye out, both of you. I'm not fond of a single option, either." Trace continues leading the trio further into the temple as she squints and grimaces at the mud and the eerie feeling down the entire hallway. "I'm not fond of this at all," she amends after a moment, reaching up to tuck a stray hair back in place. After all, even if they're heading into the bowels of some disgusting temple, they can still certainly look their best. It's bloody hard to see anything, and Trace honestly doesn't like the creepy glow that they seem to be heading toward. "Watch for other options. Doors. Passages. Anything other than this.. filth." She knows full well the doorway ahead is likely where they ought to go. But. Still. How creepy is this?
Amos enters a bit uneasily, huffing and hissing, "Stay close the both of ya, and yes I bloody well remember ya catching up, " He scowls, not seeming too pleased with the situation himself, "Lets just press on, ya a rat ain't'cha.. suppose to like this sort of place?"
Dangeon nods. And... semi-consciously tries to mirror Trace. But ear is all she is brushing back really, being a hare. "Keep eyes out for extra doors. Got it." She smirks as the cat hisses. "Easy CattyBoss... If we get int' trouble, y' just lend us a honkin' great yowl... Maney'll crack the stone he'll pound in here so fast."
The sounds of the morning are gone now, replaced with the subdued whistle of a wind rushing past an opening. The humid air, too, seems to have a sound of its own: a constant pressure that bears steadily down on the group's eardrums. And, also: a scratching sound. It's faint, at first. It might even be the gnawing of an ant's forceps on some prize. But then it grows in strength as they proceed toward the door at the end of the hall...
"Huh. Just because I'm a rat doesn't mean I can't still have a sense of dignity." Trace tips her head back briefly, rolling her eyes at Amos.. not that he'll really be able to see it all that well in the dark, but just so. "Right, Dangeon. I don't think that horse of yours will let anything happen in here. Though he might be unsympathetic to all this mud... Oh, this is /disgusting/." Still, they hurry onward on their little mission, toward the creepy door with the creepy light shining from the other side. And as they grow closer, the scratching sound starts to grow louder. Trace pauses a few steps from the doorway, a paw on her whip as she draws it off her belt. Her other paw goes to rest on the door, when it is quickly jerked back with an, "Honestly, mud on the /door/? Can they not clean this place at all??" The moment seems to pass quickly enough, and she meets eyes with the other two before.. well, just pushing the door open.
Amos pauses for a moment as he waits for her to open the door, gesturing for her to get on with it despite the darkness, "Yes, we get it ratty. The place is covered in mud, now get on through the door and lets get on with it, " He huffs, turning back to look at the hare, "Uh huh, well stay close just the same.. don't need to be rescuing you again." He turns and moves towards the door.
Dangeon smiles darkly, though it may be unseen in the dark... not because it's dark. Because of -the- dark. Anyway. "Believe me, 've no bally intention of needin' rescuing again. Not that I wouldn't have gotten out somehow..." Small frown at the half memory of some contraption. "But I'm hidin' behind -you- if I lose m' weapon." Ah. Weapon. Yes, that should be out. There's a small metal sliding sound and Dangeon is armed.
The door is quite terrified of Darkmane and is staying in place.
The scratching continues to sound from beyond the door.
Trace pushes on the door, still grimacing slightly at the mud on her paw as she peers through and then just fully walks into the room. She's got a bit of a snarky attitude at this point, having had to deal with all this muck and murk, and heaven forbid anyone should question why she's here.
Amos follows closely behind her, muttering, "Ain't no sense complaining about it now, " The wildcat seems to answer to her, and maybe reminding himself so he'll continue to tolerate the situation, "Forward, our weasel friend needs us!"
They pass through the door into the chamber beyond...
Someone is here. It's just a shadow, at first, rendered in sharp outline by the white morning light clamoring in through the collapsed ceiling. A moment's adjustment to the new lighting of this chamber allows the supple undulations of a cloak's folds to slip into view. The figure, hunched forward as if in prayer, has its narrow back to the door, and it neither lifts its head at the group's sudden entrance nor twitches an ear at the wildcat's untrammeled ramblings. This creature, head still bowed, moves in slow, even steps in a pattern across the floor: first forward, then diagonally backward, then to the side... and so on in a deliberate dance. Only the shadow of the creature's breaths can be heard and, of course, the scratching of its nails upon the ground.
Dangeon sort of ambles along in behind them, holding her sword cautiously before her. Her ears strain while the forms of Amos and Trace block her view for the moment. "I like it here."
Oh. That's unfortunate. The scratching wasn't Stubb. Not that Trace really expected to find him that quickly, but still. Regardless, she puts out a paw as if to stop Amos and Dangeon as she catches sight of a cloak moving against the shadow up ahead. And then upon seeing the figure a bit clearer, Trace just clears her throat softly and steps forward with a quick movement to.. well, to reach out and try to grab the figure by the throat to quite neatly slam it up against one of the nearby walls. "Oh, drat. I broke a nail," she murmurs, mid-movement, though those words are quickly replaced with, "The weasel. Where is he?" if she's at all successful in her attack. What? Didn't Amos say they needed to hurry up?
Amos pauses in his tracks, pulling free his own weapon as the rat moves forward, "Ain't the time, " He mutters, assumingly in response to the rat. He can't see anything clearly, what it being dark and all. Still he holds an arm to stop the hare from going further, "Ya stay there hare."
The cloaked rat offers no resistance to Trace's assault and is duly slammed into a wall. The force of the impact is sufficient to dislodge a spider from its drowsy perch on a web, but for all the reaction the violence gets out of the rat, Trace might as well have been complimenting him on his dancing skills. A flicker of a cruel smile vanishes as soon as it appears on the creature's lips. His head, like his back, is covered by a dark, flowing garment, but this has been put partly askew during the journey to the wall. "And what are you?" His voice is perfectly calm. His marmoreal eyes, also calm: they linger with brief impassivity on the wildcat and hare before lighting on his assailant's eyes.
Dangeon is halted. But frowns. "Haven't lost m' bloomin' sword yet, Catboss... And believe me I'll bally well hide behind y' as soon as I blinkin' well need to..." She mutters, but her eyes are on the scene ahead.
Trace did used to work for Merdez. And she's got a dark side. And some dude in a cloak isn't going to give her the runaround. Trace pauses momentarily, holding onto the rat with one paw and eyeing her nails with the other. And then as if snapping out of her thoughts, she slams him back again, this time a bit harder as she tucks her whip out from her belt and snaps it quite loudly in the air just to the side of his face. The cracking sound reverberates through the room, as she leans in close to eye him. "I am your executioner. Tell me what I want to know. Or I will make you scream like you've never screamed before." Yes. This is the 'prison-key' Trace that's only been hinted at in the past. Ooo.
Amos eyes are adjusting a bit better to the darkness, but he seems to neglect the scene as he looks ahead, "Use it then Dang, turn to make sure we ain't surprised from behind, " Keeping an eye on the rest of the room while Trace continues to tussle with the other rat.
"... Hrm. 'M glad we left Maney outside..." Dangeon mutters just beyond the volume of 'under her breath', her eyebrows raising at this 'ScaryTrace' who seems handy... pawsy?... with a whip. "From beh-? But I wanna watch... Oh, all right..."
With the second impact, the rat's hood falls fully back, exposing his head to the light. His eyes are dark and hollow, and his face is gaunt. The fur of his scalp has been shaven clean, so that his head crowns in a shallow mound of pale pink flesh. His lips peel back over pallid gums. "You are far too late." Even he, though, cannot remain totally composed when Trace pulls out her whip: he flinches when its tip cracks the air nearby. His eyes, though, remain locked on hers. "They have taken him to a place where you cannot reach him."
Trace blinks slightly at the rat's horrid appearance. And she almost imperceptibly moves back a half an inch or something to that extent, so that she's not /right/ in his face. Still, her eyes narrow at his words and her lips curl back into something of a grin when she notices him flinch. Still, his words are unnerving in the least, and she glances back briefly toward Amos and Dangeon, before looking back to the rat with a cold stare. "Unfortunately for you, you're going to show us where he is or you're going to be praying for the leftover pieces to sew themselves back on to you when I'm through." With that, she hauls him off the wall, cracking the whip again awfully close to his face as she shoves him in front of her. "Go. Now."
Darkmane wasn't entirely forgotten in asigning the hare her task, perhaps Amos was simply being overly cautious. Whatever the case he turns to the hare, "After the rodents Dang, well come on' then we ain't got all day, " The wildcat move to hurry after Trace.
Dangeon shrugs. "Do this, do that... This is why y' buy the bloomin' rounds, CattyBoss... And b'sides, should we let Maney know we gotta go further in or somesuch, hm? He might be too far back t' hear us before long..."
The pale rat does not seem to notice Dangeon or Amos; his bruised-looking eyes stare back at Trace. "It seems you haven't understood me." As he speaks, his lips tremble periodically upwards in an involuntary smile, sickly and malign. "They took all they needed from the weasel." The words seem to give him pleasure. "What they left is not your friend." The creature coughs, rasping.
Trace honestly isn't sure what to do about this. Her cold stare falters briefly, and then fades altogether at his words, as a thin line of worry creases her features. Honestly, she doesn't know Stubb all that well. But he's part of the group. And thus, it's horribly unnerving to hear this. "What they left..?" sounds from the rat, a level of hesitation upon her words that she's not quite sure what to do with. Still, she keeps a firm hold on this rat as she hisses in a quieter tone, "Where is he? So help me, I will flay you to pieces where you stand."
"Don't'cha listen to him ratty, ain't nothin' will happen to our weasel that he ain't able to recover from, " Amos says firmly, glaring at the pale rat, "Tell the lady what'cha got to say, and I'll see if I can convince her to give ya a quick death."
The ratmaid's captive smiles again, that flickering leer. "A quick death. I suppose you mean by that to frighten me. But your threats do you little good." He grasps Trace's arm around the wrist and applies slight pressure. "Come--" He is interrupted by a volley of dry coughs. "Come," he repeats when the coughs have subsided. "Enough of this foolishness. Release me, and I will lead."
Dangeon frowns at the words. There's really only one thing popping into her mind at that point. She stays quiet though, he ears perked as she listens to the exhange. Disturbing words, but still... she has some faith in the weasel that she seems to share with Amos. Her eyes settle on the strange rat.
Oh. Oh. Oh, ew. Trace isn't sure if she's more disturbed by the fact that something horrible may have happened to Stubb, or the fact that this disgusting creature is now holding on to her wrist. Oh, and the coughing. That's got to be the plague. Don't rats carry that, anyway? The ratmaid's features contort into a disgusted grimace, before she jerks her arm back and steps back a half a step with a sharp nod. "Lead, then. But one false move and I won't hesitate." After all, there is SO much in this world worse than death. Like.. being touched by some gross rat .. monk.. thing. Trace looks backwards briefly, almost as if trying to catch Dangeon's eyes as she mouths the words, "SO. GROSS." and then spins on a heel sharply to follow after their momentary prisoner.
Amos gestures towards the hare again, "After them then, we'll get him back." He moves to follow after the two rats.
Dangeon actually pulls a face somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. Very gross. But also... Kind of amusing. The doe isn't very near the rat. She even, mostly, has a cat for a barrier. And could have a horse... Secrecy has kind of gone out of the window, but she supposes he's still guarding. Hrm. She ambles along with narrowed eyes at everything. There's no booze here, her horse is outside and they might be about to discover something horrible. This is the sort of place that -should- come with a bar.
The rat-monk thing's spindly teeth peer out from behind his thin lips as he parts them in a gesture that is not quite gratitude. With paws carved out by malnutrition, he pulls his cowl back over his head. His features, all but his mouth, fall back into shadow. "Follow, then. If you feel you must." Unhurried paces take him across the room, past mounds that were once its furnishings, toward a low doorway.
Trace feels like shoving the rat across the room, but she follows after him at his slow pace and scowls most of the way. Ugh. Really. Could this place get any worse?
A splash of filthy water drops across Trace's face.
A screech sounds from a certain ratmaid as she suddenly flails and wipes at her face furiously and lets out a sort of, "Aaaaaeieeeeeee!" sound. It's certainly not the executioner image she wants to present. But she /is/ a lady, after all. And this is totally disgusting.
Amos tenses, at first thinking that the ratmaid in some kind of distress before he realizes the truth. He mutters under his breath, and shakes his head, "If ya ladies would compose yourself, and keep an eye on that rat Trace."
"Ew." Dangeon declares. This is an awful place. All drippy and gross. She does give a bit of a glare to the wildcat though. "I've seen y' panic when it rains too hard..." She mutters.
The loathed monk creature ducks into the opening and disappears inside. "Come." Moments later, there is a whir and a resounding thud from within the chamber beyond.
Trace follows after the disgusting monk thing as she heads into the opening to not lose sight of him. There's not a chance she's just going to let him go now. Not after she's gotten MUD on her hands, gotten dripped on by disgusting water, had his leporous little hand TOUCH her, and, in an afterthought, they haven't even found Stubb yet!
"Ain't got nutin' to do with the rain, is the bloody lighting storms that worry me, " Amos mutters, following closely behind the ratmaid, "You'd feel the same way if ya nearly struck by the fire from the sky, aye ain't no way to go!" He shakes his head and presses forward, "Come on hare!"
Dangeon twitches her ears. "How close was it? A mile or less?" She grins despite the situation and then follows them in, readopting her serious face.
Their guide has somehow slipped away without a trace. He is nowhere to be seen in the candlelit chamber that the group now enters. But there is a greater prize here--less, indeeed, than a mile. The gaunt figure of an unclothed weasel is huddled at the base of a sort of makeshift altar. Stubb's fur, shaved bare in spots and crosshatched with welts, rises and falls in motions barely perceptible under a solitary candle's glow. It is stretched thin across his bones, and it quivers with cold.
Trace is cussing aloud as they step into the room and their guide seems to have vanished. "Bloody rat. Where in seasons did he go?" she starts, before her words cut off in a little gasp as her paw flies up to her mouth. And for once, it appears the rat doesn't really know what to do. She's used to the business end of beating up people. Not .. this side.
Amos curses as it becomes clear that they lost the other rat, but is quick to understand the scene before them of his weasely friend in dire need our their assistance. He rushes towards him, grabbing his pack off his back and pulling out a blanket to cover the weasel with, "Stubb? Mate?" He gently reaches and shakes the weasel's shoulder.
Dangeon doesn't curse. She's a little too surprised. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this for some reason. "We need to get him and get out... They've bally well -let- us find him and like this. So they're confident and this doesn't feel good..." She's remaining near the door they came in.
The thin flesh of Stubb's back recoils at the wildcat's touch, and it seems for several seconds that he is not going to awaken. Then he turns with ghostly slowness to face Amos. It is a terrible sight. The weasel's cheeks are deeply sunken. His eyes have the same look as the monk's: that of having been hollowed out from both within and without; they are red, exhausted. And the crown of his head is shaved.
A quake rocks Stubb's body, then his eyes fall heavily shut.
