faderift | CLOSED | Nug Quest

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CLOSED | Nug Quest

WHO: Adrasteia, Holden, Jone, Joselyn, Sawbones, Val de Foncé, Wysteria, and Dick.
WHAT: Poachers run afoul of a Riftwatch research expedition.
WHEN: Cloudreachish. Time is a flat circle.
WHERE: Minranter River, Free Marches
NOTES: Animal cruelty, some gore.

JOURNEY:

Their trek north across the Free Marches to the Minranter is light and mild: Jone’s mule, Loghaine, hauls the bulk of any heavy gear. The wind stays brisk beneath steady cloud cover, only rarely committing to rain, and there’s an inn to curl up in once they reach the river. Have a drink, rent a bunk with a moth-eaten blanket, splurge on the “luxury” suite upstairs.

For those that aren’t willing to cough up the coin, there’s always the stable.

Further into the wilderness, the white noise roar of the river at night makes for restful sleep and long watches, where the crack and rustle of a bear through the underbrush or the sound of approaching horses might go unheard until it’s too late. At times flashing eyes reflect the watch fire from the treeline, only to melt away without incident. Pawprints pressed into the river sand and traces of bone-littered scat hint at the nature of their nightly visitors -- more fascinating to some than others.

DESTINATION:

Vultures spiral overhead -- an ill omen, easy to mark at a distance. Far below, hoof-beaten grass is streaked with gore where a herd of nugs was pursued out onto the river flats, blood still wet despite the wind, one little body left broken underfoot on the trail. They never had a chance.

Ravens squabble and hop between flayed corpses left to stiffen on the beach. Flies zip from haunch to haunch, spoiled for choice.

There are a dozen nugs here, most of them quite young. Their skulls are crushed, the sand churned with tracks where they struggled.

A few still have their hides. The leather is mundane, for anyone who has the heart to check.

Further west across the river, campfire smoke drifts skyward over the trees where the sunset fades orange to purple. A pained squeal carries across the distance, accompanied by the sound of cruel laughter on the wind. Eventually a few of their voices rise in song.

The killers are close, and night is falling.

AFTERMATH:

An earlier drizzle keeps the fire from spreading into the surrounding wood: by the time the battle is dying down and the nugs are freed, the flames have dwindled to a forlorn lick across blackened canvas and crates of supplies. And the corpses: some burnt, some on the beach, one bobbling slowly downriver.

Something should probably be done about those.

The two fade-touched nugs they’ve rescued need tending. They are wild and distrustful, but they are also exhausted, and injured, and desperately thirsty.

Near the remains of the campfire, a spit-roasted nug still has attracted a fly or two, but still has meat on the bone. There are fade-touched nug hides to be found on the wagon that survived.

A few dazed mounts linger where they were tied off at camp or tangled in the woods nearby -- at some point, a dracolisk had plunged past Jone into the battle-darkened water. Like the armor of their previous owners, they’re rugged and diverse -- beasts captured, won and stolen. A great, shaggy white Avvar horse has taken to Adrasteia, lipping at her sleeve.

Let them roam free or round the others up for an easier ride home.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

→ a. How it started (mostly at the inn)

[ Everyone is standing around deciding who is sleeping inside, or in the stables, or otherwise unpacking and unwinding and preparing to eat. Conversation has lulled, and Adrasteia holds up a finger. ]

What if... what if we pooled our funds and piled into the 'luxury' suite, which hopefully has blankets that aren't moth worn to the Deep Roads and back. [ A beat. ] I did bring a spare blanket.

[ Because you never know. She thinks several people to the bedroom up the stairs makes the most sense, though. ]

→ b. How it's going (discussion before the attack on the mercenaries)

Adrasteia is one of the ones who checked the hide on the dead nugs, because, well. They're dead. Might as well put the materials to some use, right? Not that she's terribly pleased with whatever's happened here... people who hunt animals for this sort of sport aren't usually a kind sort, in her experience.

Not that she's expecting they'll have much of a values discussion with whoever did this.

The laughter has carried across the river and Adrasteia looks up, then away.

"Do we want to deal with this now, or in the dark of the nighttime?"

→ c. Wildcard me

[ go for it ]

Edited 2021-04-28 05:44 (UTC)

Richard’s arms are tightly folded; he’s been standing quietly amidst the carnage, disapproval carved in grim against the bones of his face. The tidiness of Gallows life has faded from his leathers. He’s scruffy, and tired from a long day’s travel, and this isn’t how he’d imagined this pursuit ending at all, with raided assets and their young strewn messily about.

“There might be other herds in the area to pursue,” he says. “But to answer your question, we’ll be able to kill more of them if they’re sleeping.”

A little black owl snags into a clumsy landing on a felled branch nearby -- familiar, by now, to the party.

"Even if we were to look for other herds, there's no reason to presume we won't have to deal with these individuals before we leave the area, and I, for one, doubt they'll be willing to listen to any suggestions we might have towards working together."

There's something very charming about Richard's familiar, actually, and its inability to appear very good at being a bird in flight; Adrasteia smiles at Thot when she lands on the branch. "So I vote for a nighttime plan of attack. What does she eat?"

Adrasteia, will match format

bbbbb

no subject

a

no subject

jone, ota.

A.

no subject

b b b

no subject

holden, ota

on the road again

no subject

on the road;

no subject

flats

dick OTA will match format

wilderness

stables