CLOSED | Nug Quest

[nonvenomous]

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.

Comments

Adrasteia, will match format

[kantikoy]

→ 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 ]

bbbbb

[nonvenomous]

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.

[kantikoy]

"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?"

[nonvenomous]

She’s right, of course. There’s no reason to believe the poachers won’t just wake up in the morning and do it all over again with the next herd -- if there is a next herd -- and so on, until there are none left. Dick bites back whatever argument had first leapt up behind his teeth and frowns harder for having swallowed it down.

Fine.

“Waiting will give us more time to observe them,” he agrees. And, because nobody Thedosian who asks that question wants the answer to be nothing, he says, “Mice, primarily.”

[kantikoy]

Sorry, Dick.

Adrasteia nods at his evaluation of the situation. Observing them would be ideal, but she doubts the mercenaries will do anything that will raise their esteem in her eyes. People who cut down nugs for violent fun aren't her favorite.

"Even when she isn't a bird or a cat?" Curiouser and curiouser.

elbows in

[heirring]

Amazing, how someone who a moment ago was carefully examining a few little corpses for any sign of fade-touched energy at a safe distance can suddenly appear to butt themselves in at the fringe of a conversation. Wysteria is very good at it, appearing all at once at Richard's elbow. There is a little blood on the cuff of her sleeve. Don't worry about it.

"Are we discussing executions?"

swing

[nonvenomous]

“There aren’t many other creatures she prefers to be.”

Most of them are things that would or could push an entire rat down their craw, bones and all. He pauses to reflect on that, brows knit.

AND THEN Wysteria is there. That he manages not to startle is a testament to how accustomed to her appearances he’s gotten. When he knows she’s in the area, anyway.

“Mm,” he says, to both of them. “The captain will object.”

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia opens her mouth to say something and then Wysteria appears at Richard's elbow so suddenly that whatever she was about to comment on is immediately gone in favor of her raising her eyebrows.

"Will he?" She hadn't realized that Holden had a military title, honestly. What kind of captain was he, up there in 'space'? "Do you think he would rather attempt to discuss it with them first?"

[heirring]

The quizzical look Wysteria gives Richard suggests she has failed to make the leap Adrasteia has--

"Oh," Wysteria remarks aloud, clarifying to herself. "Mister Holden. Yes, I imagine he will. Could we not merely take them captive do you suppose? Deliver them unto the proper authorities. I'm sure someone must own this land and would be most happy to hang them."

[nonvenomous]

“If there are only a few of them, perhaps.”

It would still be quicker and easier to kill them, per an unsympathetic arch at Dick Dickerson’s brow.

“We would just be introducing a middle man into the solution.”

[kantikoy]

"And if there are more than a few of them, we'll have some difficulty."

Adrasteia's expression agrees with Dick's brow arch, there.

"Plus we'd have to haul them around. Unideal."

[acreage]

"Haul what around?"

Oh hey what's going on over here —

[heirring]

"We are discussing the matter of executing the poachers, and whose jurisdiction it falls under."

This is supplied helpfully to Holden regardless of Richard's earlier warning. Like it or not, it is an issue of semantics which must be broached.

"I suggested we might capture and remand them to the proper authorities, who would almost certainly happily see them hang. We must be on someone's land. Nut Mister Dickerson and the Lady Warden make valid points. We are few in number, and unlikely to be able to manage prisoners and the animals both."

There were some people on a boat. 19 people get off the boat at the first port of call. 17 people get on the boat. Now there are 63 people aboard. How many people were on the boat to begin with?, and other like problems of mathematics.

[nonvenomous]

“Yes,” says Richard, who stands nearly a full head above the pair of them, but is easily outclassed both in height and dignity by the handsome Captain Jim Holden, “a purely hypothetical exercise with practical implications.” Helpful.

They were definitely only discussing this with the intent of reaching a group consensus, surely.

[kantikoy]

"Specifically, hauling around the poachers."

Adrasteia is a bad liar, in general, but this framing is easily enough followed. She hopes.

"What do you think, Captain?"

a

[degenere]

Val makes a quiet scoff. "J'espèrerais! One should always bring a spare blanket. You, of course, dear warden, will know this."

This is inarguable wisdom, and is also Val's way of saying that he has brought two blankets without saying that he has brought two blankets. Even his spare is of high quality, the sort that comes of being both monied and an experienced traveler to remote wildernesses. He will probably lend it, when the time comes, to those less prepared. But he will not do so quietly.

That is for a later time. Val turns now to look at the inn with a critical eye.

"Of what quality do you truly expect this suite? 'Luxury' is a word often employed to sweeten the undesirable. If it must be said, it is not likely to be so."

[kantikoy]

"Bad," Adrasteia says simply. She doesn't dislike Val but boy howdy is she glad they're not in a situation where she feels overwhelmingly responsible for his well-being as she had in the Temple of Dumat. Here, at least, she can reasonably expect him to take care of himself.

Plus, Wysteria is here. He wouldn't want to make an early widow of the woman, would he? Clearly not.

(Not that there's any risk of that, here. As far as she knows.)

"I mean, I'm sure there's a bed, at the very least." She shrugs. "Might be worth it."

[degenere]

Val's eyes narrow. "No," he says decisively, "it would not be worth it."

Assessment given, he turns on his heel, his back to the inn and its inferior suite.

"Surely you know better than to be fooled, mademoiselle! It was my understanding that wardens were something akin to nomads. Travelers. You have stayed in such places, yes? Where the bedbugs fester? The mites in the barn are preferable."

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia lets out a little sigh — not only because she was hoping against hope for something as simple as a clean bed — but because Val is correct in his determination of the fit of the suite, by most measures.

"You're not wrong," she admits, a little deflated. Does that mean they are eschewing the inn altogether in favor of the stables?

She's slept rougher, definitely, but she's not exactly excited at the prospect.

[degenere]

"I rarely am."

And he says it with such confidence that at first hearing, it seems inarguably true. Whatever Adrasteia is thinking is not known (except, perhaps, by what one might glean from her sigh). For Val, it is clear that he is thinking of the stable as he stares at it thoughtfully.

Very suddenly, he turns to to Adrasteia and claps her bracingly on the arm.

"Come! You cannot be so squeamish as to be dreading this night. It is but one of many. And there is a roof, yes? Now, that is a luxury."

Pretty rich coming from a guy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, with the rest of the contents of the silver drawer safely stowed beneath his bassinet. He does seem to mean what he says.

[kantikoy]

"True," comes her answer, along with a nod and a deep breath. The horses seem stoic enough at the idea of sharing their sleeping area with the travelers, and he makes a good point. She's definitely slept rougher than this, and a roof is better than none.

"Do we want to set up a round of watches or are we trusting that we are safe enough, here?"

[degenere]

Val casts an eye up at the loft. He looks around them.

"Yes," he decides, "we do want that. If we were in Orlais, we might be safe and comfortable and able to sleep without fear in the open, but here? Who knows what danger we might encounter. And though we are but poor members of Riftwatch, we will might be seen as likely targets."

[kantikoy]

"Glad to know I'm not the only one who thinks this way." Adrasteia nods, stretching her arms above her head and then wiggling her fingers before dropping her arms to her sides again. "I'll take first watch, then. Do you want the second?"

[degenere]

His answer is the hand that he thrusts at her, expectant of a handshake.

"I am difficult to wake." But at least he gives fair warning. His smile suggests that maybe he is exaggerating. His everything else suggests that he likely is not exaggerating.

[kantikoy]

She takes it; her handshake is firm, her hands perpetually a little warm and callused.

"I'm sure I'll think of something." Water. Water is her solution. Mainly because she can dry him and his items very quickly using those selfsame warm hands.