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

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[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?"

[acreage]

He'd raised an eyebrow at Wysteria's blithe discussion of the relative merits of execution, and then the other at Richard's and Adrasteia's contributions. This sure is a conversation that's Happening, huh.

As predicted, he looks very much like he'd like to object.

(Do you all just discuss murder behind his back, is this something he should come to expect from the group of you??)

He says, slowly, "I was under the impression our priority was getting the nugs back." Y'ALL. "It'd be nice if we could convince them to give the nugs to us peacefully. I doubt they'd agree, but it might be worth a try." Y'ALL. "As for the landowners, I doubt they give a shit about their local nug populations, or we would've run into them already. If we have to kill some of these poachers to save the animals, we have to, but there's a difference between that and execution." YOU PEOPLE.

[heirring]

"Oh, I forget that you and Mister Burton are from space and have very little land to own. I guarantee you that any dutiful lord—or lady, I suppose—would not tolerate poaching on their property regardless of how much they do or don't care about the animals in question. It is a very serious offense, Mister Holden. They are breaking the law. One which almost certainly has been assigned very serious consequences, particularly when the individuals in question have every appearance of being repeat offenders. If we allow them to go along their way, we might technically be held responsible as accomplices to their crime."

These are simply facts, Mister Holden.