[m] never sure how far we could fall

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

The little bird perched on the womans shoulder unsettled Brocade. It had eyes that were dark pinpricks against its lackluster feathers, its head darting about in jerky movements as if to keep the man in his sights. Brocade had left his cabin earlier that morning and had been surprised to find that Jacquard had moved his caravan to the clearing just outside. Etoile stayed with the man in the ramshackle thing, though he had spotted her occasionally gazing at the cabin longingly - what with its proper walls and windows. Jacquards monstrous draft horses moved the thing about easily, their thick muscles rolling as they adjusted and pulled.

Tonnerre had watched curiously, his ears twitching at the new animals as they were left to graze.

The bird chirruped before flapping its wings to take off down the trail. He had forgotten her way with the small birds and she had shown him how the little creature was able to mimic some sounds and the occasional word. She rode Colline, the smaller of the two draft horses, but atop the hilltop of a horse she appeared small and delicate. Her four-fingered hand grasped the reigns tightly, her nostrils flared into the breeze.

Brocade wasn't sure what it was that had bade her to follow him. She had asked to join his patrol, and despite their apparent animosity it felt familiar. He glanced at her as they urged the animals into a trot, the heavy animals jostling one another jovially along the path.

He wore his leather armor, the vambraces on his arms shiny and smooth with wear. She wore loose fitting clothes that made it easy to move, her knives strapped in a line across her chest. He grunted suddenly, <"You smell that?">

He had explained to her the concept of Outsiders - and even now being so far from Salsolas territory felt strange and unwelcoming.

She hissed softly, <"Smoke.">

Etoile balanced her emotions carefully each day. Every morning she practiced throwing her knives in the silence of the wood, each throw punctuated by the solidification of her plan. She imagined that they would bury themselves deeply into the back of the silver man, and that he would crumple just as her Ferdinand had.

For now she was eager to lay down her framework, to act as unassuming as possible. Men were easy once you understood their motivations.

Brocades lips lifted, <"And blood.">

He rolled the spear in his hand, <"Let's go.">

When they came upon the camp there was still a fire burning low, the charred wood splitting and falling in upon itself. There was blood smeared across a canvas panel that appeared to have been a tent, a hand print garishly bright against the dull fabric. Etoile dropped from her horse soon after the soldier, her expression cool.

Brocade kicked at a sac, its meager contents spilling across the blood stained earth.

"Where is everyone?"

Brocade is travelling with his cNPC, Etoile Montgomery! They are going to discover a camp that has been attacked/raided by some dirty lil Outsiders! Should there be a survivor? :O I marked it as AW+ incase anyone from SL wants to hop in, otherwise for 1 other please ! :D

ooc - Afraid I don't have a SL member to throw at this thread, but it looks too interesting to pass up! Feel free to have Brocade and Etoile find Rowtag cowering in one of the tents, along with his cat and the ~mysterious~ survivor? :O

Rowtag

It was the smell of smoke that had attracted the slim Sapient male. Being so deep within neutral territory, to come across another Luperci could be just like drawing a wild card. Rowtag had come across his fair share of friendly loners, yes, even trading some goods with a few open to bartering. Having been a loner himself during the early stages of his life, the coydog could sympathize with the hardships that isolation presented. But that didn’t mean that he could let his guard down, for the stranger could easily react in a hostile manner.

Correction: strangers. It seemed to be a camp of sorts, and on the wind the tattooist could smell multiple scents. ”Perhaps this isn’t wise…” The waif murmured to the bulge in his satchel. From within, a dark furred creature stirred awake, only responding with a plaintive Mrrrrow. As always, the blue eyed feline remained indifferent to her canine companion’s actions. ”Very well then.” Rowtag sighed, though he fully expected a neutral answer from the feline. Sometimes he wondered if his companion had ever picked up some knowledge of high speech, for all the time that she had spent with him and within the Government Estate. If she did, she had never let on, though Rowtag recognized a flicker of intelligence reflecting in those blue eyes of hers.

Was that...blood? At the sharp, metallic scent, the golden man balked. ”They could be hurt!” Rowtag whispered fiercely, more to himself than the packmate. Every instinct embedded into him from his isolated days told him to flee, and save his own skin. No, he was stronger than this! Heart overwon the battle against his craven nature, and the coydog slinked forwards once more.

It was not a scene for the light hearted. The golden man shuddered at the sight of a bloody handprint slapped desperately against the canvas of a lopsided tent. The further Rowtag walked through the ravaged campsite, the stronger the scent of blood became. ”Well, no one’s here! Guess we should go…” The artist squeaked, however the bundle within his satchel stirred. Rowtag gave an audible gasp as Sitala leaped from his bag, darting beneath the flaps of a crooked tent. ”What are you- get back here!” Rowtag hissed.

His blood ran cold at the sound of two voices nearby. One was more feminine in pitch than the other, and though Rowtag couldn’t see them, he assumed each were of the opposite sex. For all he knew, they were the ones who had done this! Rowtag followed the cat into the tent, moving as silently as possible. However nothing could stifle the alarmed squeak that escaped him as he hit a warm body.

”Oh my god, oh my god-” Rowtag stammerred. Though the light was dim, a young girl lay curled up on the dirt floor, unresponsive to the coydog’s alarmed touch. A sudden rattle of her breath sent Rowtag into another frenzy. Great gods above, she was alive!

wc 495

The horses were strangely silent as the pair of mercenaries stalked through the camp. They worked together without speaking – falling with ease into the rhythms that Ferdinand had taught them all that time ago. Brocade held his spear defensively across his chest, the pointed end gleaming brightly beneath the cloudy sky. Etoile was crouched low, her scarred lip pulled back to reveal slick teeth as she slowly unsheathed her knives.

It was usual for there to be silence in the wake of such chaos, but everything about the camp felt wrong.

Voices danced in his head just out of reach, beckoning him towards the grisly scene. They were a distraction and he caught Etoile staring at him pointedly as he brushed invisible flies from his face. The scene was too familiar, and he could feel himself thinking of The Five or the Boreas War... or even the fateful day where he had killed Ferdinand.

His chest suddenly tightened, and he gripped his spear harder.

Brocade snarled softly, kicking at a toppled tent which heaved like a wounded animal as gusts of wind pressed through it. Etoile was lifting a discarded piece of clothing which appeared to have been hacked and slashed into long pieces. Brocade suddenly pointed, ”Here.” His voice was a careful rumble in his throat, ”This is where it started.”

He could see the scuffle from the way the earth had been crushed and pressed back, a long arrow deeply sunk into a protruding tree stump.

Etoile padded her way over and grunted, gesturing at the trail of blood which lead away from the camp.

It was difficult to tell if it had been survivors… or one of the attackers.

They patrolled the perimeter again, and Brocade was sorting through a bag of goods suitable for trade when he heard Etoiles voice boom through the camp like a clap of thunder.

”You!” Her teeth were snapping, and he could hear her throwing upon the fabric of a tent, ”How long have you been cowering in there?”

Brocade trotted towards the ramshackle tent, the grisly hand print dancing in the breeze.

The man crouched inside was pale, his bi-colored eyes glassy with fear. There was a woman too laid out against the ground who was either dead or unconscious. Adrenaline crept just below his skin as he rumbled a command, gesturing with his spear.

”Get out here.”

Thank you for being so patient! I wanted to leave some time in case someone else wanted to hop in :)

ooc - So sorry for my slow reply! The girl's design is based off of this one, and she is in her Optime form. Feel free to make up/elaborate on her injuries should you wish
:)

Rowtag

Rowtag shied away from the entrance of the tent, in poor attempt to conceal his light colored fur in the shadows of the crevices the toppling structure provided. For now, he was far more fearful of the voices that lingered outside than of the wounded woman that lay besides him. No….girl. The coydog couldn’t determine how grievous her wounds were, however he could tell that the creature that lay before him was pitifully young. Her first shift must have been recent, if her smaller stature and flat chest were any indication.

Rowtag held his breath as a pair of feet paused, stopping in their tracks to position themselves right in Rowtag’s line of view from his hiding space. The coydog’s blood ran cold as he heard - or sworn he heard - an intake of breath in the beginnings of a deep inhale. Though he knew it was coming - after all, the stranger had lingered for far too long in front of the tent for it to be a mere coincidence - a strangled scream still left his throat as a woman ripped back the tent flap in a violent wave. She was quite ferocious looking, with scars marring her face and white teeth snapping as she barked.

Though her companion was too petrified to do anything, Sitala was not. For what the feline lacked in size, she made up for bravado as she hissed at the warrior woman, her tail puffed up in terror behind her. It wasn’t long before the commotion summoned the other stranger, a well muscled silvery male. Rowtag’s gaze lingered on the male’s spear as he waved it, almost missing the guttural command that came along with the threat.

Obediently, Rowtag stumbled outside the tent, his tail tucked between his legs as his eyes nervously darted between the two warriors. Neither of them showed any ounce of warmth, and they were expecting answers. ”N-not long at all!” Rowtag stammered through his words ”I-I saw the smoke…” Oh, curse him for following through with his curiosity! ”Who a-are you?” Rowtag managed to squeak. But really, he was asking what do you want from me? Or were you the ones who destroyed this camp? The coydog wasn’t sure if he would like their response.

A loud gasp from within the tent stole Rowtag’s attention, his ears swiveling in alarm. Sitala remained inside, that much he knew, but it wasn’t she who made the sudden noise. For the first time the wounded girl’s eyes were open, revealing a periwinkle gaze, glazed over with terror. Rowtag watched as the girl pathetically tried to claw her way deeper within the ruins of the tent, her stare not leaving the three of them.

wc 453