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Evening approaches slowly, the oranges of the fading sunlight holding forth across a sky fading from blue through amethyst to black. Maggie walks hand in hand with Merrisol, their shadows cast behing them like long trains of ebony gossimer by a small globe of flame held aloft by Maggie's will. As they approach the village, the flame flickers once and fades away as light from torches guides their steps.
Ruby emerges partway out of one of the community houses. She looks like she's been sleepin on her head for most of the cold night, or dragged about by a gorilla. A voice from within has her turning back with a frown. Most likely to do with the draft she's letting in. Shouldering a pack, Ruby finally decides it's better to be out than in, and shuts the door behind her. The big gal tries to finish getting her coat on, and then has to take the time to unsling her backpack and start over in the proper order. And she's got the wrong furry moccasins on the wrong foot. Oh to be able to see well in dim light. She loiters by the building while putting things right.
Amy makes her way along, after stopping to chat with some of the children of the village. she has chnged into some of the warm garb made by the local seamstresses and so looks nearly Kite, except maybe for her height. As she gets to the main firepit, she pauses, blonde locks highlighted by the flickering of the flames. A mug of mead is passed her way, and she smiles a warm thanks before taking a sip.
Mercier is enjoying a cigerete, slowly making his way back from the harbor. He's still bundled up in his overcoat and gloves, but his hands rarely leave their pockets (Cold place is cold), save to tend to the glowing sick between his lips, and starts making his way towards some place that looks warm. Coming close to Ruby, on the way, he tips his hat to the giant sailor, "Have a night, Bosun?" He inquires politely, inclining his head. The bruises is at least fading, healing at its normal rate.
Merrisol is muffled in his heavy parka and scarf, but you know it's love when he leaves off the bulky glove on that side to hold his wife's hand. Daw. Brr. Crunching through the snow beyond the the couple's diffuse shadows is a grim ghoul of a Kite, tinting the romance of a moonlight stroll through the quiet outskirts with a decidedly morbid note. Brigsby is less of a specterish stalker than an oblivious third wheel, however. He lags behind and veers off the trampled path to follow a trail of suspicious tracks through the snow, grey teeth bared.
Ruby laces up a rawhide cord of cured gut in furry diamond patterns from ankle to just below her knee. Bent at the waist her limbs feels impossibly long, like being next to a funhouse mirror. Oh for a not-freezing seat. And there's not way in Hel that she's going to sit on the ground. She turns her head and tangled tentacles shift to allow a beady eye to peer over towards Mercier. Vapour whispers out between her dreds and she shifts position into more of a crouch that has her using the wall behind her as temporary support. Ruby pops a few joints as blood feels like it redistributes back to limbs rather than pooling in her brainpan. "What's tha. What's on yer face?" Oh Bog, she still has to finish lacing up the other moccasin.
Amy takes her mead and waves to those she sees. she makes her way to viktor's place, slipping in quietly.
Maggie tries to keep her husband's hand warm in hers, but it is a futile endeaver so she snugs a bit closer to tuck both hands into the pocket of her jacket. At least that keeps the breezes off exposed skin. As Brigsby hares off after something, Maggie glances over her shoulder after the warrior. Curiosity rises and she angles her chin after the fellow, "Wonder what he spotted." For herself, Maggie spots Amy near the fire and angles that way. Coming up toward the fire, she lifts her free hand to wave a farewell to Amy and a hello to Ruby and Mercier.
Mercier keeps his gaze in a polite palce as Ruby bends and contorts to get her boots laced up, smoke shifting up from his cigerette and mixing with the fog his own breath creates, as he reaches up to run a finger along the bruise, as if to remind himself of it, "Ah, uh... I had a small disagreement over venacular with a Mister Flay at the docks." Mercier notes, glancing down and motioning to Ruby's other shoe, "Would you care for a hand with that, Bosun?" He asks turning his head at Merrisol and Maggie's approach and giving a tip of his hat, "Captain Flame. Mister Merrisol." He notes, greets politely, before glancing at the dissapearing form behind them, "Who was that padded fellow?"
Above the rim of his cloudy grey muffler, Merrisol's eyes take on narrowed but cheery shapes when Maggie thoughtfully stows their joined hands somewhere snug and warm. The poor no-blooded pirate. He turns his gaze over his shoulder for his own last glimpse of comradely desertion, but says, "I don't know.. he's a much better tracker than I, but this close to the village it's got to be someone from the camp, no? I'll go and look, if he doesn't return soon," he notes. Coming upon Ruby and Mercier outside the common shelter, he bows a bit at the waist to regard the object of their focus, blinking at Ruby's bared foot. Concern flares, particularly if it happens to be the one already missing a little piggy, then fades when he susses the situation. Still. Frostbite's bad, mmkay? He wiggles his own fingers in sympathy around Maggie's in the cozy pocket. "Uh - good evening, Ruby.. Templeton," he straightens at the question, and half-glances away again. "That's Brigsby.. comrade from the old land. I brought him over to see the new Kitezh."
Ruby sighs and tries to go a bit quicker with the right leg, regretfully going down on one knee to start lashing, looking like she's proposing to an invisible bride or swearing allegience to Maggie and Merrisol as they approach. She doesn't note any stab wounds as she gets to business. "Naw...B'sides, there'd be mouths, an they'd say we was pract-icing knots." she snorts. "An dun't goo'n offah me coats. Let me freeze. Mistah Flay...sounds...upliftin. Why you fightin ovah ventuckulahs? They cheapah someplace else?" she wrappy-wraps and binds things up. Of the places she's visited, the cold of this one is definitely testing her. The big gal gets up and brushes snow and grit from her knees. "Maggah. Merrah. Yer Brigsbah be'ah looker."
Mercier glances down at Ruby's bear foot, and gives her a shrug, "As the lady wishes." He notes politely, reaching up to remove the cigerette from his mouth, and exhaling a puff of smoke, "Though that would be awfully presumptious of them, assuming I needed to practice." He notes, with a casually level tone. He furrows his brow, "I mean to say, we had a disagreement regarding my provideing of him a particular appelation..." He trails off, before glancing down, "The fellow took offense to me calling him mister, as he beleived he warranted a different title. As he was a pirate, I could, ruefully, not provide him with the respect he desired. He summarily revoked my dock privledges, threatened to sell me into slavery, and one of his crew clomped me in the skull. Not in that precise order, it's slightly fuzzy. Thankfully, a few kind people managed to extricate my presumably limp and lifeless form before further harm could befall me." He gives a look towards Merrisol, "A comrade.... from where did you bring him?" Mercier asks, a bit confused. He would've said crew if the man was serving aboard ship.
Maggie squeezes Merrisol's hand when his fingers wriggle within the pocket she provided. Looking up at him, she nods, "Well. I'll go with you, if you like." Not that she is worried about Brigs' ability to find his way back, no. It isn't that. It might be that she just... worries about him. A bit. Her gaze flickers off after him though returns as they near the kneeling Ruby. She looks down just as Ruby stands and has to drag her head out of the way to avoid a kablonging. This means that her hair whips in a long, reptilian ripple down her back and she ends up looking up and up at Ruby, "Hello." Beam. Grin. Almost giggle that thankfully sobers down as Ruby continues. "Brigs?" A looker? She whips a glance over her shoulder after the fellow, then back, "I... Guess so. Hadn't really noticed, personally." Hearing Mercier's explaination of what happened to give him the shiner, she blinks three times, thoughtfully, "You mean that you would not name him 'Captain', Templeton?" As the conversation returns to the strong, silent tracker, Maggie parts her lips to reply, but her brain has not made it past the possibility of Captainly titles unspoken. "Is Flay a Minosian?"
"If by 'looker' you mean he does a lot of looking, Ruby.. then yes. It's unfortunate he doesn't talk as much. The things he could tell of old Kitezh, of glorious battle.. and Ragnarok..." Merrisol trails as he regards the merchant preoccupiedly, as the reminder of the odd disagreement between Mercier and an entirely different pirate is sorted internally. Some of it is new information, however, and his focus wanders as some pieces fall into place. He glances between Maggie and Mercier. "If he is a pirate as claimed, and with such a name as Flay, it does stand to reason," he interjects through the doubled layers of weave. "Otherwise known as Lord Jhavid, son of.. erm.. Gerard. Are you certain of this?" he queries of Mercier, apparently having lost the man's own query regarding Brigsby's current place of address in the conversational shuffle.
Ruby also seems a bit confused and starts when there's almost a collision. Her mouth gawps at the air and then she's composing herself, rapidly blinking and clearing her throat. She smoothes back her hair after a tussle and adopts a wry grin. She's finally almost all buttoned up for whatever the environment will throw at her. Minus a hood unfortunately. She looks to Mercier. "He ain't tha prince 'o Docks, is 'e? I didn't think Ambah 'ad one 'o those." Ho ho, ha ha. The twinkle in her eye seems to be buoyed by Merrisol's comment. His /initial/ comment. She almost does a double take when it seems the title-sensitive Captain is the son of Gerard. "Whut? Tha Prince 'as 'ah Pirate nippah? Wait...Lord...Pirate...Ger-ahd's?" Time to reshuffle recent encounters and words.
"With a name like Flay, I don't see how he could be anything but." Mercier responds to Maggie, placing the cigerette back in his mouth, as he speaks around it, taking another inhale of tobacco, as that's apparently fairly urgent, over his words sounding /exactly correct/. He gives a shrug to Merrisol, "That information I've been able to glean, some of it might be incorrect. But what I can tell you is the man's name is Jhavid, he strongly prefers the title of Captain, he's master of Leviaithan. I know Prince Carmichael threatened to have words with me should I disrespect a member of the Navy again, or some such effect. I know that Flay has an infamous reputation, and is, apparently, an old friend of the Duchess Mandrake, which... decreases my estimation of her, to some degree, I am sad to say. But, it's as it is." He looks to Ruby, "Prince of the docks? No. A man who likley commands me and some degree of influence there, yes. I'm stil evaluating the nature of the threat, if it was merely bluster or something to be concerned about. I've.... kept Captain Kell appraised though... we had a bit of a disagreement in relation." He shakes his head, "That I won't seek to go into."
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's hand tightens against his more than a little, though she eases the touch before it goes too far. Even then the tension remains, she just does not squeeze farther.
Maggie stares at Mercier for a moment or two. Silent. Still. Intent. When she speaks, her tone is level, questioning. "As I was unaware of his actual name and did not know that 'Flay' was his Minosian Captain's name, the question was not academic, Mr. Templeton." Tension rises, evident in her posture, in the way she leans forward just a little and in the sparkle in her eyes. Flashing a glance up to Ruby, she stills for just an instant before offering, "Just as one should not judge adult children for their parents, the reverse is true. Parents are not necessarily to blame for choices their children make. Though I have far too many cousins who have made life choices specifically to be antagonistic to their parents." So... she returns her attention to Mercier, "How well do you understand Minosians do you think? At a guess?"
Privately, to Maggie, Merrisol's hand is up to the challenge of a good hard squeeze, in any case, and he feels and lets the pressure increase without fighting against it. That she eases off before damaging tendons renders that unnecessary. He sideglances down to catch a look at her, and attempts to take note of the moment, what had been said that could have provoked the afore-witnessed tension.
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's glance slips up to catch his and there is evidence that she is fighting an anger somewhat at odds with the situation. Also that she realizes that the anger is not entirely appropriate. Hints of confusion lie over the fire, banking it somewhat.
Merri listens in silence, distracted by the various overt reactions from those around him, although he does manage one of his own, a blink and slight snarl of distaste when the man's ship name is revealed. Leviathan. With a naval commission in the Amber Fleet? Bleh. He takes to watching Maggie obliquely while she grills Mercier.
Ruby slowly explores the rearmost molars in her head, pointedly, with her tongue. She searches her memory of Captain's bearing that name and feels a tickle. But she's still flummoxed by the potential familial relations. Could be a brother for instance. And Maggie provides a potential buffer on things that threaten to go wildly off the rails. She frowns, almost petulant that she can't grab the previous mental ball and run with it to some end zone free of obstacles. She has the sense not to try and interrupt the focused Q&A happening here.
Mercier isn't oblivious to the tenor and form that the conversation has taken. Mercier is casual in his movements, reaching up to remove the cigerette from his mouth, controlling it with his right index and middle fingers. While it travels back to his mouth periodically, he's just puffing on it enough to keep it lit. His other hand slips from his other pocket, and he draws it up, underneath his right elbow, arm across his chest. His hands don't travel back down to his sides just yet. "The exacty details of that matter fail me at the moment. I could only presume, not confirm." He furrows his brow, "I have not much contact with Minos... but from experiences and research, I'm to understand that Captain's are a measure of strong nobility there?"
Maggie remains primarily focused on Mercier, though she catches both Merrisol's reaction to something and Ruby's. When Mercier speaks, she listens then lifts her free hand to teeter-totter it side to side on the axis created by drawing a line from her elbow out to the tip of her middle finger, "Sort of." The hand turns and lifts, pressing a finger against her temple, "Okay. There are... three issues here. First... Kin. Just because Jhavid is kin of one stripe or another does not mean that he is instantly an ally. You still get to pick and choose those you will support and those you won't and to what degree. As an example, I choose to support Amy, Ruby, Martin, Quinlan, Gerard... Not in any order of preference. Because you are kin and because I like you. Or because I like you. That you are kin is icing on the cake." And there will be cake. Probably. Trust Maggie's Mouse. "So. Kin. In our case..." And here she does look up at Ruby, "... just means that you need to be careful. I wish it meant that we can trust each other, but it doesn't. Trust your gut." She offers the taller woman a somewhat rueful smile then looks back to Mercier, "So. Minosian titles. Captains earn their names. You can't choose one for yourself. So, taking it that 'Flay' is the man's Captain name, and using the most obvious definition of the word, he is unlikely to be someone I... would trust so having the Laviathon in the Royal Navy? Seems decidedly, possibly suicidally short-sighted." And then she pauses and lowers her gaze as a frown begins, "But, you need to understand... For a Minosian Captain... A real Captain..." With a capital C and everything, "... Our Captain names are sacred, in a way. They are how we are refered to formally and legally. Using a captain's real name means that you are considered a close friend and confidant. Not using the proper title is a grave, in some cases deadly, insult." She falls silent as a commotion begins on one edge of the village. Glancing that way, she adds, "If done on a ship or while serving in any legal capacity as crew is a hangable offense." Looking back, she adds, "It is so important that dignitaries from elsewhere have Captain appended to their other titles. So, Martin would be Captain Regent and Random or Viktor would be Captain Majesty or Captain King. It is so important, Templeton, that... again, considering Captain Flay's moniker, I am a little surprised you are alive at all." The commotion grows until someone starts running toward the group.
When the villager arrives, she speaks quickly, "Excuse me." Speaking to Merrisol then, she adds, "Your friend, sir. He need help. He is trying to bring down an artodus pack by himself."
Looking up, Maggie seems briefly annoyed, "A what now?"
The woman sort of shrugs helplessly, then tries, "They are like bears, Lady. With short snouts. But enormous."
Maggie looks alarmed and darts a glance up to Merrisol who is already preparing to jog-trot out to find Brigs. Looking to the others, Maggie offers, "Excuse us, please." With that, the two are off. Maggie even releases Merrisol's hand so he can move more quickly. Drawing her sword, which wreaths in flames, she sprints to catch up to her long-legged husband and the two are off.
Mercier listens carefully to Maggie's lecture about the importance of Captaincy in Minos, nodding at the appropriate points. As comes to a conclusion, Mercier taps some ash off his cigerette, lifting his shoe up to stub the cigerette out. "Then I should tend to avoid Minosian pirates, for I imagine this situation will occur again, if I should meet Mister Flay. I am certain I am only alive because of the bravery of several Chantris on scene." He seems to be about to continue when Maggie and company is inturrupted and takes a step back as they sally off, tipping his hat to both of them, even if they don't notice it, before sighing, and turning in the opposite direction, placing himself on a barrel or crate about, placing his hands in his pockets again. "Wages of a free tongue." He mumbles to himiself.
Taking off at a run from the village on the north road, leaving behind the warmth and relative safety of the common shelters, the dubious protection of the stone and log barricades, Merrisol, then Maggie, followed and probably overtaken by Ruby, will have heard the sounds of battle first. Expert trackers would have had some trouble otherwise picking up Brigsby's boot prints where he went off-path, as the cascading snow drifts make the meadows into harsh white rivers, filling in tracks and sculpting waves over top minutes after they are made. However, the basso-deep growls and shouts of men cannot be stifled by the arctic wind, and abruptly the field is marred by new sets of tracks when the trio veers to the sounds and treks towards the forest. Chopped steadily back from the settlement outskirts, the treeline is a solid mass of darkness choked with roiling shadows, the effects of the snow flurries throughout. Directly ahead, a wide swath of snowy land peppered by the squat stumps of felled trunks serves as the setting for the reported commotion.
Ruby is definitely not in love with the snowy conditions. And it's difficult to follow in the footsteps of Merrisol and Maggie, though thankfully her knee-high moccasins are on nice and tight. She didn't have much time to grab her supplies, and left her pack in favor of just her hammer and ankle knife. The sounds in the distance don't help alleviate the chill in her spine. And the way the snowy wind paints everything with yet more white, threatens to confuse her visual senses. She powers through the drifts alongside her companions. "What's tha sound? What sortah beast makin noise?" She squints against the wind and scans the stumps ahead.
Racing off after Merrisol is not as simple as one might think. Maggie's legs are shorter and her feet are smaller. Still, she is lighter, so can run along the crust of the snow as long as she does not pause long enough to start sinking. The crunch-whisp of her footfalls sail off on the wind, no doubt inspiring someone somewhere to make snow-cones. Following the sounds of fighting, she skids along the crest of one dune and veers away from the path, such as it is, to angle across a field. The going is a bit slower here, as the stumps of trees have caught drifts of snow masking their dimensions somewhat. Narrowing her eyes against the glare, Maggie draws her sword. In no time at all the blade is wreathed in flames to match her hair. Her other hand flexes and she considers drawing the other sword she wears. Glancing toward Ruby, Maggie half smiles though the expression is grim, "Some kind of giant bear. Or bears. The woman said Brigs was trying to take down a pack of the things. Uh. And she said 'enormous'. Not sure what that means, but I guess we'll find out." As the snow comes near her sword, the flakes melt with a hiss of steam.
"Arctodus," Merrisol calls back to Ruby. "I don't know what that is. What Maggie said," he agrees, sparing a glance back at them both, how they are moving and what they have brought with them. His main focus is on running and taking those treacherous cascades in long, high-stepping strides. Floundering and recovering where hidden ice patches or rocks trip him up. Eventually, however, he works Cloudpierce from its anchor on his back harness and throws off the leather hood.
Soon, too soon and too close to the village walls, they see the first silhouette rear up, achieving a standing height in the vicinity of 14ft. Massively heavy in its dense fur and wielding a deadly 5ft claw-tipped reach, the bear is beyond nature's reasonable limits; a freak or throwback to an era when gods walked and hunted and not mere beings of flesh and blood.
A Kite patrol can be made out next, as some of them lay bleeding in the snow while those without mortal wounds or shattered bones fight on, with swords and banded shields. Ranging out, for it isn't just the one freak, but a freak/show/, with three of the hulking predators more distant but approaching the walls as well. As the rescue team arrives, a fifth brute appears to form directly from the night shadows of the treeline, and lumbers over and around half-submerged stumps towards the source of that fresh bloody scent.
The first Arctodus strikes out with a crushing paw swipe at the ragged individual who is holding it at bay with a relatively stubby shortsword. He weaves and bobs downward at an angle, legs planted wide and rooted to the ice beneath the drifts, and the thick ursine arm only glances off his helmet, knocking it off-kilter. Unaffected, Brigsby moves in under the wide swing and thrusts the blade into the furred gut of the beast, provoking its enraged snarl but little else by way of visible damage.
Ruby trudges along and stumbles, sparing a moment to note how Maggie has summoned elemental forces to bathe her blade in. Pistoning down her hammer as a makeshift pole helps to stablize herself so she doesn't go face-first. The end of the shaft clunks against a stump and she uses it to half-vault, half crutch further along past the obstacle. She huffs a larger gust of warm air from her lungs, the rough edges of her tailored hides flapping. When she can finally spot one of the humungous beasts, she sucks in a large draught of frigid air into her lungs. The following exhalation sounds like a choke. Seeing not one, but many, her hind brain yelps to perhaps rethink things. Forward momentum takes her past moments of flight. And the sight of brave bloodied men. Feeling like some horrific alternative version of her pattern-walk, she commands her exposed and numbing flanks to continue the rhythm. "I see'm. I see'm!" Her voice climbs up an octave and she lets the grip of the hammer loosen enough to reestablish a vice-like one near the end of the haft. "They're too fook'n big! Bloody Bog they're 'uuuuuuuge!" And so that last exclamation becomes her impromptu vocal charge as she runs, the claw-headed hammerface skimming the frozen snow.
Thankful for the blood in her veins that helps her deal with rough terrain, Maggie still skids along snow covered, ice encrusted logs, her passage kicking up flurries of snow like spray behind a water skier. Leaping off the end of one, she lands with a crunch into a drift, then flounders through it to explode out the other side with a hiss of vaporizing snow and ice. She leaves behind a Maggie-shaped hole in the drift that slowly slumps in on itself and vanishes. Her hair and clothing glitter and sparkle with flecks of melting ice, giving her the look of a sprite dedicated to snow and fire. Spinning her blade to shed any water that lingers on it, she throws off steam as she advances. Taking in the bears and men, she winces, "Should have asked Amy to come." And that? Is all she has to say about that. Stepping closer to Ruby and Merrisol, she spots Brigs by the spray of bear blood that steams in the cold, "There he is." Four or so more? Gonna be a workout and no mistake.
Merrisol can spare almost zero moments to appreciate his wife's and comrade's ready advance on the situation, but he does notice, and the sights add sparks to his own determined approach. He assesses the threats as he moves in, his steps angling off to one side so he can make out a clearer picture around the nearest giant, Brigsby's opponent. Three.. Four.. "I count /five/! We can double-up!" he bellows to be heard by all defenders' ears.
Spotting the trio's approach, the leader of the patrol points his sword decisively at the bears on the approach, while he and his three remaining warriors keep harassing the second nearest Arctodus, surrounding it and taking turns charging on unguarded flanks. Not as easy as it might look, even amongst four, as demonstrated when the bear lurches in a sudden arc around and lays hold of a Kite, dragging him down into the trampled snow for a grisly mauling. The man's screaming brethren all close in at once to rip and stab with their blades until the ground in their area is a mire of hairy pink slush pools.
Okay.. no double-ups, then. It's one Arctodus each, until one can be felled and free up that defender's dance card. "Split-up! Don't let them hit the wall!" Or eat the wounded, for that matter.. "I've got Johnny-Come-Lately there!" Merrisol calls to Maggie and Ruby, indicating the newest-arriving and therefore farthest predator. He can intercept most expediently and can fight at varied-ranged as is his habit, while it remains apart from its pack. At a reckless run, he reaches up his free hand and drags his hood back for visibility, and lifts the scarf by the whole of its layers away to dump into the snow, preferring the frigid biting wind on his skin to the possibility of being entangled and choked by his own cozy knitwear. "Brigs!" he calls to the mass of snarling fur and flying snow as he gets closer, but doesn't stop; the ghastly Kite berserker is not inclined to reply, of course, and not only because he is engulfed in close-quarters, pitched battle with a bearnado. Another serving of gore splatters the surrounding snow as his sword churns through clotted hide and finds meat. Merri slogs through it and goes to meet his target, trusting the others to sort and chose their own from those still moving onward in a blood-frenzy.
Ruby starts to run at an odd tilt, angling more on her hammer-wielding side and in turn seeming to be running in a crescent rather than a straight line. She should have brought an axe, or perhaps a cannon for that matter. Ruby's breath goes in and out like forge bellows. All 'Hoouhs...Hoouhs', and now raising higher in pitch until they become 'heeeh...heeeh', closer together, rapid and winding up taut and tense like a clockspring juggernaut. Her hand feels like it's freezing onto where her grip is half on the leather wrappings, half overlapping the ugly metal alloy. No time to check her stride and trust that the loss of feeling in her lower extremities is a temporary matter. The most important thing is to aim at those three approaching bears. So she must have taken heed of Merrisol's idea. Strategy be damned, she heads for the middle bear. Probably the Mama, flanked by Papa and enormous cub, out for a mauling while their porridge cools. As she closes, she finally starts swinging the hammer in a slow ellipse, trying to counter the extra movement and yearning to hear a deep bass whoop that will tell her it's circling at a healthy parabola. This extra exertion has the sounds coming from her throat something akin to a keening that would be better suited to a smaller women. A thinner one. Banshee.
Heeding the call to double up, Maggie side-steps toward Merrisol and Ruby. Her attention flashes to the bear Brigs is giving what for. The keening of the Kites alerts her to the fact that not all is going as planned on that front. Though it is grim, it seems as though the patrol have that one taken care of. Hopefully. Then comes the call to split up and Maggie darts Merrisol, then Ruby a glance. She nods as Merrisol claims the farthest, then slows to give Ruby room to gain momentum for that monumental swipe at... three at once. Even with Ruby's clear height advantage over Maggie, the other Minosian woman is still not quite 14 or so feet tall like the adult bears. Glancing over her shoulder after Merrisol, she flexes her hand on the sword's hilt and draws the second blade in her other hand. It does not flare with fire, but sparkles with a deadly beauty in the light. Drawing in a bracingly cold breath, Maggie refocuses on the bear trio that Ruby has set out to administer pain to. "Eeny, meeny, miny, mo." Although it is unlikely that Mama would be happy with being Larry, the baby could be Curly and dad over there is Moe. Grim determination settles in Maggie's gaze and she follows in Ruby's path initially to gain momentum. Racing along after her kinswoman, Maggie's steps are lighter so when she leaps onto the snow, she once more skates across the surface like a giant water bug mutated in fire and determination. Rather than target the Mama bear, she concentrated on dad. Shifting her grip on the blades, she holds them up a bit, letting her arms hold some of her balance, even though it gives her the look of a sythe-bug on an assault run. Once more, she leaps, flinging herself up into the air in a glittering, shimmering, lance of flame, ice and emerald green. Knifing her body out, then forward she lifts the blades over her head in an attempt to snap them both down as her body connects with Moe's.
Brigsby goes for an involuntary cartwheel, caught up by a low blow that took him clean off his feet. He lands on his back in bloody snow but is twisting right back up again. There's no winding the windless, it would appear. Bearsby is likewise a juggernaut, coming after him with the vindictive fury of the thrice-gutted. Brigs feints around a lunge, and jabs into the loose folds of neck as it stretches out before him. With a slobbering howl, the monster knocks him sideways, ripping the sword from his grasp as it rears to take harried swipes at the weapon lodged under in its thick jowls. Brig shrugs his ragged pelt cloak back and pulls a toothy hatchet from his shoulder harness.
The air rumbles with the snuffling groans of the Arctodus being messily brought down by the surviving Kites. They'd dragged their downed comrade free while the guard leader baits the bear, and then the team resumes their flanking tactics, less one man. It is true, they are pecking away at theirs, but one more loss and they might not break even.
Merrisol centers on the path of the incoming Johnny, braces one leg against a tree stump to anchor his stance and sets his harpoon to spinning. Long, considered, overhead arcs play out the chain supply, but he has several seconds before the bear enters strike range, and so.... turn back, Johnny. Go back into the woods. The aggressive empathic command is there in Merri's forward lean, his arm outstretched, traffic cop-like, as though forbidding passage. Whatever the probe stirs in the bear's receptive capacity, the primordial desire to join its pack in the blood feast overwhelms any fear or survival instinct. Without further hesitation, Merri steps forward to close the distance and throws his shoulder into the swing for a powerfully solid connect between the harpoon's wicked barbed head and that of charging Johnnybear. It lists to one side but the sheer size of the beast keeps it from bowling over, gronking in suprised outrage and lashing out in a controlled lunge. Merrisol leaps back, clearing the stump, and yanks the chain hard to bring the intact harpoon out of the snow and sailing to his waiting hand.
MamaBear is coming out somewhere between the first two battlegrounds, zeroing in on the slumped bodies of the wounded beyond. Her dark brown pelt is shot through with tan 'freckles', rippling in the dim dusk air like a swarm of fireflies as she surges forth, salivating heavily. Ruby comes between her and the meal of opportunity, swinging, and she takes a clip from the ugly forged iron to the snout. Blood squirts from her crushed nose and long yellow teeth go flying as the impact rearranges her muzzle, but she ripples free and rears halfway up, gargling out a vengeful howl just over Ruby's head-level. The woman's flying braids are slicked with snot and grizzle, right before one paw comes clubbing out at Ruby's face, the way one might backhand an unwelcome hornet.
Ruby feels how her weapon meets resistance before once again swinging around, making her shoulder rotate along with the centripetal force. Diminished, but not negate, the blood and gore coated head is curving back towards the earth. The big woman feels the patter of fluids and stamps uncertainly to the side of the upright bear, adjusting to the depleted momentum and try to gauge where next to take a swing at the brute. Getting a waft of that beastial breath has Ruby grimacing and baring her own teeth. But that roar has her insides vibrating as it passes through her from such a close distance. The tall amazon next finds her head almost turned right around at a sickening angle when she gets whacked upside the head. Tit for tat, her own snout feels the karmic reprisal and she teeters backwards on one flailing foot. A talon from that massive paw slices into her scalp and separates it, making it languidly flap as she falls backwards onto her back, snow plowing outwards as she creates a Ruby-sized crater. Her arm sticks upright and bent at the elbow, in her grip the crazily tilting hammer still clutched.
MoeBear is still some dozen feet trailing Mama when Ruby rushes at them, and his own muzzle wrinkles in feral warning. Scars from dozens of pack dominance battles are evident over his mottled hide, and one eye looks cloudy from a very old but dreadful fight. His very first fight, perhaps. All sinew and scar tissue underneath that fur, he surges at Ruby as well to catch her lower half, except he doesn't get halfway there when Maggie leaps in with blades held high. Ice-clotted fur explodes into singed tufts as the flamesword parts Moe's hide and bubbles through the fat layer. On the other side, Maggie's offhand blade clips into the ragged ear and draws fresh bright blood. Bellowing, the Alpha Arctodus swings his wounded head one way, then the other, pulling free of the one blade, and throwing Maggie off his burning shoulder in the second blundering move. His jaws quest to close around something in retaliation, her trailing jacket or even some fiery hair, before she clears his range of movement.
The thump of landing on Moe-Bear's back is a bit jaring, though the way the blades sink into the bear's fur and flesh helps to anchor her. Her feet scrabble for purchase on the creature's haunches, seeking foot holds on the thick, curly hide to no avail. The acrid smell of burning hair mindles with a more appealing, if disturbing scent of frying meat and bear fat melted by flames. The blade that nicks Moe's ear drags down toward his shoulder, but does not find purchase in time to save Maggie from being flung over Moe's shoulder. Her momentum is slowed a bit as her blade burn-cuts its way out of the bear's back. The trajectory of the toss is also other than might have been expected, cutting across Moe's muzzle rather than flying forward. Spinning in flight, her hair and cloak wrapping around her, trapping one arm in hair and fabric, she keeps the other arm free, angling a slice of burning steal across Moe's snout as he lunges in for a snapping bite that snags the flapping end of her cloak. This sends Maggie into a reverse corkscrew spin that untangles her body, but stops her forward motion in a jerk that effectively garrots her despite her Oberspawn given strength. The spins give her micro-glimpses of the others; Merrisol's generous and kind attempt to convince Johnny to go on home, Ruby's partial scalping, snow and darkening sky, bloody pink patches, white and blue fading to black where trees and evening meet. Then stars and pain as her cloak's clasp bites into her neck obliterates her vision and she lands in the snow on unsteady feet.
Ruby does a spasmotic shuffling about on her back before she rolls onto her side, sending snow and ice cascading off into a series of new trajectories. She screams when the frozen stuff touches the tender wound on her head. It helps wake her up, sending ice picks into her consciousness to help shoo away the effects of the concussive swatting. No time to take stock of things, she staggers about wildly if given half a chance and then tries to put on a bit of speed and awkwardly swings the haft of the hammer from one hand to the other. She's completely forgotten about how her friends are doing, blinking rapidly and trying to keep the massive ursine in her field of vision. Without grace or finesse, she charges the beast, slapping both hands upon the sledge and throws herself at the thing with as momentum she can build with the distance available. Nothing too articulate from her as she does this. Howling like a enraged animal.
Bearsby has worked the shortsword out of its neck, flinging it away like a used toothpick. The crazed giant turns back to Brig only to find the Kite has recovered his shield and buffeted the next blow aside while stepping back in to hack mercilessly into a preexisting wound with speedy swings of his hatchet arm. Covered head to toe with fur and blood, the ghoul has a clenched grin and stoked coals for eyes, ravenous for gore. Then he's engulfed in a mountain of bone and sinew again as the impossible bear folds inward to sink its massive jaws into Brigsby's exposed neck and his chest as well, bending and snapping links of chainmail. The Kite flops as Bearsby worries him once, then abruptly spits him out and recoils in utter disgust at the taste of long undead warrior flesh.
The three Kite guardsmen seem to have found a working rhythm that keeps them dodging out of claws' reach while scoring hits on their foe. The stabs are beginning to add up, and blood droplets fly as the Arctodus casts about in a cloud of steam as its life leaks out from dozens of punctures.
Merrisol catches sight of his ghoulfriend's plight in a glance, and almost starts in that direction to help despite still having to contend with a very-much-offended JohnnyBear. Ruby's pained wail snaps through his awareness but he has to force back his opponent with a gleaming arc of his harpoon before he can look to her. Two horrors for the cost of one - for he then catches sight of Maggie tumbling from MoeBear and snatched out of the air by her cloak. No! He pivots to return and assist with those nearer giants but that moment's distraction gives the jilted bear enough opening to charge. Coming in low under the defensive swing, Johnny rams into Merri's leg and sends him sprawling, measuring out his height facedown within a sculpted drift. With a pounce the triumphant bear is over him and lunging in with slathered jaws gaping. Hot, stinking bear breath filling up his impromptu snow angel, Merrisol rolls, twists, and thrusts his arm deep into Johnny's maw. The jaws clamp down with pulverizing force... over the glass shaft of the harpoon he'd been holding. Yanking his hand back from the barbs in the barest nick of time, Merrisol loses his glove but closes around the sturdy metal grip of the weapon, yelling with desperate determination as he forces the weapon deeper before the bear can draw back. He is rewarded as a bucket's worth of blood pours out of the maw to flood his parka with searing fluid. Johnny stands up, grotesquely gargling the harpoon, and Merrisol scrambles up and rushes clear, trailing chain from the compartment in the side of his parka. He finds a taller stump, loops the chain once around, and then throws himself bodily into a great TUG. The effect on the Arctodus's gaffed throat is... Horrific.
MamaBear dribbles a ropey trail of nasal discharge and blood from her collapsed muzzle, but she still has two good long arms and blood-frenzy going for her as she faces off against the wild Ruby. MoeBear has a cooked shoulder, which might go well with bearnaise sauce later, but the hardened champion of the pack is still good to go otherwise.
MoeBear draws back away from the sizzling blade that swings in his direction, adding to the force of the tug against Maggie's throat. He shakes his massive head, cloak still held in his teeth and Maggie is whipped on way, then the other like a rag-doll that refuses to collapse. Her feet slip and slide beneath her as they try to keep her from being flung into a drift or cracked in half. With both hands freed from the cloak, she tightens the pull on her own throat by twisting around to slice through the fabric holding her to Moe's head. One blade glides through the fibers like an iceburg at sea while the other sets the cloth aflame. The final thread burns through and Maggie leaps back to adjust for the release in that deadly tension. Choking, she staggers as MoeBear rears up on his hind legs. His left foreleg dangles a bit, then draws painfully up as he stalks forward toward his far shorter, bright target. Setting her feet beneath her, Maggie answers MoeBear's pained roar with one of her own as she darts forward, both swords at the ready. Her hair and new, raggedy edged short-cloak flap and fly with her movements.
The very angry Mamabear shakes its ruined muzzle back and forth, offering another roar of bright hot pain and sending blood and spittle in a side to side spray, the sound sending forth tremors that make loose snow particulate dance and vibrate where it hasn't yet been disturbed. As it turns swiftly to begin it's own loping attack on Ruby, lowering to a hunch that that will soon be propelled like a big hairy nightmare, the amazon is already on her way. The fury and need to lash out, stomp and rend. There's enough savagery in the air for all, and Ruby just soaks it up. Unlike her scalp.
Being leeched of logic and common sense as quickly as the blood poors down the side of her temples, her fight or flight response is very clearly toggled to the former setting. Her feet barely maintain their footing as she finds out who is going to blink first during a suicidal charge. It turns out that neither of them are. Before they make contact, Ruby lets out another of her horribly off-key shrill shouts. One last ditch vocal act of intimidation that finds itself up against a truly beastial representation that doesn't need to summon up anything to 'be' pure aggression. It's the thought that counts. And Ruby isn't thinking.
And she definitely doesn't know how to fight properly. She crashes into the bear as it's just starting into it's advance and she and the hammer sink into the coarse hide of the creature, colliding with her shoulder and weapon against it's hip, producing a howl from the bear and a ceasing of Ruby's warbling. The impact is enough to knock one leg out from under the bear and sending it careening momentarily to the ground, with Ruby tumbling along with it in a flailing of limbs.
RPG: Ruby declares that she has the Intimidating (PPL-IN) gift. Use '+gift PPL-IN' to view the gift description. Last edit: 46 months ago.
Some days you get the bear.. and some days... Brigsby staggers through the snow in a broken manner after the chomp rejection, but his Arctodus leaves him be for now. Balked by the intensely cloying taste in its mouth, it emits whooping coughs and splutters while it lumbers off to one side, and spits some bits of chainmail and unidentfied bits into the churned snow. The groans and growls of its packmates still underscoring the shouts of their difficult prey. There are bodies strewn about, but no time to dine, or lick its wounds! The bear's attention perks at the sound of Maggie's warcry, and goes to join MoeBear in swatting the woman down.
Merrisol picks himself up, grimacing for a moment as he surveys the terrible thing he did. In the next moment, he's hauling on the chain and pretty much painting a gore trail through the snow from all the trailing viscera on the glass barbs. He turns back to check on Ruby and Maggie while moving their direction in a limping, panting run. Seeing two Arctodi closing in on his wife lends fear fuel to his stride as he shortens the distance more rapidly, giving the chained weapon a mighty pull to lift the bloody harpoon out of the ice debris and flying airborne to be caught up by a bare hand growing numb with the chill.
Noting MoeBear's milky eye, Maggie angles her rush toward him to take advantage of what she hopes is full or partial blindness on that side. Used to his disability, MoeBear adjusts in a two-step sort of shuffle that might give the impression that the pair are doe-se-doeing. The circling lasts for all of two steps when Maggie runs up a smallish mound of snow and uses the slip-sliding down the other side to gain momentum toward Moe. This time, he is ready for her, his massive arms enfolding her to him like a lover drawing in an old flame.
His roar of triumph turns into one of agony as the scent of wet, smouldering bear fur rises from beneath the bear-embrace. This is soon joined by the smell of flash-seared bear meat though there is little blood to go with the scent. And then far too much as blood stains the snow at his feat in a wash of crimson that carries gobbets of seared flesh sizzling in its own fat. MoeBear roars in agony, pain erasing the mad blood lust and hunger. His arms seem to fold inwars, as though Maggie's body takes up no room at all within that embrace.
Bearsby's lumbering approach comes too late for MoeBear. He drops his arms for now he holds nothing at all and there is a Maggie sized hole in his gut. He staggers a few steps forward, then falls as Maggie cuts her way out the bear's back in a far nastier explosion of red meat, blood, black hair and grisly gristle. Spinning, covered in the red of bear blood, she braces and roars a war-cry toward Bearsby.
The tumbling rolling mess of Ruby and bear go steam-rolling about the snowy ground. The hammer goes flying in its own cartwheel to land a number of yards away. Both try to get onto their own two feet, though the bear finds it much more awkward with a partially broken pelvis. Ruby is on hands and knees when the bear, in pain, rolls towards her and slams a big furry mitt onto her spine and rakes down her back. And then it's Ruby's turn to howl. Arching her back, she squinches her eyes shut hard and bares her teeth in a rictus. The big wounded beast saws its open maw towards her and uses its good leg to help get it closer to find a neck to wring. Ruby could probably crawl away at this point, but her choler is up. Reaching down to her ankle she rips off her long knife, scabbard and all. With the weapon still technically sheathed, and with more luck than skill, she stumbles within the bear's reach and starts viciously stabbing away and the animal's arm. Hacking away as if she were more sensibly armed with an axe. The arm comes swooping up and around and she suddenly doesn't have an arm to bruise and bludgeon. The bear's appendage catches her from collarbone to crotch and she's almost lifted off her feet by the swipe. Once again she's disarmed as the knife drops from her grasp. But as she's woofing out a breath she grapples on tightly to the arm. Like she was having birthing pains, she falls backwards and her feet come dangerously close to being fed to the bear. However, with her feet finding firm purchase against the animal, she heaves backwards like she was hauling an anchor, wrenching as hard as she possibly can. Which is apparently rather prodigeous. With a sound like someone shucking corn, the ball socket succumbs under the strain and veins and torn muscles are all that keeps the arm attached. Every muscle and vein stands out in sharp relief upon her exposed flesh while she pulls and pulls. Mamabear recoils, the pain proving too much and making her want to escape rather than press an attack.
The Kite warriors let out a chorused yell of victory as their worthy adversary huffs and pitches forward in a dying slump, when a well-aimed stab sinks in past bone and sinew and strikes the vitals. That's three giant bears down, one in retreat. Bearsby is given pause (and paws) as MoeBear dies half-baked, and the grisly (and grizzly) sight of Maggie emerging from the Alpha's back just to bell a new challenge has him sniffing the air in bleary, snarling uncertainty. Hostile prey all around, and MamaBear's incapacitation, inspires Bearsby to take to his wounded heels while everyone else is busy.
Well of course Merrisol is concerned for Ruby as well, and would have even /more/ concern if he had seen MamaBear almost taking her guts for garters. What he does end up seeing is Ruby dislocating the bear's arm at the shoulder with sickening force. He windmills his own arms unevenly as he skids and slides to a halt. Seconds click by while he works his mind through just /what/ he witnessed occurring between Maggie and MoeBear, then he remembers to inhale and reel in his jaw. That's when Bearsby starts running, and Merrisol clears out of his way to approach the others, the pooled blood congealing in his hood and around his collar. It's not his, honest. "Are you injured?" he demands, gazing over Maggie's charred and smoking entrail outfit, then seeking out Ruby for a once-over. Brigsby is here as well, but amazingly has begun stalking after the retreating Arctodi as though having regained battle lust and the use of his fighting arm.
Breathing heavily, trying not to aspirate bear blood, Maggie stumbles forward a step or two when Bearsby does the smart thing and turns to lumber off. Can't clear the stench from her nose, really, nor the taste from her mouth and throat. Seeing the bear lumber off and Kerf appear in almost the same frame of reference, she takes a moment to process what has been asked, "I'm... I'm fine... I think. I've a pain in my side, but it isn't bad. You?" The sound of the dislocation echoes in her ears even though she does not know what it means initially. "Ruby? Is she okay? Brigs?" It isn't that the ghoul is last in her thoughts, or she might not be out here in the first place. It is just that he... is less likely to be ended. The benefits of being 'already dead'... A long shudder ripples through her and Maggie gags, but manages not to lose her lunch despite the bile that threatens. Sheething her swords, her gaze lingers on his face before skating over to find Ruby.
Ruby isn't going to let any bear off the hook while it's within grabbing distance. When she feels how the arm becomes more detached than it has any right to be, she gives it a hard wringing twist, like a hand towel. The reaction is a reward in itself. Back burning, her head doesn't feel quite as bad. Soaking in the good ol Berzerker flavour of the Kites, she drops the arm as the bear rolls over on it's side to protect both hip and deadend limb. "Ek's'n dom Kaffer!" she gnashes her teeth, almost biting off her own tongue in the process. The animal is still writhing and snapping at her so nothing has been sorted completely yet. She lurches forward and drives her knee into the lower jaw, jamming upper and lower jaws together with a crunch. With unrestrained fury starts driving her elbow into the things forehead, again and again. It's a catfight, and all one-sided. The bear tries to roll away and Ruby keeps on harrassing it like a jackal, sometimes tearing, sometimes gouging eyesockets with her numb fingers. She's made quite a mess of it by the time she's astride its neck, lacing her fingers together and hammering up and down on the skull until it and the pulpy mass it protects are a mingled mash.
Merrisol drops his harpoon and squelches his hand into the gore at Maggie's side, gently feeling her ribs there. Besides... it's warm gore. "I.. might have to sit down funny for a while, but I'll live," he murmurs, following her gaze towards Ruby again, and... staring with a vaguely queasy frown. "I think she's going to be... fine," he offers. It's just as well the infuriated giantess is rearranging the rest of the Arctodus matron's features so there will be no escaping to the shelter of the woods. In its seriously injured state, they'd only be going in after it to end the suffering. "....Ruby.. enough! End this," he grates out after the vicious mauling goes on without mercy. But when Ruby starts bludgeoning the bear's skull with her bare fists, he swallows and starts forward to.... oh hey, she did it! "Brig! Leave it!" he calls instead, stopping the Kite short of the treeline. At least Bearsby will live to stalk the Kites another day.
The three Kites are busily checking on their wounded, four men down in all.
Ruby seems to repeating a word over and over as she tenderizes. "Golooo...Golooo..." Something to that effect. With gusto. The thing has stopped moving and it feels like the old days where the forge heat used to feel like it was searing her lungs out. She stops and releases her hands from one another. She relaxes her shoulders and tilts her head back, simply breathing hard. By her expression, she's not looking anything but tired and tenderized. "Fook'n febeh...Fook." She grants herself a bit of a respite, residing within the reek and stench but too exhausted to get out of its radius.
As Merrisol's hand travels over her ribs, Maggie winces and sucks in a shock of air when he comes to a couple of places. Her hands tighten on the hilts of her swords, though that seems to clue her in that she is still holding them. Blinking blood from her eyes, she carefully sheeths them. The flame goes out around the one though she will need to clean the other and replace the sheeth when she can. Ick. Stepping away from the bear, she seeks Merrisol's hand for a brief squeeze. Moving closer to Ruby, she just stares at the sight of her friend bludgening the bear into a bloody pulp. A blink or two and she glances back at the carcus of MoeBear, partially roasted and it hits her that she... did that. A shudder rips through her and her attention flashes to Brigs where he stalks the treeline and then back to the bear Merrisol landed. Clearing her throat again, she manages to speak, "We need a healer. And we need to get the bears back to the Kitezh village. They'll have bear meat this winter."
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Gossip C5V: Sun Mar 8 10:08:39 2015 by Merrisol (public)
GL-Kitezh: moderate known by connected, trace cost 1, expires 05 Apr
Title: Came, Saw, Didn't Feed The Bears
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The intrepid Captain and crew of the Wave Dancer have proven to be solid allies of the new Kitezh as well as the old. After working with Wulfgar Gereson to guide his stranded clan home, they had delivered supplies from Rebma and stayed on for a couple of weeks of the harsh winter season besides, befriending the people and exploring the surrounding wilderness.
Then, two nights before their scheduled departure, the vulnerable habitation had been menaced by a sleuth of enormous bears out of the frozen woods. Members of the outskirts patrol can recount how they came upon the strange Kite berzerker from the visiting ship, heading off the beasts in the stump-studded snow meadow. The desperate engagement had dropped several warriors before the group found a working team strategy to bring down just one giant, yet they would have been overwhelmed had Flame and her formidable associates not shown up to stem the tide. Savage feats were performed that night, and the field was awash with steaming viscera and massive carcasses when it was all over. At fourteen feet upright, the bears yielded dozens of good steaks, roasts, and so forth, and though most pelts would need mending they would make fine warm blankets after being tanned and cured.
And when the Wave Dancer set sail for Shadow on the next leg of their adventures, it was proudly agreed the stay in Kitezh had whetted their appetites well for the perils which still lay ahead.
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