Round 1: Team D

[Max Dirks]

Round 1 will begin at 3 PM EST on Thursday, February 2, 2017.

You stumble upon the refugee camp either to assist the Rangers or by other circumstances. The cat like race of people you encounter do not speak any known language. Three combat ships are bearing down on the camp. Their origins and purpose, like those of the refugees, is unknown. An ideal thread will address the communication issue with the cat people, the purpose of the combat ships, decipher the symbol and will identify the origins of both parties. Please note the term refugees was coined by Ceidon to describe an unknown group of crash victims. It is entirely up to you whether they are actually refugees.

[Tainted Bushido]

“I am looking for the ronin Taka.” The words filtered through the room of people. It was a crowded place, an oft used stop for mercenaries and brigands. The tavern was alive with the sounds of soldiers carousing even if it was early morning. An arm wrestling match was at one table, a card game at another, it was the usual chaos, perpetuated by the usual suspects.

The speaker wore the green cloak that had become synonymous with the Coronian Rangers. Her black hair kept back in a warrior's braid. Pointed elven ears broke the taut nature of her hair, even as her boiled leather armor smelled of the soaps used to maintain it. She was looking at the gruff man at the bar, who seemed to ignore her for a moment, relishing a bit of his drink. “I said-”

“I heard you, what do you want with him? I’m not about to let you get a chance of sticking him with a knife if that’s your play,” the man replied. Tanned skin marked him as a more exotic form of human. The lack of armor seemed to go against everyone else in the room. In a bar where everyone had armor and weapon, he was merely dressed in commoner’s clothes, loose fitting and slightly dirty, as if laundry day had been skipped recently. Blue eyes bore into the golden irises of the elf as a battle of wills began.

The elf turned before she spoke, “I need him for a diplomatic mission. We are in need of warriors who know diplomacy and could prevent an incident. For all I hate of that man-”

“Who beat you after offering you a way to save face, isn’t that right Captain?” The words were spoken with a hostility that implied history. If one could have insinuated a murder with mere syllables, then the speaker had surely done so.

“This isn’t about what happened at the Gates-”

“Bullshit it’s not, it's because he tried to offer you peace before he delivered you your ass you’re mad at him. It’s also why he’s perfect for this job. How many men do you need?”

“Just Taka.” The elf replied as she leaned against the bar and looked the man in the eyes.

“He’s not going to like that and you know it.”

“I’m not about to give him a forum to restart the Ixian Knights. The fact he hasn't been hung as a traitor is beyond me, but I feel it has something to do with ending the stalemate here. Either way it’s not my place to question the order, I was told competent warriors capable of diplomacy, and the Ronin came in with you lot. I refuse to give him a platform or an edge out there. He’s necessary as a warm body babysitting some retainers for a nobleman. If he can do that and get the hell out of here I’d be much happier.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you really think of him Captain?” The foreigner said with a devilish smirk.

“If I have to endure another smug lecture about that man I swear to the thayne above-”

“That is enough Taicho Nadiliya. I now know what you came here for. You can talk with me. Erickson-san, you are relieved,” The heavily accented voice came from behind Nadiliya who turned to see the ronin behind her. She could see the telltale white eye from behind the porcelain mask that he wore to cover his face. She had seen that face once, when he had been beaten to bloody pulp by Elijah Belov. She had wondered what his game was until he successfully flooded the walls with men, and every missile weapon upon them was turned upon the guardians of the city.

Having to call the surrender had been a bitter pill to swallow, and she never forgave the ronin for it. She had lost being a captain when the city had been given back to the crown, even now she was sure she would never rise in the ranks from where she was. She wanted so badly to stab the man, but having been ambushed by him in the bar she knew he was prepared for just such an occasion. Erickson raised his beer in toast to his commander before moving from the bar. Nadiliya shook her head slowly before she spoke, “Refugees from a foreign land were run ashore on the west coast not far from here. The Republic had elected to send two people to try and open relations with these sailors who seem at the moment unable to communicate. Your job is to babysit them while I maintain the quarantine around you. Do you accept?”

“Orcs?” Taka asked pointedly as he watched the elf. His eyes never straying from her hands.

“Catfolk. Do you accept?”

“You are exceedingly forward Taicho, is there a problem?”

“If I could do it without you, I would have. Do you accept?”

“You must wait for my reply.”

“Do. You. Accept?” The words were forced through clenched teeth.

“How many of my men may come?” Taka asked, ignoring her question.

“None. Do you accept?”

Taka tilted his head studying her, finally he spoke up, “Will you be present?”

“Yes, now do you accept or can I try to find the next soldier who can follow orders?”

“I accept.”

The words seemed to sour her disposition more.

~*~

The journey had not been arduous. His sack hoisted over his shoulder with his weapons firmly in place. The crackle of branches crushing under the weight of his sandals was not lost upon him, the lack of stealth. This wasn’t to be a mission taken silently. This mission was on a clock, with the distant ships coming to the shore. Either they needed help and protection, or they were to be apprehended and returned to whoever was upon those three ships.

Taka knew the answer would be a shade of grey, either answer could be true, and until he knew the specifics, he would wait to prevent acting out of rash urgency. He continued to follow Nadiliya remaining silent as he heard the water kami gently whisper in his ears. It was reassuring that his newfound allies had not abandoned him yet, and he was in need of allies in times like these.

Finally they broke into the quarantine zone, catfolk moving about to break down the camp. Taka could tell the panic they were in, tails tucked close to body, ears pressed back against the head, they were afraid of whatever was coming. Something had them spooked, that much was obvious. Being a member of the Yanbo Port guard had forced him to deal with the nekojin more than once. The fact he knew their dispositions would help him at the least, he could tell when fear turned to agitation, and be able to respond accordingly. The camp itself had been made in a stand of trees, forming a natural windbreak. The clearing, current occupants notwithstanding, was rather open, though with the running about the leaves and detritus had been shoved aside until the dirt sprung through. The soil was soft, almost a loamy quality giving an earthy scent to the clearing, even as water was poured where the campfire had been.

He turned to Nadiliya before he spoke, “Gunso, where are my charges?”

She glowered at him before she pointed to the far side of the clearing, “They would probably be over where the bulk of my men are waiting for you before proceeding.”

[Gum]

Senator Fordstein's spirited eyes gorged on the majesty and motion of Radasanth's cityscape beneath him; it was all his for the taking. For once, the scheming senator paced anxiously; all his civility had been drained by the burden of puppet mastery. Creaking leather and the ominous rattle of dry bones joined the gasping whisper of his breath. Distracted by the new sound, he dragged his exquisite loafers on the rug's thick pile and spoke. "Gum, my dear Gum, I have become so intricately familiar with the delightfully aboriginal din you bring to my office.” Turning away from the sweeping glass of his panoramic view, the politician greeted his provincial guest with a smile and a nod. A long desk, lacquered to a shine, separated them. Gum glowered back, snorting discontentedly through the breadth of his nostrils. The shaman's compelling dignity stemmed from his verbal minimalism and the imposition of his people's traditional attire; only straps of fur and leather kept him from nudity.

“Well, quite,” sliced the senator's retort. “We have important business to attend to.” For a second time, he left an inviting gap in his monologue; but again, Gum offered little more than the beady glare of his scowling silence. The senator's well-manicured fingers crumpled a sheet of paper with frustration. “Perhaps I'll expedite our hitherto limp confabulation." With both of his hands planted on the table between them, Fordstein leaned aggressively into his guest's immediate periphery. "Mr. Gum, I trust you are aware of the grand armada awaiting us to the south?”

Gum's sullen grimace came to an end when his lips broke to speak. “Of course. Many people are speaking of it. People are afraid." The senator pulled back, satisfied at having provoked a response from his underling. "People are wondering why our own navy waits in the dock," Gum continued. "People say our navy is a match for these invaders. A point with which I agree.”

“I suppose the cat will be out of the bag soon enough,” smirked the senator, taking a moment to smooth the slick extremities of his ornate moustache. Gum adjusted his stance, slightly taken aback by the senator's cryptic response. After uncrumpling the dogeared page, Fordstein handed it over to Gum's arthritic grasp. “Read this.” Even the opening words of the document caused the shaman to rub at his wrought forehead. “This is ill-advised, Senator Fordstein.” A puff of apprehension blew from Gum's vexed frown. “You have come to know me," implored the shaman, "I have no aversion to death nor the dealing of it; it is just another morning to an old soul.” At last, the shaman's stoic demeanour was overcome. “But this, your plan; innocent souls will not be spared. I cannot abide this.”

Blustered, Fordstein shot back. “Corone is a storied stage, bloody with perennial grudges. I will not deny our fair nation the satisfaction of retribution. I can't imagine a peregrine individual such as yourself would understand.” The volley missed the mark, Gum was not offended; the stinging xenophobia of Coronian natives fell on deaf ears. “But then, you don't have to understand, do you?" The senator's skilled manipulation found the target with a one-two follow up, and so his reluctant partner snarled back. "This is your land." It was all Gum could say, but he said it with a jagged bite. "That's why we have our little arrangement," laughed the senator. The deal of which they spoke was a capitulation the Dheathain native regretted more with each passing day; the senator offered political support for Gum's fledgling nation—the Xangu Nation—in return for access to his unique skill set.

Chest first, Fordstein tugged on the rich velvet of his lapels and insisted upon professionalism. “Ignoring the whimsy of your conscientious objection, Mr. Gum, do you understand your mission?”

“Yes," Gum replied curtly, the senator's condescending magniloquence had begun to bother him. "I understand my part in this. I am to intercept both the Rangers and these runaways." Perplexed, Gum begged a question, "If needs be, am I permitted to kill green cloaks?"

Fordstein nodded and pursed his moustachioed lips with camp delight. "Gum, political complexities are something you shouldn't concern yourself with!" Pointing back to the page in the shaman's hand, he instructed Gum to, "Keep reading!"

"It says," continued the shaman, "it is my duty to prevent news of this plot reaching the people of Akashima.” His own people, hundreds of miles away, suffered under the yoke of imperialism; Gum's eyes welled up at his becoming a cog in the machine of another empire's expansionist aggression.

Recognising his operative's faltering emotion, Fordstein stepped in. “Don't worry, old bean. This won't be as hard on you as you think." He rang a servant's bell and set his eyes on the bevelled panels of his office door. "We have for you, Mr. Gum, a fabulous opportunity for personal growth. You'll be working with a partner. I have compromised my significant bank balance to purchase the time of a very special individual."

[Mari]

“Goddamn it Master.... “ Amari muttered bitterly to herself, her complaint drained out by the echo of footsteps as they bounced off the walls of the long and narrow corridor. For a government building the place was quite bare with naught on the walls aside from illustrious ornate gas lamps which flickered and cast shadows across the small entourage. Couldn’t afford damn carpet, aren’t these meant to be government folk under nobles? Cheap bastards. She thought to herself as she kept her tri-coloured eyes to the floor watching her warbled reflection in the polished granite as her boots clicked against the stone. “Tch.”

Amari rose her head to have her eyes rest on the two large and burly men in front of her. They were clad in ornate armour that looked so pristine that she doubted their combat experience, if at all. Hell, she wondered if they ever even got dirty. One of them glanced over his shoulder, green eyes locking with her own. Amari smirked. “Yo.” The man’s eyes widened in fear as he quickly whipped his head back forward. The red haired woman grinned as she quickened her pace and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Aww, what’s with that look?” She teased in a singsong voice. “Are you afraid of lil’ ol’ me?” She asked as she pulled back and forced him to stop walking. The man tried to shake her hand off him as he jerked back.

“Git offa me, I know what yer capable of!”

Amari let go and her arms casually fell to her sides. “Oh? Does my reputation precede me?”

She could hear the hiss of metal as the other guard shifted behind her, the situation was quickly escalating. Not that Amari cared, she had been stuck afloat on a shitty ass boat for weeks only to be dragged straight off it with nary a days rest. “That’s enough, Red. Let’s go. Boss is waitin’.” The second guard spoke in short, sharp sentences in a low voice. Amari sighed as she pulled away. “Wasn’t going to do anything, you peg me as some sort of murderous monster.”

“Well, you do come from the Crimson Hand, surprising really… from what I hear that Ulroke guy can barely lead his way outta a pap-URGHhhh...” There was a clatter as his sword dropped to the ground. His insults turned to wordless pained cries as he gasped for air. His hands scratched and tore at Amari’s arm but to no avail. Her tiny hand barely covered his throat but it didn’t need to. Her thumb pressed hard into his trachea and plumes of smoke wafted up from under her touch. His skin peeled and began to take on a green hue.

“Don’t. Fuck. With. My. Master.” Amari drew in close and hissed the words into his ear. Towering over the guard as he dropped to his knees her eyes watched his intently waiting for the moment he fell into unconsciousness. It took mere seconds till his bloodshot eyes rolled into the back of his head and Amari let the man go with a ‘thunk’ as he hit the hard floor.

Amari dusted her hands, “Right.” She turned to the other guard, her eyes travelled down to his pants where there was a distinct wet patch. “Considering you just pissed yourself I suppose I can assume I won’t have any further problems?” The man shook his head as he licked his lips and gulped. “Good.” Amari said with a smirk. Normally, she wouldn’t be so aggressive but she had to vent and she didn’t take too kindly to others speaking ill of the man in charge of the Crimson Hand. She had earned the right, some pristine fuckwit in another region had not.

A shrill and distinct chime of a ringing bell interrupted any further alteration between the two. The guard coughed to clear his throat. “Fordstein calls for us, we should-”

“Pick up yer friend then, might give your boss a heads up though. I don’t appreciate being treated like ‘the help.’” Amari said as she gestured toward the unconscious man on the floor. The second guard sighed as he bent down and hefted the man over his shoulder and pushed past Amari in a passive-aggressive manner. Amari let the man have his win, it was probably the only highlight of his miserable week.

She followed him down the corridor toward a wood panelled door. He gingerly shoved his side into it to wedge the hunk of ornate wood open and carefully put his comrade down on the ground. Amari sighed as she stepped over the unconscious man, flipping crimson hair over her shoulder and without missing a beat explained the situation. “One o’ your men pissed himself whilst I assaulted the other. Get new guards.” She jerked her hand over her shoulder at the two behind her. “These guys are shit.”

Senator Fordstein glanced from Amari to the two men behind her then back to Amari. His moustached lips twisted up into a smirk. “I’ll make a note of that, Miss Red.” He gestured to an empty chair next to an older man. “Please, take a seat.”

Amari approached the large varnished desk. “I think I’ll stand, thanks.” She muttered absently as she drew a single finger along the well polished surface. She inspected it as though she were looking for any signs of dirt. His bright and spacious office was just as dust free as his servants’ garb. “Quite frankly, such decadence makes me uncomfortable. I’d rather just get to whatever it is you need me to do.”

Fordstein smoothed out the long black hairs of his moustache as he retreated to sit comfortably in his plush leather chair opposite Amari and the older man. “I see my fortune will not go to waste.” He said with an amused grin. Fordstein gestured to the strangely garbed man sitting beside Amari. “This is Gum, he will brief you on your duties. I take it you have no concern with-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Fordstein. I don’t give a damn what you want me to do, chances are - I’ll do it. I don’t need to listen to you prattle on about shit from your high horse in the safety of your office.”

Amari turned to Gum, her eyes glancing up and down his wrinkled and dark skinned form. They briefly rested on the skulls that adorned his neck, Amari had questions about that, but they could wait. She extended her hand in greeting. “I’m Red. Just Red.” Gum reluctantly extended his hand and shook hers, repeating his name for the sake of pleasantries. “Gum, a student of Do U and a proud shaman of the Xangu peoples.” Most would smile, but Gum did not. Their introduction ended with the interruption of Senator Fordstein.

“Right.” Gum said coldly, narrowing his eyes at the man.

Amari wasn’t the best with social situations, and normally missed the mark when it came to social cues but this was as obvious as a slap in the face. Amari gave Gum a wry smirk, it was clear the two did not get along. “Yes, right… “ Amari said as she turned her back on Gum and approached the desk, she placed her hand on the polished indented side of the wood as she extended her other hand to shake the Senators. “Might want to get those men cleaned up, place is gonna smell like piss.” As she spoke the hand resting on the wood gave of a soft, crimson light. She lifted her hand revealing a burnt imprint of her hand on the desk to Gum. Fordstein wouldn’t see it till the two were long gone.

“Will do Miss Red, in future try not to poison and burn my men.”


“I’ll keep that in mind.” Amari said with a shrug as she left the room with a smirk as she imagined the Senators reaction to a blemish on his otherwise impeccable bubble of a world.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Spumes of frothy whitecaps licked the base of the steep, pitted cliff face, their foamy texture sluicing flotsam and buoyant wreckage. The salt-smelling wind drove the waves in their endless cycle, riding it an alien scent that spoke of fouled peace, of a silence waiting to explode into the unyielding din of chaos. Worry had stirred in the nations that had caught the scent, and so they had risen with the intent of gauging this new threat.

Light receded to the birth of dusk, a faint purple tinge in a firmament barely lit by the sun. And beneath this heavenly conquest, the land fell a sharp plunge of a thousand paces, forming the eroded cliff itself; a natural wall of defense and border to the republic of Corone, its capital city squatting far north to this shelf of land.

Silhouetted against the darkening horizon were the originators of that same scent: warships. Bearing a foreign, ominous-looking standard and anchored in wait. Initially-three, the vessels had appeared without warning, their unforeseen arrival tolling the silent bell of threat across the continent’s entire coast. A couple measures had been taken to assess the situation, including the sworn protectors of Corone and their own sellswords.

Motionless at the cliff’s edge, Azaranth Ubissad studied the ruined remnants of the third vessel. The craft had run aground a couple nights ago, its huge bow a twisted ruin that had received a fierce blow at the moment of impact. Of its three masts, only one remained upright, the flag it once flew bearing the same, queer figure found on the ones of its two distant brethren. Its massive hull was lined with deep, cannon-fired pits, betraying the man-made nature of the damage’s cause.

Nevertheless, what could have been garnered and recycled into a more serviceable state had been already dumped into the encampment behind him. The survivors seemed to come from a land known to no-one, speaking a language none could begin to fathom. Communication, at this rate, was all but impossible.

With a final glance at the vessel pair, Azaranth turned on his heels and approached the railing that enclosed the campers. They were oddly reminiscent of Akashima’s Nekojins; cat-like and skittish, generally nervous when caught in foreign lands.

Understanding them was never part of his job, in any case. That was left to the so-called diplomats, who made a poor job of their own game. The survivors, after all, were either too stubborn to cooperate— “Or too threatened.”

The Rangers were rather too elaborate in expressing their vow to protect their own land, so the feline folk’s demur was no surprise anyway. Regardless, it was just another job. Protect the charges and, more discreetly, keep an eye on his newly-arrived 'partner.' There was, of course, ensuring that their charges went to and from the ships in once piece. Simple, for the journey would be nothing but a few nautical miles offshore.

What they were to do on board, however, other than perhaps determine who actually helmed them, was anyone’s guess.

These ones don’t seem that eager for the others to come to their rescue. Escapees, maybe? Azaranth flicked his gaze to the black-armored, masked mercenary. He strode a couple paces, stood before the man whose eyes stared out through pitted holes in his bone-white mask.

“Greetings,” the monster-hunter nodded. “Name’s Azaranth, but call me Anubis.” He paused, taking a brief moment to avoid any error in his pronunciation. “Taka, right?”

The man gave an inflated nod, seemingly only to convey friendliness. “I am indeed Taka, are you one of the two I am to protect?”

“No, I’m actually here to help with that.” Even Azaranth felt the untruth in that, for he was not to reveal his exact purpose. Not yet, anyway. Don’t really trust these Rangers, but I’ll play ball for now. “Guess I’m your partner tonight,” he said, pausing. “Speaking of, where’re our charges?”

“I have no clue, I was told I would find them over here, my guess is I am being thrown about the camp for their childish games,” he shook his head slightly, like a gelding shaking off a moth fly.

Azaranth shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to wait for them to show up.” He then turned, once again setting his somber gaze on the two frigates. Only a matter of time now.

[Tainted Bushido]

The ronin’s eyes gazed across the camp as the creatures moved about it. Their hunched nature made it hard to tell true sizes, but they seemed to be creatures that came up to the height of his chest. He drank in the scene of panic before him and witnessed the tearing down of their temporary refuge. He looked over at his partner in protecting the diplomats and spoke softly, “Watch for our charges, I’m going to try and communicate with them.”

He ignored any potential argument his partner could offer as he walked towards the middle of the camp. The equipment was hurriedly being tossed into a pile, almost prepared for elsewhere when Taka approached. A single Catfolk moved forward and stopped him before he hissed out words in their tongue. He held up a gauntlet clad hand in greeting to which the Catfolk seemed to give an exasperated hiss. Taka knew he wouldn’t be the first one trying to talk with them, and would be far from the last. He gestured to the nearby bay where the trio of ships had been spotted and spoke, “To them?”

The cat creature ignored the gesture and spoke, “Cal chuck, na duck.”

Taka listened to the words, he watched its language. The body was stiff, taut at the shoulders. If he were to guess it was struggling because whatever it said, it was important. The creature grabbed a stick and began to draw, and Taka knelt with the creature as the soft dirt was once again marred by the stick. When it was done a symbol lay before him, and the ronin gently traced the lines with a finger. He felt a kinship to those lines, a sense of familiarity that was wistful.

They are weak and annoying, the thought slithered through his mind, forcing its way into the forefront. He gritted his teeth as he gripped the dark thought, and shoved it back. He was focused on the task at hand, at the meaning of the familiar symbol. His eyes seemed to drink in every detail as the Catfolk looked at him. It seemed to recognize something in its demeanor as it spoke up, “Ick notch! Cal nicto gammut!”

One of the other moved forward and watched the Ronin as Taka turned to his partner, “I recognize this. I can’t remember where from, but these lines, they’re familiar to me. Have you any idea what they mean?”

He shook his head, almost ready with the negative. “None. Never seen it before, really. Tried to ask ‘em to explain what it signified - used gestures, even… It’s useless.”

He’s as useful as they are. Should kill them all, save us the hassle of hunting them down later… the thought twisted its way through his mind, and he almost felt himself in agreement. He clenched a hand subtly to resist the thought’s invasion, and cleared his head once more. Now was not the time to deal with such thoughts. With a mind empty of everything he looked at the symbol in the dirt again before he nodded and stood.

“This is supposed to mean something to us. Whatever it is they nearly got themselves killed trying to tell us. I think they're frustrated that they have effectively given up their lives for this, and no one can understand them,” The ronin sighed. He knew this was the reason they had come, they were hoping someone would recognize it. He had given them hope at least in seeing the symbol and interacting with it at a more involved level. He looked at the two Neko before him before he spoke, “I see this. I know this, what do you want?”

It doesn’t matter kill them and be done with it, this is beyond your means little falcon, another dark thought invaded. Taka was at odds with the Oni that resided even now in his blood. He was always on guard, there was always the possibility his thoughts could be twisted by the demon inside. He grimaced, glad to hide the act behind a screen of porcelain and shot back;

Silence, this is not your realm, and my body is not yours.

Yet… The dark thoughts seemed to be underlined with an uncomfortable silence. The Ronin knew the oni was most likely laughing to himself. He had little time to care as he snapped back to reality. He stood and nodded to the creatures who seemed to relax and let out a long breath, visibly relieved, as if they truly believed the message had been delivered.

[Gum]

The horse was not a prevalent form of transport in the undergrowing sweat of the Xangu Basin; as such, Gum had not been exposed to the boreal art of horseback riding. Despite his frustration at having to sacrifice secrecy, the ever pragmatic Fordstein had instead outfitted Gum and Red with a wagon and driver to facilitate their hasty arrival at the runaway camp.

Smelly and claustrophobic, the wagon's interior betrayed the squalor of the pig farmers it had been requisitioned from. The tension of tomorrow's battlefield was something Gum was familiar with. Though, in the past, the wars he had fought in had always been his wars, his people's wars. The pungent smell brewed in him the reflective remorse of a wrong yet to be done. Akashima's people had done him no harm; more than that, they were much like his own people: desperate for the dignity of independence.

The duo were halfway there before the conversation began. "We will leave this wagon behind once we are close enough." Gum stared down the ugly hook of his flat nose; he offered the Crimson Hand's representative no more cordiality than he typically offered Fordstein. "While Senator Fordstein tells me they are expecting us, we still need to approach them with caution." The bumps in the road churned his stomach, curdling his anxiety. Bracing himself against his seat, he looked up to measure his companion's response.

She huffed indignantly in response, “Why do you think they hired me? I’d rip the skin clean off any hostiles within twenty-five feet of us.” A moment's grin flashed across her face; it was a promise of the vicious danger she brought to the operation. Then she laughed, it echoed with the cold; her eyes pinned Gum down, asking if he was in on the joke.

Red's personality unnerved the middle-aged shaman; that effervescent spark she possessed was more than he was able to cope with. "Red, I believe you. Death travels with us tonight." A necklace of three shrunken heads bounced over the gaunt shaman's bare and bony chest; he grabbed the shrivelled curios to limit their motion. "Tell me, do you feel any concern for the Akashiman people?" His skin bunched into wrinkles around his eyes, and his brow furrowed for the question's gravity.

She sat silent, letting minutes pass without answering his question. If there was a war within, she hid it behind a composed facade. Those eyes, still binding Gum's focus, showed their unnatural colour; he'd never seen eyes of green-gold and red, but dark beneath. “I’m not paid to think about it, nor are you. This world is shit, sometimes the innocent get the short end of the stick. Best not get all sentimental, it’ll get you killed.”

"I understand. I believe we will succeed tonight." Reservation came as the hallmark of Gum's conversational style, he wished to refrain from sharing his own inner turmoil. It would be unwise to allow Red to know his sentimental weakness. Thankfully, the driver saved him from having to pointedly refuse her a reply. "End of the line!" said the driver, calling back from the front of the wagon. "This is as far as I was paid to take you two."

[Mari]

The cart had left them on the outskirts of a forest atop a hill which overlooked their destination. Amari placed her palms firmly on her hips as she squinted, assessing the scene below them. It was a little difficult to see with the fading light but it looked as though an encampment had been set up. Small tents and campfires dotted the inside of a fenced off section. “Is it just me, or do they sorta look like cats running around down there?” Amari asked Gum as she casually began to saunter down the path toward the campground.

“Catfolk. Yes.” Was Gum’s uneasy reply as he quickened his pace to match her own. “We should take care.” He pointed to the green clad figures that surrounded the cat folk. “They are well armed and outnumber us. If we go in on the offensive, they would-”

“Blah, Blah, Blah.” Amari said as she waved off his words. The woman didn’t care for his cautious attitude. She needed to change the stagnant pace they were keeping. Amari turned on her heel to face her old and worn companion as she clasped her hands together in a loud clap before rubbing them to and fro. “Right!” She exclaimed loudly with a mischievous grin.“No use dilly-dallying, may as well get into the main part o’ the story, eh?” She said as she eyed Gum with a look that borderlined malicious.

“Failure would be unfortunate.“ Gum readied himself at her side, prepared for whatever tempestuous action might come next. “They are expecting us as representatives, not assassins. We should take a cautious-”

In response to his words four tentacles of light burst forth from Amari’s back, burning with a crackling crimson light. They shifted to and fro in the cool night breeze as though they had a mind of their own. Amari’s lips twisted up into a smirk. “I don’t do waiting, I can’t be fucked being cautious - and I don’t take orders well. Do mind your step, I’d rather not have to stitch you back together. I want them to know they shouldn’t fuck with us.”

Amari turned to continue down the path. The sheer extent of her abilities was evident in the surrounding flora which decayed and died out just by being in close proximity to the physical manifestation of her corrupted soul magic.

Amari glanced over at Gum who glowered in silence, she wasn’t entirely sure why he was so grumpy. must be an old person thing. she thought to herself.

As Amari and Gum approached the encampment, two things happened.

First; the green cloaked rangers reacted as any sane person would when they saw a damn tentacle beast coming at them… they drew their swords and took on a defensive stance. Some shouting the typical cries you’d hear one say; ‘Stay back’, ‘one step further and we’ll strike!’, ‘What the fuck are you?’ the typical cries Amari was used to hearing.

Second; what she was not used to, was the reaction of the miniature cat people within the camp grounds. Their shrill cries and chitters were in a language Amari hadn’t heard before. They all dropped to their knees with their faces pressed against the loamy, grassy ground. There was a sudden silence.

Are they… bowing to me in worship!? Amari thought to herself, the shock evident on her cracked facial features. Her eyes danced over the rangers who looked just as confused as she did. Her gaze halted on two men who stood close to one another. The first wore a kimono of dull greys and browns and his face was covered by a shiny stone mask. His appearance felt familiar to Amari but she wasn’t sure why. The other wore leather fatigues under a dark grey trench coat. If she were to take a haphazard guess she’d assume they were in charge.

“You.” Amari pointed to the two. “Mind telling me what the fuck is goin’ on here?” She asked as she pointed toward the cat people.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Azaranth blinked, studying the magic-crackling, crimson figure of the woman before him. Two pairs of wine-colored appendages stemmed from her back, trailing her like the tails of some demonic fox. Red hair drooped to the woman’s shapely hips - as if colored by the selfsame magic that spewed from her very essence. Like bared teeth, weapons hung drawn, cocked in warning at the woman and her partner for their rather precipitate arrival.

The second of whom was a dark-skinned man, his brown hair a tangled mess. Clad in nothing but hide straps for clothing, a sullen frown marred his crinkled features, and a single, blunt-looking ax hung from his hip. A rather lacking arsenal, thus hinting at his potentially being an expert in sorcery and other arcane arts. He was at the very least in his fortieth winter, Azaranth reckoned.

Still, in the interval the Salvarian had paid little attention to the campers’ peculiar behavior; for what reason would they bow in such unity? It was useless questioning them, alas. All he would get out of these people was a hiss and perhaps a few sentences that almost seemed to deliberately frustrate the monster-hunter. At first, this pattern had him questioning the entire peoples’ intelligence; yet, in retrospect, intelligent enough to helm a ship from some remote land, survive its wreckage and make camp with significantly limited resources. It was an interesting story to tell.

If there were a means to tell, that is.

Breaking through his reverie, the monster-hunter, despite his hierarchal position, voiced a request in a manner that could be discerned as an order by some. Much to his relief, no-one protested as every drawn blade was hesitantly returned to its sheath. There was little cause for concern, after all; their two charges had finally arrived.

With a knowing glance toward Taka, Azaranth nodded at the two others and said, “Follow me.” He turned and without looking back made for the cliff once more. At the edge, the monster-hunter noted that dusk was two bells away; they would have to make haste if they all wished to return before nightfall. He turned and motioned another reaffirming nod at his charges.

“What’s happening here is… Well, don’t know if you’ve been told, but what the hell: these ships showed up a couple nights ago. One was destroyed, reasons unknown. These guys,” he gestured toward the catfolk, “were on board. They don’t like the other two ships, looks like, so they had nowhere else to go other than here.” He paused. “Of course, since they’re not from any known land, we have no means of communication. Their purpose, origin and language are all unknowns.”

“Your turn.” Azaranth puckered his lips. “My partner and I are to protect you. Doing what? What’s your business with these people, if you don’t mind my asking?” He spared the other man a glance at the man, saw nothing but a lifeless chill in his eyes. “Also, I understand being showy with magic - I do - but some green cloaks are on edge. So… yeah, if you don’t mind that too. We don’t need another obstacle.”

The woman’s response came with a complacent huff. “‘Tis but the physical manifestation of my soul. No harm will come to people if they don’t fuck with us. It’s only an obstacle if you make it one, and last time I checked, sweetheart, we were the ones who hired you. So can it with the orders.” Her eyes darted to the catfolk. “‘Sides, seems like it has some sorta effect on the lil’ critters, eh?”

Azaranth studied her for a moment, opting to ignore the discourtesy. So some people can have corporeal spirits. Huh, who woulda thunk? In hindsight, she was right. He'd have to swallow his pride and listen to her, and in turn the man's, every command. Cooperation would prove elusive on this night.

“It does. Good,” he intonated. Think we just found us a clue, something to go by. Looking at how they all bowed when she appeared— they revere her, that much is clear. So, somehow, they’re related to this girl. Coincidence? Maybe. And the question is, why would they bow? What does she represent to them? “Now we know they’ll probably follow your orders - for whatever reason - so that should make things easier.”

A moment later Azaranth turned toward Taka. So as to not hear them, he leaned in and murmured, “Having suspicions. She may as well be behind all this. What do you think?”

“I think this matter is far from understood,” he whispered back. “If they bow to her is it out of fear or love? If it's the former, how long before they decide living in fear is not how they want to live?”

“Far from understood? We’re barely making any progress here,” Azaranth muttered, shaking his head as he surveyed the brown, chalky earth at his feet. “Got no choice but to follow ‘em around,” he said, mostly to himself.

When Azaranth looked up and spoke. His voice did not waver, as if the past gesture had not just occurred. “Alright, we’re at your disposal. What do you want us to do?” Joke’s on us. They might have heard everything, even from that distance.

[Gum]

They came to the shaman like the weather and the night: inevitable.

The first of the two men meeting them was obsidian clad; he stood like the curtain of darkness falling across them all. The mask hiding the stranger's face concealed a secret from most, but not from the canny gaze of the old shaman. There was a malice stalking him, using his living soul as an anchor in the Overworld. It wasn't just the demon on his back that set him apart, it was also the Akashiman attire. Gum marked him for the bony grasp of Oxxad, he marked him for death.

Gum daren't let the first from his sight, but the second man's consequence beckoned. Where the dark soul had been the night, the second was the wintry weather. Face-to-face, the shaman squinted at the man's pasted complexion, it was as cold as the salty onshore bite. A scar tarnished his face, and it spoke a warning to the shaman. When the pale face spoke, a Salvarian accent came out; he was offering their services. It was then that Gum's suspicions were wholly confirmed: the composite conspirators had made arrangements for them.

Another arrangement, the Corone Rangers, moved to flank Radasanth's representatives. He couldn't be sure if the grunts were in on the plot, but it seemed as though they understood the teams at least.

Gum did some repositioning of his own before he spoke. He stood back from Red and her flailing crimson, dejected by the realisation that she was more troubling of a partner than even Ebivoulya. "Red struggles with the strength of her spirit," he said, apologising on her behalf. "I struggle with the strength of her spirit too." With what light remained, he kept checking back across the rocky cliff for the encroaching threat; threat to them that was, not to him and Red.

"I am Gum, and for today, I am an investigator working on behalf of the Radasanthian government." They were only half lies; investigation first, assassination later. Now, staring down his targets, guilt shook the steady ship of his composure. Fordstein's grip made the Xangu native unnaturally deceptive; and so insidious were the senator's strings, Gum could only slide, bewildered, into complicit wickedness.

A whistle whined from the darkness, distant and dreadful. Something came from the salt sprayed ink and BOOM!

Gum, shaken, looked at the Salvarian first. Then to Red. The Akashiman last. The hapless rangers tumbled and fumbled, while the sleek foreigners displayed their feline grace, staying upright against the rumbling ground. "Hmm," Gum wondered, watching as the runaways scattered in two directions. Most tugged desperately at the masked man and pointed to his nation's horizon. It was only a matter of time before the tainted patriot got the message; words or not, it was becoming obvious. Meanwhile, the remaining cats fell to their knees, praying for Red to give them salvation.

"Must have been a warning shot," the shaman billowed against the cacophony of crumbling rocks. "It was not close enough to harm us!" His outward concern for their attack was genuine and deceitful in equal measure.

A mighty shell had shattered a section of the cliff face.