Stormhold

[Sigurd]

The 'scout patrol' of hares, ironically a larger group than the non-scouts, set up nearby. "Halt!" called the Colour Sergeant to his troops. "Sergeant Zade, set up camp, will ye' chap?" the question was rhetorical. He'd been assigning the junior NCO camp and cook duty since they set off weeks ago. The hare was half-insane, and jumbled as a group of hogbabes. How the Brass promoted him to Sergeant, let alone let him take any combat duty alluded MacCross. Still, he made a half good field cook, even if Zade refused to acknowledge it.

"Fribbs Prime, take a scouting party north. Mr. Averi, you go along, too. Meet up with them other hares!" the Colour Sergeant took a swig from his flask. He was running dangerously low on his supply. They'd have to find some inn or brewery or something. Being put under another hare's command wasn't helping his mood either. But, he was soldier, and it was his duty.

[Stryker]

Southpaw always preferred the summer to the winter months; though the nights were cool in both seasons, given their proximity to the ocean, there was a difference between cold and frigid. When the temperatures were low enough that he thought his scut might freeze, Southpaw normally woke up in a bad mood. What ironed out the scowl and the quick, jerky movements of a young hare who did not feel up to the task of exerting more energy than necessary, was thoughts of Ripley Kimmanae Contarelle. Tune changing just like that, Southpaw crammed a wedge of cheese and bread he'd salvaged from the soggy camp into his mouth, making sure to brush the crumbs off his tawny face before he sought out Ripley.

Eagle-eyed, the boxing hare immediately noticed Ripley's disappearance from the camp after one good sweep, and a quick interrogation of the night watch-hare informed him that she had gone on to scout ahead.
"That's just like Rip, wot? Always blinkin' ready to do 'er duty! Wastin' no daylight, our Ripley!" Brushing further evidence of his snack from his uniform, Southpaw chose to ignore the flat look in the other hare's eyes, instead, he finished cleaning up what was in his immediate vicinity, grabbed his pack and set off after the gal.

Whistling a few Salamandastron marches as he went, it was obvious Southpaw was no expert tracker, but he had been able to pinpoint the white hare's pawprints in the snow, having to rely on sight and sound rather than his usually trusty sense of smell. He certainly wasn't one to hold back on the compliments where compliments were due, and Southpaw already planned to make a few in regards to Ripley's beautiful snow-white pelt, which, as he would so handsomely put it, 'put the blinkin' stars and the snowflakes to shame, Princess.'
With Princess being his term of endearment for her, she was more along the lines of a warrioress in his none-too-humble opinion, and there was nothing wrong with that at all.

~*~

Ignoring the chill seeping into his hardened footpaws, Southpaw's tawny, tall ears pricked forward eagerly, his expression of anticipation at seeing her quickly transfigured into slight alarm. Was that a vermin? Before his pulse could jump up any higher, Southpaw realized it was a very scrawny, very malnourished otter, not at all unlike that 'barrel of butterflies' back home that was Damon Warhound. Uncurling his fists and loosening his shoulders (his knee-jerk reaction was usually to take a boxing stance), Southpaw Varilde, who tried to come off as nonthreatening as possible, called over in his usual upbeat tone, with a little added humor for Ripley's sake.
"Morning Princess - yore lookin' like you've got a long, hard story to tell, Mate!" The last statement was obviously addressed to the otter, and Southpaw had the good sense to hang back a ways, shooting a roguish wink at Ripley as he waited to see if he could glean the otter's trust enough to move in closer.
Us Perilous beasts can be a bit intimidating at first glance, wot.
He didn't want to go scare off the injured chap, that wouldn't be good for the otter and definitely wouldn't look good in front of Ripley.
"Mind if I join you two? I'm Southpaw Varilde, Galloping boxin' hare of Salamandastron, wot!"

[Rausaro]

The snowy Haremaid looked as if she about to say something, when suddenly, the otter caught a glimpse of movement in the sparse strand of pine trees behind her. Instinctively, Rau tensed, willing to at least put up some sort of fight should it be a Stormhold Scout. He nervously glanced at the Haremaid, considering if she had set him up, but she appeared to have been caught off guard.

"Morning, Princess!" A dashing light brown hare had materialized from the trees. "Yore Lookin' like you've got a long, hard story to tell, mate!" What an understatement, Rau wryly thought to himself.

A quick glance revealed that he, too, appeared to be of the same faction as the Snowy Hare. Where do these hares keep popping up from?! He thought. The river otter momentarily relaxed his stance.

"Mind if I join you two? I'm Southpaw Varilde, Galloping boxin' hare of Salamandastron, wot!"

The otter practically shuddered at the noise as he suddenly snapped out of the distracting novelty of friendly creatures. He hissed in a low voice that could just be heard. "Keep it down, mate, or you'll bring them down on our 'eads!" Even as he spoke he anxiously turned to examine the northern beach. Nothing yet, he thankfully noted. He turned back towards the hare Southpaw had referred to as "Princess". "A vermin horde and corsairs own these parts. We need t' get out o' th' open right away," he quickly explained.

[Tracy]

The haremaid was moving as quickly and efficiently as she could in binding the otter up, but she needed to do it well, because her comrades were not especially close. The two of them had a small trek ahead of them; a quick and easy enough trip for the hale soldier-hare, but a trial for the weak and wounded otter. "They're a fair bit inland and south," she responded to the otter's question. He seemed antsy, and it was kind of annoying her. If she hadn't found him here, he'd probably be dying on, or close to, this beach.

"My name's Ripley-" she started, but didn't quite finish the introduction as she stood and turned at a nearby sound. Though she didn't draw her weapon, she laid her paw guardedly on the hilt of her rapier, violet eyes quickly scanning, black-tipped ears at high alert. However, after a moment, her paw dropped from the hilt of her blade, no longer wary. She knew it was another hare well before Southpaw popped himself into their view.

Her face was one of clear surprise. Not that Southpaw had followed her here; it would be a shock if he hadn't. It was how soon he'd shown up. Ripley had been up extremely early and had made fairly good time out to the shore. That the other hare had found her here so quickly was unexpected. It was probably for the best though. This otter seemed inexplicably chatty for a beast who should be dead, and Southpaw was plenty good company for that sort.

"Morning, Southpaw," Ripley replied, encouraging the other hare to meet them out on the sand. "Found this one washed up like so much driftwood."

"A vermin horde and corsairs own these parts. We need t' get out o' th' open right away."

Ripley turned back to the otter and gave him a confused expression. "I think mayhap you drifted a bit further south than you think," she replied. "It's good we know we're really close now, but we aren't there yet. I'm not sure how far away these vermin are, but nobeast has been around this particular area for some time." She didn't really feel like explaining how she knew. Southpaw was at least enough aware of her scouting abilities to trust her judgment. She laughed a little then. "And they don't own anythin' here, or elsewhere, we'll be sure they know it, too."

The Long Patrol scout packed up what few supplies she'd rustled up, and slid the bag back onto her shoulders. "In any case, don't be worrying too much. Nobeast sneaks up on us, right, South?"

[Stryker]

"Keep it down, mate, or you'll bring them down on our 'eads!"

Southpaw immediately tensed at the emaciated river otter's words, his golden brow furrowing in slight worry as realization of their exact location (and Ripley's words) gave him cause to disbelieve the warning. There was no way there were vermin in this neck of the woods, not without their weasel-bopping badger noticing...

"A vermin horde and corsairs own these parts. We need t' get out o' th' open right away,"

The golden hare let out a puff of air in a slight laugh. A vermin horde? The supposed horde Warhound had told them about was supposed to be very very far up north. The High North Coast, he'd repeatedly called it, and if Southpaw was any judge of distance, they should've had a while yet to reach it. They were close, but not that close.

"Are you stashin' that nasty ol' horde in your clothing, mate? There's no way in Hellgates there's a vermin horde skulkin' about out here!" Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, at last it clicked with the boxing hare. This otter had washed up on the shore, just as the Warhound had - it wasn't hard to put two and two together; obviously this fella was another survivor of some nasty warlord's tyrannical schemes. Feeling a tad more sympathetic than he was a couple moments ago, Southpaw waggled his ears in agreement with Ripley, feeling his heart jump up when she affectionately called him 'South' instead of 'Varilde' or just flat out 'Southpaw'. At least he liked to think it was friendly affection behind her foreshortening his name, and not general laziness like some of the other Corporals and Privates back at the barracks.

"Right you are m'beauty!" Replied Southpaw to the gel at his side, drawing his bright blue eyes to the starved and beaten otter, tearing his gaze away from his fresh bandages and other wounds to look into Rausaro's gaunt face. " You are in the company of the finest soldiers this side of the Western Plains, rest easy, otter m'lad. What's say we get you back to our camp and keep ye from wastin' away, wot? Then we can discuss this Vermin Horde o'yours."

Despite being told to keep his voice down - which he did - Southpaw's enthusiasm still punctuated his words, though he did make a cursory sweep of the area with his eyes and ears, listening and looking. He trusted Ripley's scouting abilities completely, heck, he'd stake his life on them, but a cautious hare was a hare who outlives all the rest, as Brigadier Thyme liked to say. Glancing back to the snowy-furred scout, Southpaw really had to look down to catch her eye (and not in his usual joking, flirty manner either) thanks to their noticeable height difference, gesturing with a subtle ear-flick a little ways away from the otter.
"Can I have a minute, Rip?"
Obviously their first priority was to get this otter seen to, but Southpaw couldn't help but think about what would happen when they did finally scope out this vermin horde the riverdog had been going on about. Already considering the wounded otter to be their responsibility, Southpaw more or less wanted to discuss what to do with him next; he didn't know about her, but he wasn't about to march the poor beast right back in the direction of the place he'd come from.

[Tulian Solum]

Breathing the frigid air deeply the ferret smiled. It was calming to be back to the cold that he knew and loved. He guessed that he was making a few of his hare travelers mad that he was able to just wear his normal clothes and boots and seemed perfectly fine. Patting his sleeves full of fur he smirked a little as he walked, gota love that northern winter coat.

Seig was actually still surprised he was with these hares, they seemed like they had finally accepted him a little to let him travel with them. Or maybe they had some kind of ulterior motive for him coming along? Did it have something to do with the supposed vermin horde that was up here? Maybe, but that's for later, needed to make sure the hares got there first which...

"Fribbs Prime, take a scouting party north. Mr. Averi, you go along, too."

...would be harder than expected if Sergeant Cross kept up his attitude. The cold seemed to be affecting him more than the other hares, or maybe he was always like this at the mountain and he hadn't been around him enough to see it before.

Regardless he saluted and replied with a yes sir as he breathed some warm air into his gauntlets before slipping them on. Walking off he strapped his cuirass on as he was walking before slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he went. Using his halberd as a walking stick and machete he chopped his way through the dense frozen forest until he emerged into a clearing near the sea, a clump of snow falling on him as he worked his way through.

Smiling after he emerged he looked around a little until he spotted some hares from the second scouting party. Raising his weapon to wave at them he spit out some of the snow that had fallen. Unfortunately from a distance it likely looked like the armored and armed white ferret was waving his weapon at them while spitting and growling.

But Seig just kept happily waving, at least it was some allies rather then stumbling upon a scouting party of patrol from the horde. He hoped that this otter came from the horde area so he could provide them with some tactical info. Like the strength of the horde, equipment, and skill of the fighters.

(Let me know if you would like/need some edits .)

[Sigurd]

[glow=red,2,300]Fribbs Prime[/glow]

Fribbs Prime bent over the tracks of the two hares. His patrol only consisted of Mr. Averi and himself. "Come on, ole' lad, we got a date with a lady and an otherchap. I'll take the mad'am, wot!" he said, with a slight chuckle. He blew on his paws as he followed the tracks. "Blinkin' cold, wot!" he whispered to himself, as his breath turned blue and floated away.

--

The path was long and cold. Two hours. two blinkin' hours. They left wot? Thirty minutes after them maybe? Oh, Fribbs Prime didn't know. Sirius must be loving life back at camp. Finally after what seemed like a millennia, did he hear voices. The haremaid, and the Private chap. He heard something about the haremaid having family high up in the Brass. Have to love that. Probably Colonel or Brigadier on the Badger Lord's good side. He wondered if her family had an apartment back at Salamandstron. A big one. His did, but it was on the smallish side. He and Sirius always had to share a room. Well, until Fribbs Prime enlisted, and was sent down to the barracks.

--

He had also heard this missy had quiet the temper. Better to just stumble on than let 'em know they were being followed. Fribbs Prime didn't want to get get stationed in mess hall again. "Oi, Mr. Averi, betcha there's some good spices here, wot!" he called back to his companion, before looking at the proceedings before him. "Hey, Patrollers, wot! Wotcha doin' out 'ere?" he called.

--
[glow=red,2,300]Ductile Cross[/glow]

Cross decided to have a talk with the CO. Work out any plans, get to know the guy he'd been 'assigned' to. "Captain..." he said, walking over to Aiden's 'quarters'. "Can we talk for a minute?"

[Rausaro]

Ripley, as the hare seemed to be called, look a bit puzzled by his warning. "I think mayhap you drifted a bit further south than you think," she replied. "It's good we know we're really close now, but we aren't there yet. I'm not sure how far away these vermin are, but nobeast has been around this particular area for some time."

The other hare stepped forward."Are you stashin' that nasty ol' horde in your clothing, mate?" Southpaw added. "There's no way in Hellgates there's a vermin horde skulkin' about out here!" The exhausted otter bitterly held his tongue, thinking back to his dead family, friends,and his many seasons at a slave in Stormhold. No way indeed, he sourly thought to himself. For all I know, all of my friends are dead. What does this high and mighty hare think he knows? He looked down at his chest, freshly bound, and his cut and nicked paws, and bit his lip in burning anger as he thought of Tala and the others. Still, he held his tongue. There was no purpose in aggravating his new friends. He'd prove to them the horrors he'd seen later.

"And they don't own anythin' here, or elsewhere, we'll be sure they know it, too," Ripley finished. "In any case, don't be worrying too much. Nobeast sneaks up on us, right, South?" Her friend enthusiastically agreed. " You are in the company of the finest soldiers this side of the Western Plains, rest easy, otter m'lad. What's say we get you back to our camp and keep ye from wastin' away, wot? Then we can discuss this Vermin Horde o'yours."

Rausaro wearily nodded at the advice, too exhausted to say much more to his new friends. Any adrenaline he had had was quickly wearing off, and he suddenly began to feel a bit lightheaded.

The two hares moved a few feet away discuss plans. Wearily, the otter slumped against the log he had been sitting on, and closed his eyes in thought, feeling the light ocean breeze pass through his brown fur. Even though his gut told was warning him of imminent danger, he realized that it was entirely possible that they were right. How long had he been out? The otter cleched his paw, feeling the raw cuts, barely scabbed over. He suddenly felt tired. Very tired...

To a holt I once belong’d
Fearful, proud and strong.
In the summer’s night, before winter’s bite
Darkfire con'sumed all.

[Tracy]

Ripley was keeping a close eye on their new charge, certain he was going to eat the sand at any moment. She thought he was going to keel right over the moment she spoke to him, so that he'd remained on his feet this long had defied her expectations. Otters were hardy beasts; she was fond of them. Most of them.

"Can I have a minute, Rip?"

"Mm," she replied, stepping aside with Southpaw, but keeping a careful eye on the otter. Her long ears were also erect and alert, always cognizant of their surroundings. Little happened in their vicinity she wasn't aware of.

Before the other hare spoke, she said, "We have t'get him back to camp at least, an' let the Captain decide from there. We might be sendin' a messenger scout back to the mountain soon, but I don't think this'n can make that trip. We might have no other choice than t'let him stay with us." Her ears swiveled at a nearby sound, but she didn't make any immediate movement.

"Was that what you were goin' t'ask me?" she added, though it wasn't really a question. Ripley's intuition was a little spooky. She'd made a career out of an uncanny ability to read others; it was part of what made her such an excellent scout. This time she looked in the direction of the sounds, muted by the snowfall. It was a little more prevalent now, the rainstorm the night before having made once powdery snow mushy and brittle in parts.

"Somebeast followin' us," she told Southpaw mildly, without a hint of alarm. Before her arrival on the beach, she'd seen no sign of recent activity, and found it absurdly unlikely that vermin would show up now, of all days, to find them there. No, it was almost certainly more Patrollers from their camp. Her eyes flicked back over to the wounded otter, and this time the haremaid shifted in uneasiness. "Hey South, go see to our otter friend, I think he's about to collapse." About time, really. Not that Ripley had been rooting for it or anything, but any normal beast would be unconscious right now. "I'll take a peek at our guests."

"Hey, Patrollers, wot! Wotcha doin' out 'ere?"

Ripley laughed derisively at that. Putting her paws akimbo she looked across to her fellow patroller in the brush. "Really? You think I'm that thick, huh? Told nobeast I was scoutin' east, and you jus' happen to show up here, hours from camp? Either you're a liar, or just one lucky and terrible tracker, t'have missed all o' my and Southpaw's tracks."

[Stryker]

Southpaw opened his mouth.

"We have t'get him back to camp at least, an' let the Captain decide from there. We might be sendin' a messenger scout back to the mountain soon, but I don't think this'n can make that trip. We might have no other choice than t'let him stay with us."

"Was that what you were goin' t'ask me?"

The suntanned hare abruptly closed it, grinning at her mulishly. "Read my flippin' mind, Princess! Though I worry about our h'otter lad, it's a flippin' miracle he's still up on his footpaws." Blue eyes, though normally reluctant to look away from Ripley's face, were drawn to the scarred, bloody, bandaged, emaciated, just flat-out threadbare otter. He didn't know how else to describe it; the otter was about as worn down as one could possibly be without being dead.

Though Southpaw wasn't sure how the otter would take to any sort of physical help in getting back to camp, Southpaw was prepared to try; he couldn't just stand about watching a poor creature practically hobble his way to safety. About to break away and speak with the injured creature in person, Ripley's nonchalant yet mild warning made him freeze;

"Somebeast followin' us,"

Ears standing poker straight at this revelation, Southpaw's blue eyes narrowed, scanning the snowy terrain until Ripley spoke again, telling him to go check on their otter-friend. With a compliant nod, the boxing hare had bounded away to go check on Rausaro, speaking in a friendly, calming tone while keeping his ears rotating just a tad, eager to catch on to what was happening by Ripley.

Though he trusted her completely to react properly in case it was a vermin horde, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry for the hare he was undoubtedly enamored with. Trying to stay focused, Southpaw gingerly shook Rausaro's shoulder, not wanting the otter to pass out and, Lord Brocktree forbid, never wake up again. "Sorry otter m'lad, let's get you back to camp before the Dark Forest starts callin' your name. What is your name, by the way? Forgive me for never flippin' askin'! It's uh...been a long morning." That technically wasn't true, he'd more or less been too enthralled with whatever Ripley was doing or saying to give Rausaro the attention and support the wounded otter needed.

Holding out a paw, the boxing hare made a half-turn as he caught the sound of - Fribbs Prime, was it? - shouting over to Ripley from somewhere nearby. He tried to hold back a grin. Poor Fribbs was in for quite the verbal wallop if he wasn't careful!

[Tulian Solum]

(Sorry for short notice but I'm going to pull Seig out of this thread; it makes more sense for him to be back at the mountain and if he left at all it would be with the full Long Patrol. Sorry for any problems . So post without me and imagine the posts with Seig in them have gone. If you would prefer I delete the posts I will, either way I look forward to reading this thread .)

[Sigurd]

[glow=red,2,300]Fribbs Prime[/glow]

"Nobeast said you're thick, missy, wot!" the corporal replied. "My sergeant sent me over here to provide back up, wot! Never know wot type of scoundrels would go around these 'ere parts! Strength in numbers, dontcha know! Learned that 'un back in leveret school. Well, I was in leveret, but my Pa taught it to me, wot!" the Corporal said, with a chuckle.

"Anyway, I don't think we've been introduce, Private Fire-tounge. Corporal Donald Qunicy Fribbs Junior, at your service, wot! But, the lads back in the squad call me Fribbs Prime!" He glance ver at the otter.

"Oi, mate, you in good shape, wot? Still got some blood 'n vinegar in your veins?" he asked.

[Rausaro]

Southpaw moved over to where the injured beast lay. "Sorry otter m'lad, let's get you back to camp before the Dark Forest starts callin' your name. What is your name, by the way? Forgive me for never flippin' askin'! It's uh...been a long morning."

Rausaro woke at the words of the hare. Wait....wot? He dazedly gazed around him, realizing he was still on the cold northern beach with the hares. In the distance, a grey fog was threatening to roll in. Overhead, the skies had become grey, perhaps with snow. That was a strange dream, he thought. it was so peaceful like... Funny, what was it even about? He glanced around, oblivious to Southpaw's question. Even in the late morning, everything seemed so bright. Maybe it was the thin layer of snow. His green eyes, now dull, closed again. The log suddenly felt very comfortable. Sleep....

Thwack!

He almost bolted upright, stunned by the light cuff across the face. "Now now, none O' that." The brown hare was crouching right next to him. "We can't have you drifting off on us. Let's try again. Wot's your name?" He asked. The otter blinked, trying to clear his thoughts before answering. "M' name is Rausaro of Holt Riverpaw."

He unconsciously moved his paw up to the green and blue tattoo swirlled on his neck, tracing the lines. "Me holt used t' be south o' here..." He tried to remember life back in Holt Brinerock, in the better days. "There's not much else I can tell ye' now, though."

Rausaro distantly heard yet another new voice in the background addressed at him. "Oi, mate, you in good shape, wot? Still got some blood 'n vinegar in your veins?" he asked.

The otter turned to look at the newcomer. "Give me some rest and ye'll see," he rasped.

[Tracy]

Ripley continued to stand there, fists on her hips as the Corporal jabbered on about something or other. She listened with about half an ear to his pointless explanation of his even more pointless arrival on the beach. Instead of gracing him with her full attention, she looked imploringly over her shoulder to Southpaw and the otter. Her violet eyes followed the otter down as he fell unconscious to the sand below. Well, that was just bound to happen, wasn't it?

Letting Southpaw sort the creature out, she turned slowly back to Fribbs, tongue in her cheek as he introduced himself. She already knew his name, and judging by his little nickname of her that he probably thought was awful cute, he probably knew her, too. At least OF her. Ripley did a mite better than knowing OF the other Long Patrollers, though. Her skill and intuition while gathering information on her scouting missions bled into her personal life. Without trying, she was able to keep a surprisingly thorough mental file of most of the Long Patrol and the other mountain residents. The haremaid liked, above all else, to know everything. Everyone.

"Ripley," was all the haremaid said by way of introduction. Rank and title weren't necessary, and if this Fribbs Prime didn't actually know who she was, he didn't need to now, anyway.

When she heard the otter respond to Fribbs Prime's question, she glanced back again, happy to see the otter quickly return to the realm of the living. She knew he would be a wealth of information if they could get him back on the mend soon. Still, the haremaid was a bit disappointed that more hares had shown up before she'd even had a crack at questioning the beat-up creature. They'd only distract the both of them now.

At the otter's response to the Corporal, Ripley laughed. "What a grand idea, my otter friend. Comrades, the only beast here with any sense," the scout announced, indicating the barely-conscious Rausaro with an extended paw.

Walking back over to Southpaw and Rausaro, she took off her water canteen and handed it to the otter. "Have a bit t'drink before we get off. Not too much, though, you'll make yourself sick." A paw was placed just lightly at the small of the otter's back, not really holding to him, but in a position for support if the otter needed it. "Maybe our intrepid Corporal Fribb Prime's arrival won't be completely useless if he brought you a bite t'eat," she added, making sure to elevate her voice just enough for the hare in question to hear.

[Sigurd]

When he turned to the otter, he'd had his back facing the impudent haremaid. Well, now he knew she was impudent, at least. A name, first or last, really wasn't that helpful. She seemed to have quite a temper. Ah, well, Fribbs Prime had dealt with enough of these types. A handful, at least. And, now, that he knew that, well, no more fraternization. Orderly military fashion, wot! At least with that wildfire.


"Give me some rest and ye'll see," came the otter's raspy response. Fribbs Prime couldn't help, but make a slight chuckle.

"Well, that's a yes in my book, chap, wot!" he said, making sure not to pat any wounds. He was no medic, and wasn't going to worsen the otter before one could fix him. He did, however inspect the injuries from a safe distance. He didn't see much of the injuries that had been inflicted on that dead otter the patrol had found a while back. At least, if he did, they were well hidden in the fresh ones.By the looks of it, that otter was being transported to this hell that this one escaped. Probably just as lucky to die on the way as it was to actually have been there, if not luckier.

The haremaid's comments didn't go past the corporal. "Maybe our intrepid Corporal Fribb Prime's arrival won't be completely useless if he brought you a bite t'eat".

"Miss," the corporal responded, "Please do not adress me as if thou were an officer just because you have some family 'igh up in brass, wot! It brings shame to the Patrol, wot, when that attitude happens! Now, I don't give half a damn if your pop is Lord Braythe's second cousin, twice removed, you have no right to act superior to any Patroller, miss, wot!" the corporal snapped back, fed up with this obnoxious brat. Thank the heaven's he wasn't assigned to a Staff position and dealt with all these fusspots.

"And, no, miss, I did not bring food on my personal, wot! Now, if I'm not mistaken, there's an apple tree or somethin' back thataway, and I'm not a good climber, wot!" Fribbs Prime was on the short side, for a hare. Ripley probably stood even taller than him. And, no doubt the boxer hare who's name he didn't know (and who Fribbs Prime would not doubt to refute Fribbs Prime's words directed towards the miss) was much taller than him. But, Fribbs Prime was lethe, and sturdily built, and that was just the way he preferred it. "And, by the way Miss Ripley," he said, his voice calm again, "It's Fribbs, not Fribb. Quite insulting slur, mispronouncing a chap's name, doncha' know!"

[Rausaro]

"What a grand idea, my otter friend. Comrades, the only beast here with any sense." Rausaro blearily tried to focus on his friend as she brought out a canteen. "Have a bit t'drink before we get off. Not too much, though, you'll make yourself sick." He felt Ripley's hand on his back as he carefully arched his head, fighting off the impulse to empty the canteen in record speed. After a deep drink, the haremaid removed the canteen out of his grasp. "That should be enough t' keep the life in you until we get back to camp," she noted. "Maybe our intrepid Corporal Fribb Prime's arrival won't be completely useless if he brought you a bite t'eat," she added.

***
The hares continued to banter for a bit, but soon enough, the otter felt himself being guided into the treeline off the beach. Exactly how much time passed, the otter wasn't sure, with the thick treeline blocking his view of the sun. Stumbling was a bit of a pain, but eventually, the made it into a clearing filled with hares...

[Stryker]

That was the trouble with liking someone so much it was almost dangerous to one's health; you couldn't just hear one bad word spoken against them, now could you? Though the forefront of Southpaw's mind should have been occupied with taking care of the wounded and malnourished otter, the boxing hare couldn't help but bristle at the rude exchange between corporal and scout, his teeth meeting in a grimace that tightened his jaw. Thinks she's actin' all high'n'mighty, eh?
"With all due respect, Corp', maybe you don't know 'er as well as you think you do!" Retorted the golden hare with a mixture of passion and coldness, his paws clenched into fists by ways of automatic reaction when his blood was up, a glance stolen in Ripley's direction.
"Now she doesn't need me to tell you yer wrong, ol' chap, but I'm gonna do it anyway." Taking a step away from the otter - but not far enough to catch Rausaro should he faint - the fervent blue eyes of the boxing hare Southpaw Varilde settled on the slightly smaller stature of Corporal Fribbs Prime. "She treats 'everyone like that, not because she thinks she's better than the rest o'us but because she thinks we're all the same. Not that you asked, but from my perspective ye were both being a touch rude, and ye were uninvited, Corporal."

Forcing the blood coursing through his veins to quiet down, the boxing hare glanced back at Rausaro, having made note of the apple trees Fribbs Prime had mentioned. "We're Long Patrol Hares - we've got the finest scout," he gestured to Ripley with one paw, playing the voice of reason (which wasn't often), gesturing next to Prime next as he continued, "And an outstandin' Corporal. So what say we stow the tempers and get this poor h'otter someplace warm, dry and safe?"

With Ripley and the other hares to guide Rausaro, Southpaw would designate himself the apple-collector, even if he was a bit heavy for climbing trees and terribly, terribly out of practice. "I'll go find those apples - don't slay each other while I"m gone, eh? I'd just hate to bloomin' miss that." With a healthy dose of humorous sarcasm tacked on at the end, Southpaw threw a smart salute to the Corporal, turned and made a polite bow to Ripley (for no other reason than his affections for her), told the otter good-luck, and made as though to go off in search of apple trees, his pace slow enough that he would catch any lingering remarks.

[Tracy]

Ripley had to admit she was surprised by Fribbs Prime's sudden inclination to lecture her. Most officers didn't bother, especially if she was actually in the course of performing her duties. One could accuse the scout of any number of faults, but underperforming was definitely not one of them. She didn't act superior because of her family's history with the Long Patrol, she acted superior because she was. No one did her job better than her. Other soldiers were plenty better than her in their own specialties, but there was a very good reason Ripley Contarelle was the scout on this mission.

The haremaid was usually one to try to get the last word, but this really wasn't the time or the place. Besides, continuing a verbal spar with this corporal was like getting into a wrestling match with a leveret. Rather than play her game or brush her off, he got his hackles up and his feelings hurt before taking an unnecessarily personal shot at her family. At his comment about her father, she only responded with a venomous glance. A pretty low blow, but then, he was only a corporal, a fact that he'd clearly forgotten.

When Southpaw jumped in to her defense, which she'd expected, she went to stop him, but changed her mind. Trying to stop him was only going to draw this whole stupid affair out even longer, and there was an otter here who couldn't afford it. It was actually something of a relief that Southpaw took a brief opportunity to also chide her, so it didn't sound too much like she needed him to stick up for her.

She did not.

Black-tipped ears swiveled back, a subtle hint that Ripley would no longer be listening to the uppity Fribbs Prime. She'd deal with him later.

"C'mon Rausaro, lean on me if y'start to feel faint again, and we'll take a breather."

~~~~~

It was well into the afternoon before they arrived back at camp, and only about half their patrol was still there. Many had packed up and gone ahead by then. Ripley was actually surprised, though relieved, to find many of them still around their overnight camp. She was used to catching up a patrol on the move, but not with a severely wounded otter in tow.

They attracted plenty sets of eyes as they made their way gracelessly into the clearing. "Somebeast get the Captain," Ripley said with some annoyance, to no one in particular, hoping their leader had not gone ahead with the others. "I'll be taking our friend into this tent for some attention."

She led Rausaro into a nearby tent, where a young haremaid medic immediately set upon him with supplies to clean him up, encouraging him to lie back on an empty cot.

[Rausaro]

It was no small relief to arrive at Ripley's encampment. The trip would have been fairly easy for a healthy beast on a fine day, but there had been few close calls with root snags, along with the unpleasant possibility of ambush. Rausaro worried that his new friends, while seemingly skilled and competent, lacked a clear picture of how powerful the nearby horde was. That is, if they even believed such a horde existed.

As they stepped into the camp, Rau was immediately surprised by the activity in the scout camp. As he watched, he saw hares move rapidly back and forth on a variety of errands, some packing up the camp, others seemingly collecting supplies, and still more standing sentry Well, I guess these hares might be a bit more organized than I thought. A ghost of a smile crossed the otter's face . I might have a chance of getting out of Stormhold's clutches after all.... Stormhold. His elate spirit froze as he glanced north, and he bit his lip in anger.

Tala.

Off to his side, Ripley had been addressing the others, asking for the ranking officer. He started when he realized that she was talking about him. "I'll be taking our friend into this tent for some attention."

***
Within a moment, the otter was led to a nearly vacant cloth tent, apparently that of a healer. The new hare quickly indicated an empty cot, and bid him to lie down upon it. The otter gratefully complied, realizing with a hint of irony that this was the first sleeping mat he had laid on in years. His reminisce was abruptly cut short, however, by a sharp pain in his chest. Startled, the otter tried to sit up, but found himself gently pushed back down by Ripley. "No movin' until she's had a good look at you."

He nervously laid back down. Rau could feel the gentle paw of the healer as she tried to size up the worst of his injuries across the chest, and nervously clenched his right paw as he waited for a prognosis. The healer frowned, and whispered something to Ripley. She nodded, and vanished outside the tent flap, re-appearing with some sort of pouch. As he watched, they mixed something from the pouch into a canteen, and brought it over to him.

He took a large gulp before the wretched taste hit him. He visible cringed from the bitter water. "Wot are ye' tryin' to do, Poiso.......


****
He was drifting in a peaceful stream, surrounded by the familiar rocks and forests near Holt Brinerock. Rau smiled as he recognized familiar faces, and felt a pang of regret, for a reason he couldn't place. He saw his family, his friends.... And they vanished in mist. He suddenly remembered the raid, and the bitter memories behind it.

His world shifted to that of the Scorpionfish, a nasty corsair ship. He was escaping... but he was alone... As he dove farther from the cursed ship, he spotted a likely cove to lose his captors.
Silently, he pulled himself out of the water, glancing this way and that for potential foes. But a strange sound ahead of him suddenly drew his attention. Momentarily forgetting his fear, he pushed through the bushes into a clearing. Before him, he could see the silhouette of a body propped against a tree.

He cautiously approached the figure, recognizing it as the body of Rakka, the Weasel corsair he had befriended so long ago. He stepped right up the the body, and realized it had turned into a brow bush with bits of tattered red cloth, and a rusty stiletto on the ground. A familiar laugh sounded right behind him, and a searing pain erupted in his chest....

***

With a start, he woke. The tent was dark with no sign of any other creature. Rausaro froze, momentarily forgetting where he was. Over the next few minutes, recent events slowly started coming back to him.

He was in the Hare's Camp. A Long Patrol, was that what they called it? He shook his head. Whatever they had given to him, it had knocked him out more surely than a blow from a Stormhold guard. Stormhold! He sat up, suddenly feeling an throbbing pain from his chest. Gingerly, he felt the wound and winced. It was bandaged and stitched. Well, at least that's been dealt with. The otter shifted to his side, realizing that it was uncomfortable to breath deeply. He groaned, and shifted again, realizing that the ache in his back from the whips wasn't as bad as before. Whatever they did, it feels better.

Rausaro slowly laid back down, closing his eyes.

They need to know.

[Onyxwing]

(((Hope this is okay. Let me know if I need to change anything.)))

Onyxwing had arrived at Stormhold just two weeks before. Seizing the ready employment, he was put into a new role as a slave hunter and border scout. He wasn’t in the business of ‘rounding up’ slaves, however.

He was the reason slaves didn’t escape by land.

Though he didn’t necessarily agree with the slavery, he had to admit, the pay was great. However, Onyxwing would be leaving his current employment soon. He was trained to assassinate high-profile targets in massive fortresses. Not to hunt unarmed, untrained, emaciated slaves through the forest.

Maybe I’ll find someone who wants Obsidious dead. Onyxwing thought with a chuckle.

He was sitting on a tree limb high up above a well traveled path, eating an apple he had found earlier that day. The day was relatively calm, but the skies hinted towards snow. He would have to get a hold of some different camouflage if that was the case. He had no idea how cold the winters this far north were, but, judging from stories he had heard, it would get very cold, very fast. Perhaps he would head to the southern latitudes before that happened.

First, one hare, a female, passed directly underneath him. He stayed perfectly still, camouflaged by his recent additions to his ghillie suit. The hare was soon down the path and almost out of sight. It was far too little information to work off of, probably just a traveler. No threat to Obsidious this far out.

Then another hare came down the path, whistling and apparently following the other hare’s tracks by the looks of it. This was rather disturbing, considering both hares were wearing a similar, military fashioned uniform. Troubling, to say the least.
Onyxwing shed the heavier section of his ghillie suit and threw it into the thick tree canopy, where no beast would find it. Left with his lighter suit, he jumped from the tree and glided to another, skipping and hopping his way after the last hare. When the hare finally arrived on the beach, Onyxwing had a good idea that there was probably a much larger force behind the two of them. He was not close enough to catch any words, but he had seen enough. No otter would be able to be that unhealthy without having been a slave and the otter didn’t have any scars that were to be expected as an oarslave, Onyxwing assumed he had escaped Stormhold, somehow.

He watched the momentary argument between the newly arrived hares and the eventual dispersal of the group. The otter could wait; first he would gather some information from the hare that had followed the first scout. Nimbly climbing, ducking, and gliding through the trees he waited until the hare was just far enough away from his group.

Onyxwing jumped from the trees and landed a fair distance in front of the hare.

“Hello there, Sir Hare!” Onyxwing said in his best friendliest-squirrel-ever voice, waving and realizing to late that being sociable was not one of the skills he could put on his resume.

Then again who knew? Maybe this hare wouldn’t notice anything odd about him, might even blabber on about their plans.

But that might as well be far in the future, for now, he would have to work his way around this conversation.