Maps and Monsters Prologe

...Six Months ago...

The sound of blades clashing interrupts the peaceful morning. The forest clearing would have been serene. The mountains in the distance appear blue, the air is crisp and the woods seem to glisten in morning dew. All of which stands in start contrast to the grizzly scene of battle that plays out this day. The fox swings his blade with a level of violence only seen with experience. The broad sword changes from both paws to one paw in simple fluid strokes as the fox duels with his opponent. Swinging the blade over his head he sets the blade ready for another blow, crouching low to lunge for his enemy, aiming his instrument of war at the other's chest.

The fox's opponent is waning. The slim weasel is an assassin, not a full on fighter and the battle has worn down his energy to a trickle. He dodges away from the stabbing blade, barely missing a couple of inches of cold steel through his chest. Grasping the hilt of his saber a little tighter, he steps to the left and swings at the fox's side, glancing desperately into the surrounding land as he does so, which causes his swing to go awry. Things are going downhill fast. His wild eyes probe for an escape route.

The fox leans back, the blade slicing though the beasts white tabard and glancing off the chain mail tunic underneath. The beast let's out a pain yelp. Clutching his chest the fox steps backward growling at the weasel. Nearing his 14th season the fox is full grown and built for endurance. He is lean and he swings his broadsword with a certain degree of strength.

Over his white tabbard there is the blue emblem of a fox skewering a snake with a spear.

Glancing at his the blood on his paw the fox lets out a dark chuckle. He can only imagine where he would be with out armor...

Giving the weasel a toothy grin Dale grips his sword in both paws, "Ready for round two?" He lunges forward arching his blade downward.

Round two seems to be all the weasel can handle. He attempts to dodge the seeking blade, but is caught up as the tip skewers his upper leg. He gives a howl of pain and grasp around the edges of his leg with his free paw, attempting to quell the blood that is sure to some like a tidal wave. Angry that he let his guard slip, the weasel staggers forward, slashing wildly at the fox with his saber.

Dale removes his blade from the beasts leg, bringing it up and around his head for one final devistating blow, leaving his gaurd open in the process. the saber cuts his tabard in half across the belly. If the fox was not wearing a chainmail tunic his stomach would have been spilled. The fox cusses loudly as he stumbles backward landing on his rump.

The weasel gives a crow of delight when the fox falls and starts to stagger towards his attacker, his eyes alight with delirious glee. After his first step, however, his freshly stabbed leg gives out under him and he falls to the ground with another cry of pain. Oh cruel irony!

Orlop goes Out Of Character.

Dale takes a moment to take a breather. He rolls backward then forward to leap onto his feet. Dusting himself off Dale calmly walks up to his quarry as if on a stroll through the park. Paws folded behind his back he glaces over the weasel...then kicks him with his boot right at the wounded weasel. "So. Did that take the fight out of you or are you ready for round three?"

The weasel's sides heave with exhaustion. His eyes roll up to meet Dale's gaze, and the look of defeat easy to read. Then the boot drives itself into the weasel's gut. The weasel groans and folds around his stomach, hugging himself in an effort to gather some small measure of protection, "Aggh, da yur worst, /fox/" He spits out the words, and in a last stitch effort at survival, grabs at Dale's legs, hoping to trip the fox!

Dale yipes as the weasel grabs his boot. He very nearly trips onto his rump again, something which might prove fatal this time around if the weasel can get back up. The fox catches himself however and he steps forward onto sold ground. His free leg comes up and he sends a savage kick towards the weasel again! "An' your lucky you are wanted alive!"

The weasel yelps as the boot yet again has it's way with his midriff, this time coming in contact with his sorry attempt for a shield. Groaning once again at the mention of the price on his head, the weasel curls into as tight a ball as he can manage and hopes the fox will just leave him alone. Wishful thinking was always one of his strong suits.

What ever gives the weasel hope. At the very least the fox isn't going to be stabbing him with the blade, which Dale is sorely tempted to do. No, no, money first. I get paid more if he's alive. I get paid more if he's alive. Thinks Dale. While he still has to keep his bounty alive, that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. He channels that hostility into taunting the poor beast. "Don't feel too bad." the fox says as he tries to toss the weasel on his back and step on him. He stabs his blade deep into the earth next to him before reaching for a length of rope at the small of his back. "You put up a warrior's fight. Pitty you won't be having a warrior's death though. Just try to imagine hanging as a very strong neck massage. And just think, after I tie you up you get to have take in all this pretty mossflower country side as I march you back to town. Lovely, right?"

The weasel winces as he is moved onto his back, but otherwise stays sullenly silent, glaring daggers at his captor. And yet, he does not put up a struggle, finding the bleeding wound in his leg, and the very sore torso enough of a reminder of the consequences of struggling.

The fox works quickly, disarming the weasel of his blade. He ties the rope first around the weasel's paws, almost purposely making the bindings uncomfortable. He then uses the same rope to bind his legs and feet together. That done he leaves the weasel but for a moment to gather up the scraps of his ruined tabbard, making it into a makeshift bandage to treat the beasts leg.

Whistling a marry tune Dale retrieves his own sword, and sticks his enemies into his belt. Picking up the rope he then begins to pull the weasel along lke a sack of heavy potatos. "Hey, if its any consolation, you are going to make a lot of people happy back at town. The jury, the judge, the hangbeast, and most of all me. Forgive me if I don't come to the trial, I'll be too busy counting my money..." With a playful smile Dale begins to whistle again. He whistles the same tune all the way back to town...