Seek and Find at Camp Willow

Location: Just Outside Camp Willow

Players:

-Heskra, male fox and Juskaskor leader, searching for the tribe's Taggerung.

-Drystan, male fox and seer, who saw the Taggerung in a vision.

-Lutea, female otter, who is, unbeknownst to her, the Taggerung the Juska are seeking.

The midday sun shines overhead, and Heskra shields his eyes as he looks up at it, walking with Drystan, the rest of the Juska left behind, at least for the time being. He would much prefer to have traveled and arrived at night, but it became quite clear very quickly that the place they were going to was woodlander in nature, and therefore night visitors would likely be viewed with even more suspicion than Juska would normally merit. Pole flail resting across both shoulders, Heskra peers out of the eyeholes of his skull mask and wonders just why they haven't been accosted by scouts yet. They're not exactly hidden, and their destination couldn't be more obvious; what kind of Taggerung would hang about such dozy beasts? He looks over to Drystan and asks, "Ye sure 'e Taggerung's 'ere, righ'? 'e Sight's easy t'make mistakes with."

"They'll be here," Drystan replies, nodding. The fox is dressed in his normal attire, a stark contrast to the Juska leader. Both of them foxes, and yet they could scarcely be more different. "I Saw that when the son of the Juska was taken with the White Madness, the Taggerung would be found. The Spirits of the Forest said we would find them here."

Nope, no Taggerung here - whatever that it - but there is a lone otter, perched at the edge of the river with a spear, staring intently into the shimmering current. A basket behind her sits, half full, of fish of several different varieties, and with a sudden, fluid movement one more finds itself impaled, pulled from the water, and bleeding on top of the pile. The beast herself is, even by otter standards, a tad intimidating to behold, but seemingly dull and ordinary beyond that. Lutea's ears prick forward, and her attention is drawn away from her task, however, as she catches the voices echoing lazily up stream, and she stands, spear still in paw and eyes narrowing. Foxes? Not necessarily out of the ordinary, but an uncommon sight so close to the camp. She clears her throat. "Ye lost?" She calls from the opposite bank, bending to shoulder her basket before nodding at Heskra with a "Nice hat, mate."

With a snap of his head, Heskra regards their greeter with suspicious eyes. Of all the beasts that would find them, it's not a guard or a scout or some kind of warrior, but rather a fisherbeast, albeit a rather intimidating one. Heskra looks about for a net or some way to justify the large pile of fish, but then he notices the holes in each fish, and the bloody spear in the otter's paw. Spearfishing? That takes some skill, and to go on with it for this long would require some considerable deftness with a spear. While foxes aren't exactly out of the ordinary, Heskra himself is. The skull mask, the long kilt, the flail balanced upon his shoulders as if it weighs nothing, and the striking tribal tattoos... Heskra isn't exactly the type of fox that one sees every day. Likewise his companion has a simpler, but similar set of markings painted onto his face, so they're clearly a pair. At last, after a lot of staring, Heskra addresses the otter, "Not lost. Lookin' fer somethin' 'round 'ere. D'ye live 'ere?" It seems he's in the mood to be obtuse.

Drystan's paintings, although a bit smudged, do resemble those decorating Heskra so vibrantly. The fox is significantly smaller than his companion, and the blue collared shirt and vest make it seem like he's going to a party while Heskra is attending a bloodbath. He's content to let the bigger fox do the talking for now, simply giving the otter on the opposite bank a wide grin.

"Er, kind'a." Comes Lutea's reply, her paw tightening about the shaft of the spear. While tribal tattoos and creative clothing choices are not strange sights to the foreigner, her understanding of the current region is that all of the above are considered to be unquestioningly suspicious. This assumption is multiplied 10 fold when any of the aforementioned traits are ascribed to vermin species, and thus far the ottermaid had observed this assumption to ring true. "If yer lookin' fer trouble ye jus' need to keep on walkin'. The otters 'ere dinnae take kindly te foxes, an'll probably be less appreciative of yer fashion choices than I am." She shrugs and casts a look to the smaller fox, and an eyebrow raises in bemused mistrust. "What're ye grinnin' at? I'm talkin' harsh dismemberment 'ere, nah some friendly party, ye smudgy lunatic. Look, if it's supplies ye need I cin help ye out, but ye nah allowed in the gates, I'm 'fraid."

Deciding to play all this off as if the danger and suspicion is nothing at all, Heskra shrugs. Of course, in this instance, the suspicion is /very/ justified. The Juskaskor might be a bit more subtle than a lot of other tribes, but they're still Juska through and through, and there's been more than one village that was razed to the ground after refusing to kowtow to Heskra's demands... however reasonable the fox thinks that they are. "Shame 'at 'ey don' like foxes. We were 'opin' t'take a look 'bout, take a rest, meet some of 'e fine otters 'at keep 'is region safe... Surely ye must 'ave some great warriors 'ereabouts?" He pauses for a moment, then gives the barest of smirks as he remembers one of the legends about another Taggerung, and where he had his mark. "Ah'd like t'shake 'eir paw in greetin'. Turnin' away travelers en't proper, is it?" In truth, he wishes he didn't have to raise his voice and call across the water at the otter. He'd be just as happy having a quiet conversation considering where they are. In truth, he trusts the otters of Camp Willow just slightly more than, say, Salamandastron hares.

"Just enjoying a nice summer day," Drystan replies, still giving that same knowing grin across the water. He can't help it, it seems; he has to look smug and snarky at all times. Whatever ability he might generally have to pass himself off as harmless is mitigated by the decidedly dangerous Heskra, so again, he lets the big fox take the lead, unused to finagling with such a hamper.

"Put yehself in me shoes -" Though the otter wears none "- an' think how /ye/ would respond te an offer such as tha', from a beast ye dinnae know, wearin' bones, an' totin' around a nice weapon like ye got." She shrugs, apologetically. "Cannae say I trust ye enough te do any'a tha', really." Lutea crosses her arms across her chest and regarding them with stern regard. "Tis prob'bly best if ye keep on yer way. Like I said, I would be 'appy te secure ye some supplies, one traveler ta anothe', bu' me paws are tied." To his inquiry, her brow furrows, and she offers little more than another noncommittal shrug. "Eh, I'm not familiar enough wi'the place te know." She, on the other hand, is perfectly content to keep their interaction distant and vociferous. The otter can hear activity further up the path, and the proximity of possible reinforcements sets her mind at ease. No need to raise the alarm for a few weirdos, right?

Heskra is starting to feel awful ready to slap Drystan for giving that ridiculous grin when they're trying to gain somebeast's trust... in his opinion it looks far worse than the bone mask that he wears. Rather than begging or wheedling, Heskra decides to change tacts. He gives a sad shake of his head and a dismissive sigh. "Well Ah s'pose 'at beasts who're too 'fraid wouldn' be given t'trust a pair of travelers who they 'ave so outnumbered." He looks down at Drystan. "Looks like we came t' 'e wrong place t'find bravebeasts. 'ere's nothin' but fearful yellatails 'ere." Naturally, he says this perfectly loud enough for Lutea to hear, though he lowers his voice just slightly enough to make it seem that he might wish for it to be only between the two foxes. Turning his head up towards Lutea again, he calls. "Ah was hopin' t'give palm readin's from my friend 'ere. But since 'e otters 'ere're too 'fraid t'give 'eir paws in friendship, well... ne'ermind."

"A shame, really," Drystan mutters in that semi-quiet volume, before lifting a paw to Lutea. "It's too bad you can't help us out," he calls, his grin turning rueful. "I was hoping to unveil some mysteries for a different audience. I suppose Camp Willow doesn't care for the portents after all."

Now, Lutea may not be one of monumental intelligence, but she isn't dumb. She is, however, incredibly competitive and highly superstitious. Again; not stupid, just a bit rash. "Now ye wait jus' one minute 'ere - ye said ye be fortune tellers?" Her eyes widen, and she points the spear accusingly at Heskra. "Why did ye not mention this sooner, eh?" Her gaze turns to the smaller fox. "You!" She points, suddenly. "Can ye speak te dead beasts, then? Spirits an' the like? I'm always afraid they be talkin' abou' me behind me back. I saw me mum's ghost once an' the only thing she said te me was te fix me leaky waterskin, because it was drippin' on me in a way tha' made it look like I 'ad wet meself." She pauses to kiss two fingers of her paw and raise them skyward. Unfortunately, it isn't the paw that the vermin would find of use. She's difficult like that.

Tempting as it is to ask Lutea why in the Hellgates she'd see fit to tell them that story, Heskra holds his tongue, instead deciding to play to Lutea's superstitions. Naturally as a Juska, Heskra is extremely superstitious himself, but to him the superstitions of other beasts sound vastly more stupid than his own. "Aye, we both are. Ah used t'be a seer, an' 'e likkler fox speaks with spirits, prob'ly all kinds." The tacts are changed once more now that Heskra has his lead, and he pulls the flail off his shoulder, stabbing it into the ground so that he can clutch his paws together in appeal to Lutea. "Yer wise t'worry 'bout 'at. 'e dead're a chatty sort with each other, an' since 'ey 'ave no life of 'eir own, 'ey talk 'bout 'e livin' good an' plenty. Why, 'at story 'bout yer waterskin's prob'ly bein' told by spirits as we speak. 'ey find our misfortune's amusin' much of 'e time." Heskra's eyes flick towards the upraised paw, and his eyes narrow as he sees that there's no mark on it. It's not even the correct paw anyhow.

"Many of your kind are skeptical of our gifts," Drystan explains off the cuff towards her accusatory question, "or we would have mentioned it sooner." The finger comes pointing away at him, bringing a soft smile to his face. Bingo. His blue eyes flutter shut, and one paw slowly levitates to shoulder-level, outstretched towards Lutea as though drawn by a lodestone. "Your mother- she- she's speaking to me right now."

"Spare ye hogswollop." Lutea snaps at Drystan as he brings her mother into it. "If me mum 'ad somethin' te say te me she would say it te me 'erself." Her paws move to her hips, but she seems to retain some degree of shameful concern, and her constitution seems to give slightly. "But, er, on the off chance tha' it /is/ me mum..." She continues, warily. "She wouldn't happen te know abou' tha' business with the weddin's, would she?" Another otter approaches, drawn no doubt by the conversation, but before he can get a good listen in, he finds a heavy, smelly basket full of bloody fish thrust against his chest. "Take these to the tavern er...somethin'. Wherever ye put yer fish 'ere. Thanks!" His bemused protests fall on deaf ears as the otter makes the poor decision to dive into the river, cross, and cautiously approach the foxes, a spear still in one paw. "She dinnae 'ear about the weddin's, did she? I'm sure there are some angry ancestors still titterin' abou' tha' one."

Well, this stands to either be just the opportunity they needed... or it'll be a disaster. Heskra takes a breath as he sees the other otter approach, hoping that they're not going to be interrupted right when they might have found the pressure point that would allow them to look at all the other beasts in Camp Willow, and hopefully find their Taggerung. Heskra looks down at Drystan, as if to silently tell him, "If you don't get this right, I'm throwing you in that lake." However, the Juska leader remains tightlipped, not wanting to ruin whatever effect that his companion is going for. Of course... how's he going to talk his way out of the situation when the topic is about something there's no way that he could possibly have heard of?

Drystan's brow furrows at inquiry, his eyes still locked shut, paw still stretched out towards Lutea. "She... she isn't pleased by what happened. She says the whole business was shameful, a mess. A blight on the family names." He winces, as if pained.

This is apparently devastating news to the young otter. "I thought she would'a been proud..." But her slouching disappointment seems to slowly melt away as the cogs start to turn between her ears, and her brow crinkles as she snarls. "Ye wouldn' be lyin', would ye?" Her spear levels once more at the foxes as she advances a step, and her other paw - this one bearing a rather noticeable birthmark, gesturing lazily over her shoulder at the camp. "The otters 'ere'll not take te bein' lied to. An', come te think of it, I'm not a fan meself. Mum always said tha' she wishes she broke up more weddin's in her lifetime." She adds, fondly and with just a sprinkle of deadliness.

"No, no," Drystan hurriedly clarifies, eyes still slammed tight shut. "The /weddings/ were shameful. She was proud of how you handled the situation."

The hurried clarification is barely an excuse, and he can only hope that the otter buys it. She does seem rather desperate to believe... Heskra rapidly thinks up a way to take advantage of her superstition, hoping that it works. "He's not lyin' t'ye, but 'en ye should know 'at 'e spirits en't fond of bein' called liars. E'en worse when 'ey're yer own ma! Yer not callin' yer ma a liar, are ye, otter?" Turn it back on her and make the one being called into question Lutea's mother, rather than the obviously-lying Drystan! "Oh 'ere'll be 'ellgates t'pay fer 'e beast who calls 'eir own ma a liar when she's in 'e beyond!" And that's when he sees the birthmark, the fox's eyes going wide as he realizes that they're been talking to the beast that they came to find the whole time, and that they shouldn't need to spend any time in the camp at all! ...Assuming that the otter will go along with them. Hurriedly Heskra wipes the glee off of his face, though his heart pounds in his chest as he thinks of how the Juskaskor's fortunes are going to turn.

"Tha' does sound more like 'er..." The otter's eyes continue to squint at the two in distrust, which fades to downright confusion as she catches the wild expression of glee that dances across one of their faces. "Alright, then, no more funny stuff - tell me mum I'll talk to 'er later, bu' ye two are goin' te tell me wha' brand'a crazy ye'thinks ye are! I dinnae trust ye, an' I'm one of the more trustin' beasts a'the camp, so I can guarantee tha' ye won' even make it in the gates. Spirit beasts er no, best be off with ye. Go on! Get!"

A deep frown passes over Heskra's face as Lutea returns to obstinately refusing to let them in. Of course... now they don't really /need/ to be let in. He's reasonably sure that he can gain the otter's trust from outside the gates, and he's also sure that there's no harm in making it clear that the pair of beasts aren't going to just leave. After all, if they hadn't been mobbed by otters now, they wouldn't cut down in their camp later either. "'e'll let 'er know. An' ye'll get yer chance t'talk t'er later. We're not goin' too far, jus' campin' out some distance away. Ah'm sure ye'll see our campfire. Feel free t'drop by an' 'ave yer fortune read or talk with spirits more'n 'e little sample ye got today." Heskra isn't the type to "Get" on someone's command like some spurned pet, and instead he simply plucks up his flail and walks away, gesturing for Drystan to follow. The pair vanish into the woods.