The reavers schedual a meeting...

Empty chairs, and empty tables. The room is barren. The only presence inside today is Jaksor, the increasingly disillusioned leader of as scraggly a band of misfits as Halyard has ever seen. His hooked 'paw' picks at the surface of the windowsill as he looks out the back at the alley, still dressed in that same rough-and-tumble kit he's always worn despite their presumably higher level of wealth. "Quite a view," he mutters to himself. "Fit f' th' king'a th' cronies." You have to be realistic about these things, after all.

The polecat's mood is the very reason Vannon has been putting this off for so long. But recent events have forced the beast to face his rather realistic fear of murder by gang leader and break him the possibly good, possibly bad news.

The grey fox is putting on a little weight from all the meat he has been seen eating lately, but he hides it well behind a new lizard skin jacket, belt, and boots. The fox knocks once on the door before coming in. "Jak! Good morning to you!" He says in a loud voice. "I got you a preEEeEeesent!" The fox calls the cloth wrapped in his paws a present, but in reality its a bribe to less the chance of the Jaksor mauling he is most assuradly due for.

Present? Jaksor's eyebrows lift as the voice sounds behind him, recognizing its owner immediately by the whining pitch and ingratiating timbre. "Y'know I don't like surprises," the hob half-growls, half-greets as he turns to face the fox, a bad-tempered eye scanning over his attire. His eyes narrow, flitting down to the cloth-wrapped bundle and back up to the fox's face. "...well?"

"Yeah...heh...heh...heh." The fox laughs nervously for no reason. No reason what so ever. "I'm sure you would like this one though! Look!" The fox unwraps the cloth to reveal a vest inside made of the same lizard skin as the fox's own garments. "It's vest! Made of real monitor lizard skin." The fox's eyes narrow and a wicked grin spreads across his face. "I can guarentee its real, cause..." Vannon pauses for dramatic tension, "I killed it myself!"

The polecat's lip turns up as the vest is unveiled, recoiling slightly in mild disgust. "That..." Jaksor stops, pointing with the hook, considering his response for a moment. "Why? We could use a monitor /alive/ more than dead! Ye think I want a stupid scale-vest when I've got /chain?/" He blinks, considering the fox's stupidity, weighing whether to actually punish Vannon for his actions. "Just. Get that thing outta here. See if one-a th' others as wants it."

The fox glups, cowering in anticipation of a blow to the head. Jak seems ot forget that he has a poity hook for a paw sometimes when it comes to smacking people around...or maybe he doesn't.

When no violence is inflicted upon him Vannon stands up, "Heh heh, I'm afraid he didn't give me much of a choice. See, this gang tried to smuggle goods through the docks.../our/ docks. I tried to be polite about it, and explain to them that this city was /our/ territory but...they wouldn't hear any of that." The fox wraps the vest around his paw. He smiles nervously as he hesitates before explaining the rest of the story. "So...now they are dead! End of story, oh and the smuggler they were using wants to meet you." The fox turns, starting to walk for the door.

The story is met with expectant nods, waiting for the fox to wind things up so that Jaksor can start ignoring him again. Surprisingly, the final nod is one of approval, with Jaksor looking much more relaxed. "Good, keep th' competition out. We need t' solidify our hold on th' illicit-" then that last bit catches him in the cerebral cortex. "-they want to meet /me./ Vannon." The polecat's voice has gone deathly still. "They want t' meet yer boss or they want t' meet /me./" It's not a question but it's clearly a question.

The fox stops, on paw step away from the exit. Poo. Thinks the fox. He spins, tail wrapping around his leg belittling the smile on his face, "Er...is there a difference? You are /you/ right? And you're my boss! Did I mention they have a bird? Really big one. With claws even!"

"Did you tell them my /name./ Did you tell them who I am." Jaksor's voice is still, quiet.

The fox twitches an ear, staring blankly at the beast. "I still don't understand the question." He holds up his paws before the beast can reply, "I kid I kid. Pfft, of course I didn't tell them your name, what, do you think I'm stupid?" The fox turns as he laughs so that he might cringe and not have Jak see it. He spins again, "I told them you were a fearsome warrior beast who doesn't like to have his time wasted! They seemed rather fearfull of the beast they were to meet after I got done describing you. I /may/ have exagerated a bit, so don't be surprised if they think you are 12 feet tall and can spit fire out your eyes." Vannon crosses his arms, "So...when do you want to meet them?"

"I /don't,/ you /dolt./" Jaksor's answer has a certain poetic rhythm to it, punctuated by a fist slamming down on the table, then his hook digging into the wood. "Th' reason I keep slobbering little buffoons like you around is t' meet these outsiders /for/ me so that I can run th' operation an' get on with bein' a twelve-foot-fire-breathing monster, not to wheel an' deal with some petty smuggler."

The fox jumps as the pole cat loses his temper...again. He seems to do that a lot. Come to think of it Vannon can't remember the last time Jak was ever actually happy, or pleased with any outcome. At all! Even when Vannon did good! When any of them did good!

It's enough to make the fox grow a little back bone and reply just as harshly, "Ah yes, and when the LP learns that the twelve foot fire breathing monster causing them trouble in Halyard is named Jaksor they can come raid the place and kill us. Lovely plan that is. Forgive me for trying to keep you alive, for trying to keep every blasted one of us alive who sweat and bleed for your little empire, which I might add extends from one end of town to the other. So forgive me when I saw a way for us to add our presence elsewhere in the world by setting up a deal with a smuggler who would like nothing more but to feed my tail to her pet hawk."

The fox begins to growl, crossing his arms, "So go ahead and not meet with them. I'll just go ahead and let them know that we don't want to smuggle things in and out of the harbor using a woodlander ship."

That pretty new vest is going to look fetching with the new hole in it when Jaksor's hook catches the fox by the collar. "You listen t' me, you sniveling little jit," the polecat growls as he pulls the fox's face close to his where he can breathe on him. "Why d'ye think I don't want m'name bandied about t' every half-pint smuggler with a wheelbarrow? Huh? Y' don't think half th' blasted town's in th' Longears' pocket? And a /woodlander/ no less. How /convenient!/" Jaks sneers across at the fox, flinging him harshly away from himself. "We need t' do somethin' big here soon or get out, before ye get us all sent t' Hellsgates," the polecat muses, mostly to himself.

The beast, to his credit, doesn't yelp or even whimper as he is throttled by the pole cat. Even after he lands against the wall in a rough mannor. In all honesty the fox got off pretty light considering what the pole cat is usually capable of.

This is not going according to plan! If he doesn't convice Jak to meet with the smuggler she will feed him to her hawk! And he can't convince Jak to meet with the smuggler with out getting himself killed! Vannon is doomed! DOOMED!

"Fine! No argument there! Not from me. But we won't get something big done if we all just sit here brooding about in the dark feeling depressed." The fox didn't mean it to sound like a dig at the pole cat but, that's the way his voice makes it sound. "If you change your mind you can find Kympa at the docks. Can't miss her, she has a pet hawk." The fox pauses at the door, adding, "If you need me you know how to find me..." Vannon steps for the exit once again.

"Just get out," Jaksor mutters, settling into a chair to mull over the information, his hook thumping into the edge of the table as he sits. Foxes.

__________________

Vannon belongs to me.

Even in the prime of his adulthood, Kydo Vannon is a bit shorter than most foxes if a little pudgier than most. As a grey fox he is covered in the stereotypical pelt of grey fur with brown paws and an orange underbelly.

From the top down the fox wears a small musketeer styled hat with an orange plume with holes cut into the sides to accommodate his long pointed ears.

His torso is covered by a black silk shirt and lizard skin vest. The vestment is sleeveless, made from a green monitor lizard and tailored to accommodate the fox's growing beer belly.

The fox also wears a belt and thick boots, both made from the same monitor lizard. His sword belt attaches to a rapier with a silver ornate handle.

Jaksor

The first thing that catches your eye is the glint of metal at the end of Jaksor's left arm. The polecat's

paw is entirely absent, replaced with a thick, angular bronze hook, the inner curve honed to a vicious edge.

The construct is held in place by a number of thick straps, buckled tight, under which a number of nasty,

puckered scars trace up his arm like vines on a ruin. His dark brown fur deepens to black around his paws and

ears, while his face is a creamy shade with a black mask over dark brown eyes. Another scar curls down around

the right side of his face, looping under his chin, where it is joined by another running parallel. Midway down

his neck, another appears, and just above his collar, another.

The polecat is dressed in a dirty tan tunic, scattered with small holes and tears, as well as one fairly

large rip running down the side, roughly stitched closed. Wooden toggles keep the tunic done up, while chain

mail peeks out at the collar and through the holes, strewn with spots of rust and the occasional missing link.

A thick belt wraps around the top of his maroon breeches, with a weathered scimitar rammed through at his hip.