Ratty Driftwood

[shisteer of nothing much]

Mharbrow leaped forward and shoved his face close to Wrackfur's, curling his lips at the smell of the weasel's breath and drawing a dagger from his belt, his voice fierce but barely above a whisper.
"For a start, don't you dare call me 'Mharby'. If you want to be gutted, that's a great way to go about it. My name's Mharbrow, but you'll call me either Dyemhar or Captain. That is, you will if you value your life. Second, if there's a village less than a hundred paces away, you need to shut your big mouth. In fact, shut it anyway, or would you like me to shut it for you?"
The fox captain poked Wrackfur's fat belly with his dagger none too gently, his eyes glinting dangerously as he waited for a response.

[Verdauga]

The situation he put himself in really required Wrackfur to be more submissive, but he chuckled at the fox.  "At least I 'ave guts, Mhar- cap'n." His brain eventually caught up with his mouth and he added, stepping back and averting his gaze, "Not a peep out o' me, no sir." "Not until yew taste yer dagger, that is." he thought.

[Faclan]

The rat ears twitched. A village. And a possible confrontation. That had all eyes on the captain and the new weasel. It was now or never. Even better he was near the back of the rope line as he was one of the smaller ones.

It would be the most brave thing Tul had ever attempted as he retrieved the sharp stone and set to work. But not by sawing no that would take too long. Instead he put it in his teeth and slid it between the side of his wrist and stuck out his fingers, angling away from the sharp, and shiny slick, rock and tugging backwards. It hurt. Hellgates it hurt. But he got his paw free with a long cut on his paw. The second one went much smoother with a hand free and then he was up on his footpaws. Holding the injured hand to his chest to try and not leave a big blood trail as he nodded at the crewbeast staring at him.

"Ge'tt'n ha'p." He hissed. "'tay qu'eet sa' ah' ce'n gi't e'it." And then he was off as stealthy as he could be. Toward anywhere that wasn't here. Hoping to find anything that could get him out of this.

(Hope that works D:)

[shisteer of nothing much]

The fox captain growled low, showing enormous restraint as he forced himself to calm down and not gut the idiot weasel right then and there. Wrackfur's slight change in demeanor as his thick head started processing what Mharbrow had said helped slightly, though Dymhar still had to hold himself back.
"I'll let you live, for now, thick head, since you probably wouldn't have the sense to die quietly. But one more display like that and I'll feed your guts to the worms, as well as the rest of you. Shut up and get to the back of the line. I don't want to have to look at your disgusting face any longer."
Mharbrow heaved a long sigh and wiped the small drop of blood from the tip of his dagger before sheathing it.
"Anybeast else want to yell out suggestions and give our position away or can we continue?"
The fox's gaze swept across the crew, most of whom had their eyes downcast. They knew better to shuffle their paws or answer him.
"Good. Let's go."
Dyemhar turned, stopping as he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He let out a few choice curses under his breath and turned back to the crew.
"Wrackfur, go deal with whoever just disappeared into the trees. Belladonna, are we ready to go?"

[Verdauga]

The movement in the trees eluded Wrackfur, but it would get him out of the fox's reach "Ya got it, Fo-- Cap'n." he winked, and ambled off to the trees. "Hulllloooooo!!" He called when he was a few yards in. "Are ye p'raps... Here!!!" He said, swinging his axe through a thicket, to no avail. The movement in the forest seemed to have been nothing. Scowling, Wrackfur turned back to the camp, now several meters away. "Unnergrown wolf of a cap'n," he muttered low, "Bet 'e's never led an attack 'n a vill'ge in his loife. Pro'lly gettin' his men ready to 'ttack me when Ah get back..."

[Ebantu the Kararehe]

Belladonna nodded and drew her sabre from its scabbard on her back. "Yes sir." The vixen took a deep breath and prepared herself. She was more suited as an assassin than a straight up fighter, but she was willing to bet she could hold her own in a skirmish such as this. She met Mharbrow's gaze confidently. "We're ready."

[shisteer of nothing much]

Mharbrow nodded, his temper cooling slightly as Wrackfur disappeared into the trees. It flared again as he heard the weasel yelling out loudly, still well within earshot.
Idiot! The fox thought. Nobeast is going to just come out of hiding and let him brain them with an axe. The fool needs to actually look.
Dismissing the matter, Captain Dyemhar smiled grimly at Belladonna, his gaze sweeping the rest of the crew to make sure they were ready as his ears picked up the sound of Wrackfur stumbling through the bushes back to them.
"Right, we'll start then. Sliteye, would you please go help that moron find whatever was spying on us. In fact, send him back here to help with the attack and go find the beast yourself. Tornpatch, Fet'n'Fret, Belladonna, Baretail and Cutsnip, you're with me. Firestripe, you're in charge of the prisoners. Everybeast else, listen to Firestripe. If I hear of any disobedience or slacking, you'll be in trouble. Let's go."

The crew muttered assent, Sliteye slipping quietly into the trees while everybeast else copied their captain's movement, drawing weapons and following, their voices quiet, even if their paws made the odd rustle and thudd as they moved. They had all been involved on many small village raids in their time as pirates and, though they didn't have a ship anymore, they felt like this was finally something familiar. Small grins were exchanged between crew members as they prepared themselves for the probably one-sided fight to come.

[Wylder Treejumper]

OOC: Got impatient. Get writing, folks!


Patrol Captain 'Riff' Cardilon wiped his saber with it's polishing cloth, leaving it brilliant in the morning sun. After a short 8-mile morning march, the patrol had just finished an early lunch, and the hares were ending their preparations while the runner swept the march ahead. There hadn't been any news or sightings of enemy militants, so the patrol would long-march up the borders of the eastern woodlands to the borders of the dunes.

Sheathing his saber, Cpt Cardilon looked over and caught the eye of the Sergeant, calling him over with a flick of the ear. "Sergeant, tell the patrol to clean up the vittles and shoulder packs. We'll meet the runner on the road."

Suddenly, the runner came tearing into the camp from the woods.

[shisteer of nothing much]

OOC: Sorry. Yeah, we need to get a move on. If the crewbeasts could post, I'll be able to do more with Mharbrow. For now, here's some Sliteye stuff to get everybeast moving.

  Sliteye bent to check a snapped branch, seeing the fresh sap leaking from the tree's wound, confirming that he was tracking the right beast. He got up and carried on, his eyes scanning the ground, looking for further sign of his target, resentfully muttering to himself under his breath.
  "Why'm I always th'one t'get sen' away when th'fun's 'bout t'start? 'Sli'eye, go help Tornpatch catch some puny rat while we get to actually fight.' 'Sli'eye, go track some useless woodlander while we get to raid th'village.' It's no' fair. They'll pro'ly be scoffin' all the vittles whens I get back, an' Cap'n'll whan us on th'move soon as I arrive. No res', no scoff, no nothin'! I'm sick of it!"
  Sliteye kicked a stone bad temperedly, suppressing the urge to cry out in pain as it didn't budge and left his footpaw very sore, with some blood coming from his claw. It was a minor injury, but it hurt like Hellgates.
  "Stupid rock!"
  The weasel carried on, muttering to himself as he kept an eye out for signs of his adversary; a pawprint in soft ground here, a snapped twig or snagged thread there. All small signs, but enough to tell the weasel he was on the right track. He kicked another pebble, this time giving a grunt of satisfaction as it moved, skidding to the side obligingly.
  "Well, if that ain't no sign 'o good luck, I don' know wha' 'tis."

[Faclan]

(Aww Poor Slit, I feel bad for him always getting the raw deal....surely it wont get /worse/ for him or anything~)

Doing what he could to run at a good speed and not leave a huge rat shaped impression in the bushes Tul kept doggedly on as much as he could. But his mind was racing. Making him totally miss the confused hare face as he stumbled past. What was he hoping to find really? Another village of goodbeasts? Then what? Try to convince them that other pirates were coming and he wanted to help. Sure that would go over great when he still looked like a pirate himself. This indecision caused him to slow as he looked back. He had run from a hostile crew. Horrible torture was what awaited him now. Were as it would just likely be labor back there. Hells he could have probably gotten off easy with his navigator skills. Change crews and live better.

But now that was never going to happen. He had totally sunk his own ship of life here. Slowing down more as he clutched his bleeding forearm Tul sighed and leaned against a tree. Barely catching wiff of cooking vittles as he looked at the floor. Pondering what terrible fate would befall him now. The enemy crew would find him eventually...

(Feel free to have the Captain turn up and greet him pointily :> )

[shisteer of nothing much]

(OOC: Don't feel bad for him. He's just complaining about nothing. Tul had it much worse a moment ago)

  Sliteye gave a quick glance behind as he heard pawsteps on the turf, rolling his eyes at the sight of the stumbling oaf of a weasel who came into view around a bush. Giving an irritated sigh, Sliteye retraced his steps until he was close enough to hold a conversation with the other beast without sending the entire forest echoing with their voices.
  "Wha' 're ye doin' 'ere, scum-breath? Ye should be 'elping th' Cap'n an' crew t'fight th' village. Git back an' do wha' yer told. Cap'n doesn' like 'is comman's bein' disobeyed. I'll take care o' whoever was watchin' us, maybe even bring 'im back as another prisoner. Hah, bet he'll like tha'!"
  The weasel gestured back the way Wrackfur had come, waiting for him to turn around and be on his way. Stupid creature couldn't track a badger through mud.

(OOC: Hope this is alright, Verdauga. Slight powerplaying there. I can edit it, if you want me to)

[Verdauga]

OOC: Nah, it's fine.
BIC:

Wrackfur snorted at the other weasel. "O'course Ah cood, but then ye'd be stumblin' aroun' tryin' t'catch him all by ye lonesome," he winked. "Which is perfeckly alright wi' me if ye wanna tell th' cap'n thet ye los' the prisoner 'cuz ye dinn't know which way the trees grow!"

[Wylder Treejumper]

Upon hearing the runner's report, Cpt Cardilon barked out orders to the camp. "Fires out! Packs on! Weapons drawn! Vermin on the loose, chaps, no time t'waste!" The hares quickly kicked dirt over the smoldering embers  and stuffed any remaining equipment away. Within a minute, they had filed into patrol order and began moving through the woods cautiously but quickly. Elgon, the runner, went ahead stealthily, leading them to the area where he had sighted the vermin.

Suddenly, Elgon signaled for them to stop. Cpt Cardilon moved forward to where he could see a rat, obviously one of the sea vermin, wandering haplessly through the woods. Seeing that he was alone, wounded, and apparently in distress- and obviously not a threat- he nodded to Elgon. They both stepped out of the woods in front of him just as he settled down against the tree, Elgon on the left and Cpt Cardilon on the right. The rest of the patrol moved in, quietly surrounding the tree and cutting off any route of escape. Placing his drawn saber to the searat's throat, the Captain drawled, "Now what are y'doin' here, buckoe?"

[Faclan]

Tul had just been about to slump down and sit. Waiting for his pursurers to catch up and deal with him. When he saw small footpaws stop in front of him. Blinking he looked up just in time to see a flash as something rested against his neck. Eyes going wide as they darted side to side to see the uniformed hares of the Long Patrol completely surround him and looking rather grim. The navigator quickly putting his hand paws in front of him so they would be visible and in no way considered a threat as he looked at the one directly addressing him. Ears wilting under the cold stare as he tried to stammer out a reply.

"A...ahh..S'ah!" He stumbled over the words as more and more hares seemed to materialize. " 'Ah wu's cap'tur'd ba' ta' re'vel cr'w! T'ey tr'nn 'ta ra'd 'ta l'il v'llag'e S'ah!"

(Uh, sir. I was captured by a rival crew and escaped. They are trying to raid a small village sir.)

[shisteer of nothing much]

  Sliteye returned Wrackfur's snort, sneering derisively.
  "I don' plan t'lose th'tracks of 'oe'er was spyin' on us. Cap'n's no' the on'y beast who doesn' want to be slung on the end o' a Long Patrol spear. If yer goin' t'come, stow the gab an' let's git movin'."
  Pushing past the other weasel, Sliteye contined his march, his eyes scanning either side of the obscure path for clues of who had passed by, and when. He felt he was gaining on the beast and he increased his pace, fully aware of the idiot weasel behind him. Stupid creature'll probably ruin everythin'. He's as noisy as a flippin' hedgehog! he thought, rolling his eyes as he heard another loud crack of a branch snapping. A blind badger could track that fool! The Cap'n's usually a fairly sensible beast. Don't know why 'e didn' give 'im a dagger in th'ribs. Maybe I should do th'Cap'n a favour an' stick 'im. Could add a spot o' fun t'this cursed trip... nah, beda no'.
  Sliteye continued, encouraged by the fresh tracks in front of him and energised by the thought inspecting Wrackfur's insides with his knife.

Captain Mharbrow PhantomPaint's POV

  Dyemhar clenched and unclenched his jaw as they approached the small settlement quietly, still undetected by whatever beasts lived within. His left paw rested on the hilt of a scimitar, ready to draw it at a moment's notice or less. The crew was silent, each watching their pawsteps, weapons at the ready, waiting for their captain to give the order.
  An old otter was splitting wood for a fire, while several kits played nearby. Beside another hut, a squirrelmaid was hanging washing on a line to dry. Two hogbabes raced each other outside to join the otter kits and they began piling soil up to make some structure, which would likely be stomped on. A mole was collecting water from a clear pool on the far side of the dwellings and a couple of voles were in the garden, clearing it of weeds.
  Mharbrow's lip curled in a grim smile as he watched the peaceful scene, knowing what it would be like once they were finished. The neat thatch huts would be a smouldering pile of ash, the gardens would be ripped up and bare of the veggies that had previously grown in them. The ground would be stained with blood and, if they were lucky, there would be a few more captives to join the crew of Keelteeth, and the fox captain had no doubt that they would be lucky. A beast forged his own luck, and Mharbrow was an experienced fortune maker.
  Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Dyemhar drew both his scimitars and pointed, his eyes glinting in the sunlight.
  "Let's go."