The Meat Traders of Baldoshi RP

[shisteer of nothing much]

  Torgen paused, considering the question as he took the initiative in route to the lookout. It was a tricky business, especially with Vint gone. It would've been helpful to have another smuggler on the job.
  "A couple of the merchants mentioned increasing their order, so that would help, though not enough. The pirates are always willing to buy more meat, and we can ship to them in larger quantities with less risk. I usually just take them the leftovers, and they'll buy as much as I have, but I do see your point."
  The pirates didn't pay as well as those in Southsward, but they still offered a decent price. The captain reached the top of the hill and looked out, resting a paw on the railing. He could see his ship on the docks, and the line of captives winding their way toward the temple. On the other side of the island, the flour mill was turning lazily, and a tree fell to an axe, while another was being stripped of bark and branches. Beasts, weasels and stock alike, were busy everywhere.
  Torgen glanced at his companion. Operations looked to be going ahead smoothly, but he was a seabeast, unused to the ways of land. No doubt the other weasel would be able to point out several problems.

[The Skarzs]

  Dartur dropped Nibbles, instinctively throwing up his hands to ward off the debris Cuffa had aimed at him. Letting out a roar of outrage, the big weasel lurched forward and reached out to grab the offending party, but he tripped on Nibbles' form and fell heavily to the ground, still hoping to catch Cuffa by her footpaw.



  Kurlan winced as whips were cracked to push the new slaves forward to the processing, and the whole grouped moved up inland. While they walked, he still kept his attention on Damsey. He didn't much care for the haremaid's attitude, but they were all in a precarious position, so he changed his tactic.
  "My Pa always said that if there's only one way to do somethin', then there's always another. Bit daft, really, but it makes sense if'n y' think about it. 'S too late now, but they're the enemies, remember that."

[Dannflower Reguba]

       "Ugh, I'll spare you another thorough explanation on how much I hate dealing with pirates." Praff liked to work with professionals, and his experiences with the rough sea-goers told him they were anything but. He did not trust them, and worse yet, knew the islands own naval power to be lesser than some of the 'local' pirate alliances. They were yet another threat to be balanced, and far more difficult to hide themselves from than Southsward.

       The pair soon mounted the ridge, a frankly beautiful overlook of the otherwise dreary land. Praff passed his other slowly, allowing him a moment to take in the island before tapping him on the shoulder and motioning towards the seaward side. He crossed the small space, it was oddly quiet up here, a sparse few stone furnishings lay about the flat paving, with a tree sprouted up in the middle, making for one of his preferred escapes. Reaching the other side, he pointed out into the ocean beyond, seemingly at nothing at all, "That's Southsward, a startling few horizons away, and the greater concern. We can cut down more woodlanders, we can deal with a coup, we can even stomach wasted product, but the Southswardian navy?" He tilted his head to look at Torgen while still facing the water, dead sincerity in his eyes, "Never on this side of hellgates can we take them." He turned to fully face the captain, lean-sitting nonchalantly against a stone half wall, "And so we hide... yet they know of us, our location and secrecy are our only protection... but for how long? Every captive we take brings a weeping beast or family to the king's feet, and the resulting outrage brings more eyes to the search, each one longer and wider ranging than the last... At what point do they say enough is enough and do something bold, drastic... stealthy perhaps?" Praff intensified his gaze, clearly looking to see if Torgen was piecing together the breadcrumbs he'd laid out.

*****

       Squeaking quietly as he fell, Nibble landed quickly, though he was not swift enough to evade the charging weasel and got somewhat bowled over by Dartur. Hardly worse for wear, he hopped back to his feet and scurried away from the pair, neither bold enough to run, nor patient enough to walk as he forced himself to stand upright, staying clearly visible above the same tall grasses he'd hid in previously so as not to risk tipping his hand to the otherwise preoccupied vermin.

[Cornflower MM]

While the voyage had been relatively short for Bryant Albrush, having been one of the last captives to be taken, it had been extraordinarily hard for him to stomach. He despised Captain Torgen and everything he and his crew stood for on professional, personal, and moral levels - Idly standing by and keeping his head down compliantly made the albino squirrel want to scream instead of turning a blind eye to the abuse and fear spread by the traders. . . And it was only going to get much, much worse now that they were on the island. Still, Bryant had argued for this mission and volunteered for it, despite his superiors deeming it too risky, and he was determined not to blow it prematurely.

      Disembarking the ship proved more eventful than he'd anticipated, however, and while Bryant was too far back in the line to intervene he'd watched the entire situation go down. An ear twitched as he studied Damsey's actions. They were supposed to be staying low and under the radar, not calling attention to themselves like that...

      Turning his attention back to scanning his surroundings as the line continued along, it was easy to note the fenced in fields, the sheds and buildings scattered about and concentrating in what Bryant could only assume to be whatever could be considered a "living area" here- "Hold on now, is that-? Are they fighting?" The squirrel couldn't help a smirk crossing his features as he observed what looked like a budding tussle between two guards. If the traders had high tension within themselves that he could exploit, that would only make Bryant's job easier going forward. Catching the eye of a different weasel walking the line, Bryant quickly schooled his features and dropped his head, making sure his brush dragged on the ground to appear the picture perfect, broken, obedient soul.

[JazzOfRedwall98]

A panicked chirp escaped Cuffa's lips as she dove back, her footpaw just narrowly avoiding Dartur's grasping paw. She tumbled over onto her back in a rather embarrassing display, earning laughter from some of the onlooking guards and even a few slaves. While normally, the she-weasel would lash out insults at such mockery, her fear of Dartur's iron grip far outweighed her pride. She scrambled onto her footpaws, reaching for her whip.

"Stay back!" Cuffa shouted, trying her best to stop her voice from trembling. "Y'great brute...it was a joke! Surely y'know what a joke is, y'overgrown babe!?"


---


"You think I don't know that?" Damsey snorted. "I know what vermin are like, waterdog, and I know how ruthless they can jolly well be." She sighed again, and threw up her paws in defeat. "But...seeing the way everybeast's looking at me, perhaps I was a bit rash."

The hare gazed at the watervole she had struck.

"Apologies, lass. I only wanted you to settle down, wot? Just be grateful I didn't get you with my good paw. You'd really have something to cry about then."

It seemed to be something of a joke, although Damsey's delivery was quite off. The bankvole only nodded, seemingly ready to put the incident behind her. Damsey frowned.

[shisteer of nothing much]

  Torgen cracked a smile at his friend's distaste of pirates. They certainly weren't the nicest creatures to deal with, but he found them quite helpful from time to time, mostly for selling excess goods and, occasionally, livening up his crew when they got too bored. The shabby crews in their barely floating piles of junk didn't worry him.
  The captain wanted to wave away Praff's concerns about Southsward, but the beast was right. It wasn't a large navy, but the ships Southsward had were crewed by experts, both at sailing and fighting. He'd been lucky enough to not encounter the wrong side of many of them, but he shuddered at the memory of a pirate ship taken down by one. They didn't take prisoners.
  All the same, they weren't sitting ducks, and Torgen pointed out the fact.
  "The Navy are powerful, but slower and more awkward than our ships. We can lose them with little effort, and even if they did manage to find us, it'd be next to impossible to get one of their square rigged craft through the maze of underwater traps, and we'd have ample warning to prepare a welcome for them. We're basically untouchable from outside. What are they going to do that's stealthy? Try to navigate the way to our shores in the dark?"
  Torgen had been worried initially by Praff's concerns, but the recorder was not a seabeast, nor a warrior.
  "Poor innocent beasts can cry to the king all they want. We've been avoiding the Ironkin's efforts to stop us for three generations. Nothing is going to touch us here."

[The Skarzs]

  Dartur clambered to his footpaws, brushing dirt from his head as he took a couple slow steps toward Cuffa. His eyes wandered aimlessly as he thought hard.
  "Uhh, huh, uhh. . . a joke?" A slow and confused smile spread across his face. "Uhhahahaa. . . I get it! Sometimes you're alright, Cuffa. Why you gotta be me mean, huh?"



  Kurlan nodded at Damsey, and took a look around at the other prisoners. The flash of Bryant's white fur caught the otter's eye, and he had to blink and look again to make sure it was real. Was that squirrel on the ship with them the whole voyage? Well, he had been unconscious for a good portion of it, and with them all crammed together he easily could have missed him. He smiled and waved at Bryant. He would have to talk with him.

[JazzOfRedwall98]

Cuffa did not answer at first, her nostrils flaring and her heart still racing from the scare. For a moment, the suspicion passed through her mind that Dartur might have been trying to bait her into a false sense of security. This thought did not linger very long, however, when the brute's face settled. Fear became embarrassment as Cuffa felt eyes on her. No doubt, the other guards would speak of her panic over grog during off-time. She squinted, trying to spot that fat little mouse from before, but to no avail. If he had not tripped Dartur, she might not have been put in such a position. The she-weasel bared her teeth and spat at the ground.

"Tha's soft talk," she snorted, her paw still remaining on her whip, but her head high in an air of self-importance. "Only beasts who can't fend for themselves call beasts like me "mean". Heh, that's why I'm walkin' free while they..." Here, she gestured to the slaves. "...'Ave t'sleep in pens like the lumps o' flesh they are."

[Dannflower Reguba]

       "Every great empire that has ever preceded our little business began their own annihilation with that same belief of immortality. Do not conflate us for the weavers of fate lest you tempt their paws... and obsession with irony." Praff spoke with his eyes leveled at Torgen, but turned afterword to resume his contemplations by enjoying the ocean crashing below. Water, their grand, ocean-spanning mote, but one that could drown them just as easily if the conditions were flipped on them, a concept the weasel desperately needed one of his kin to understand, "You ask me of stealth, brother? Earlier I pointed out their count, but now I would highlight another concerning number amongst our 'stock', their average age." He paused a moment, motioning for Torgen to come nearer, his voice dropping lower as he continued, "To be more specific, the number of military age woodlanders alone outnumbers the total count of weasels on the island, something that has never happened before..... and I'm starting to wonder if it's happenstance, or a sign of something more dangerous. I showed you to the pens to see their numbers and their age, I mentioned distraught families because every outcry of desperation allows for a more drastic measure to be taken, I brought up the navy because their power is uncontestably greater than ours. With that in mind, tell me this, Torgen, how long will it be, not until they find us, but until their collective hatred for us becomes so great that they would be rash enough to send their own to our island." Anybeast posed such a ludicrous question, or to even let on the idea that anybeast would willingly condemn themselves to Baldoshi capture would almost certainly be met with raucous laughter. But the one speaking was Praff, not exactly known for his jokes, and he turned to look his companion in the eyes with deadly resolve. Prideful or not, this was the beast he had chosen to confide in, choosing rather to believe in Torgen's skill, intelligence, and resourcefulness over other members of their society.

*****

       Fortunately for Nibble, Dartur had held Cuffa's attention long enough to disappear again amidst the other slaves. Even so, he had more tracks to cover, the burly weasel was known to be... especially dull amongst the enforcers, but that didn't remove the chance he'd remember the mouse saying he was going to fix the fence. For the time being, he contented himself with acquiring a shovel, saving the rest for after the two weasels were done mucking about in the field.

[shisteer of nothing much]

  Torgen considered the weasel's words, following his example of gazing towards the ocean as he thought on them. Overconfidence was not a good quality for a smuggler, and the captain had long ago learned to take threats seriously. He knew better than most Baldoshi his own mortality, and that of his crew. Even so, he found it difficult to think of his home as being vulnerable. At sea, he was ever cautious, but here on the Island, it felt safe. He knew what defenses they had in place, and he made it a point to inspect them whenever he returned and replace whatever was shabby or old. He definitely agreed with the bookkeeper about the fruits of arrogance, but when he really thought about it, he considered his confidence justified.
  The captain turned his attention back to his companion as Praff spoke, connecting the dots of all the little things he'd shown him. Torgen frowned at the beast's conclusion. From anybeast else, he would've considered it a joke, but Praff didn't make jokes. Not only that, but everything else he said made sense. This wasn't some fever dream. The weasel had obviously thought long and hard, and had chosen to speak with him about it, despite its seemingly insane implications.
  The weasel chose his words carefully. He didn't want to dismiss the concerns presented to him, but they did seem rather... unlikely.
  "I see your point, but I don't think it terribly likely. We have not had too much of a problem crushing the spirits of new arrivals, and I should think that anybeast crazy enough to get themselves turned into meat would not pose much of a threat to us."
  The captain frowned again, pausing. He was a beast of action, and liked to come up with a solution to problems, rather than simply putting them off.
  "I hear you, though, and I won't take so many captives on my next voyage. If you really think it's a problem, I can dispose of the ones I just brought in. It shouldn't stir up too much trouble to get rid of them before they've had a chance to talk with any of our current stock."
  Torgen didn't like the thought of wasting good product, but it was better than an uprising, and if Praff thought one was likely, it was best to trust the weasel. He had a habit of knowing details other beasts missed.

[Dannflower Reguba]

      Praff faced the island once more, glancing at Torgen with a wry, unnatural smile, one missing the soft nuances of genuine happiness. Lazily lifting his left paw, he patted the captain's shoulder in a gesture he was confident represented reassurance, his tone and pitch relaxing almost jovially as he addressed the other weasel in turn, "You're right, of course! I speak to you not of certain demise, but a hushed possibility hidden behind vagrant numbers, and it seems to me you now understand enough, so concern yourself no longer with my absent ramblings." Praff strode back towards the steps, his goals accomplished well enough. It was no understatement to say that Torgen was a potent piece to have on the board in every regard, be they physical, strategic, or political in nature. The more closely aligned the two could keep to one another and their associated 'goals', the better off any serving under the same banner would be. Taking the first couple steps down, he remembered himself, "Ah, as for the fresh cuts you brought in-" he turned to answer the almost-forgotten question, "Let them be processed by the temple's accordance's as usual, if a single shipload were to be our downfall, then the fates have clearly already cast our lot!" Resuming his descent, Praff raised his voice to be heard as their distance slowly increased, "Congratulations on your record Torgen, you beat if by a headcount of four." He raised his arms, motioning to the island as a whole, "So relax and enjoy yourself, pleasure is just as great a sustenance as food after all!" His expression and body language returned to normal, having gained sufficient space from his kin, "Or so I've heard, anyway."

       Amidst all that ever was, and was to be, this day might be counted amongst the exceptional few where one might catch the snicker of these mischievous fates, after all, they did love their irony.

[The Skarzs]

  Dartur scratched an ear. What Cuffa said did not make much sense to him. . . That didn't matter. Ignoring the philosophy, the big weasel looked at his dirty tunic, and shrugged. He was hungry again. Turning around, his heart filled with sadness as the mouse he had chosen was now nowhere to be seen.
  "Aww. . . Where's da new ones we gonna eat? Are there any we ain't tasted yet?"

[JazzOfRedwall98]

"Scum-fer-brains," Cuffa hissed, glaring at Dartur out of the corner of her eye. "Don't ye remember that the new meat goes up for processin'? Bunch o' paperwork. Borin' stuff, really." She then scoffed. "Not sure why I'm explainin' it; you'll jus' forget by the hour's end." She paused, gazing after the new arrivals as they grew smaller and smaller the further they got. "Tasty lookin' things, though."

Her belly rumbled, and she slapped a paw over it. She now had a craving for bankvole.

[Dannflower Reguba]

      Terrace after terrace passed the recorder on his way to the field with the incident he had witnessed earlier, woodlander backs bent, and voices hushed in his wake until he arrived. Chaos reigned over the scene that Praff bore witness to, a stark comparison to the orderly work being done elsewhere. Perhaps mildly disgruntled, he drew in a sharp breath before addressing the beasts around, "PAWS STILL, BACKS STRAIGHT YOU LAGGARDS!" His gaze locked on each vermin, weasel or otherwise with intent, lest they confuse his words as being directed only to the mere stock, "That goes for all of you." Calculating eyes shifted from the guards to overlook the workers, Morgyn being the first to slip and meet him stare for stare, "Always the guilty one that can't help it hmm?" The weasel approached his target, casually surveying the grounds and their state on the way, bored eyes only observing the squirrel again upon arrival. The specimen in front of him was a memorable one, a former rowdy troublemaker, but one that had eventually been subdued like the rest, "Hmmm, Morgyn, yes? Paws please." Turning the proffered hands over to look at the pads, Praff found nothing unusual, just the simple, soiled hands of a field beast, exactly what was expected. Dropping the paws back into squirrel ownership, the weasel shifted around Morgyn, the obviously most recent recipient of their 'hospitality' by any reasonable measure. In so doing, he caught sight of the mushed up vegetables brazenly surrounded by vermin tracks, prompting one of his own paws to rise and massage his forehead after indulging in a luxurious eyeroll, "Uuugh, rot take these blasted fields! Let me guess, our squirrel here, by some means, overturned produce into the dirt, yes? The least you lot could do is avoid causing more damage than the woodlander when you come over to beat the stuffing out of them." Spying a radish that been kicked out of the way, and thus, spared being turned to squash, Praff stepped his way over to the vegetable, pointedly demonstrating the simplicity of his request by daintily avoiding any of the other plants in his path. Stooping to seize the item, he began brushing it off, "A little dirt isn't so bad after all..." He popped it into his mouth, rolling the root around with his teeth in thought as he continued dryly, "...Part of me wonders whether some of you wouldn't benefit from having a bit more of it in your diet-*CRUNCH*" Chewing his radish, Dartur's messy shirt was the next thing to catch the recorder's eye, "Speaking of dirt..."

      On his way to the hulking weasel, Praff passed by a skid mark and impact zone that matched Cuffa's feet and the soiling on her back, "The oafish brute and the whip happy torturess huh? Must be Tuesday." Dartur's pure size was truly incredible, a potential so sadly wasted on a dullard that required too much effort and micromanagement to be an effective piece in his game. Cuffa, on the other hand, was decently capable, and by no means stupid, but her preoccupation with simply bullying the stock held her back from greater, more useful station. Reaching Dartur, he put on a sweeter tone, "Now now you big lug, what'd ya go n' fall over for eh? Yeh know 'ow mother Edurva gets when you go mussin' up yer clothes! Oooh, but let me worry about tha' for now ay?" While he spoke, Praff laid a brotherly right paw on the other weasel's shoulder, tilting his head the same way so Dartur would naturally look to the left. His left paw then rose to wipe and smear the clod that Cuffa had thrown into the rest of the mess on Dartur's shirt, best to make it look like the big weasel had just been clumsy in case his other idea didn't pan out, "Why don't you head on down ter tha docks hey? Ah thinks they could use sum 'elp from a great big son o' Baldoshi like yerself!" Waiting a moment, he then whispered instructions to the next nearest guard, "Follow him, and when he gets distracted by the fish, wait for him to lean over before pushing him in the water. With any luck, the dirt'll wash out, and with it, any problems his parents might try and raise over 'sabotage of the family' or whatever it is the pair of 'em conjure up this time. Just make sure he doesn't drown okay? He'll forget what he's doing by then, so get back to the field after."

      Two problems dealt with, the next thing on his checklist lay in splinters nearby, "Now what's the story with the fence?-"

"ERM, ah-ah-I was juss' on me way ta fixin' it sir!" Praff turned to the speaker, though he was already acquainted with the voice, a look of surprise on his face before he even caught sight of the small mouse, "Oh?" The remains of the victimized post lay scattered a bit too explosively to have likely been an accident, though the other guards clearly hadn't noticed or somebeast would've been getting beat half to death by the time he had arrived. Fitting Nibble into the equation clicked the last piece into place, leaving him with a good envisioning of what had occurred in the field, "Well, not quite a story, but fine enough. Hmmmm, Morgyn, why don't you help the wee mouse aye? The pair of you can pick a couple more hands to hold spars in place while you fit the post again, Braak, acquire a new post and bring it here please. In the meantime, everybeast back to work! That's enough slacking, and mind your footpaws! Cuffa! You'll accompany me to the temple, let's get a move on." Praff departed, as did Braak the ferret, though the latter did so in a more cantankerous manner.

*****

      Nibble had spoken more instinctively than intentionally, turning rather white in the aftermath of his own absentmindedness, supported more by his shovel than his legs. Taking a moment after everybeast started milling about again to settle himself, the mouse approached Morgyn, "H-howdy do friend? Are you well?-Er, well, are you able?"

[JazzOfRedwall98]

Cuffa, at first, had been watching Praff's assessment with mild amusement. After all, what bully turned their gaze away as other, lesser beasts were lashed with a scolding tongue? Of course, the entertainment came to an end when the recorder neared her and Dartur. A sharp-eyed thing, that Praff was, and feeling his gaze on her footpaws and back, she, in an awkward attempt at subtlety, tried brushing herself down, wanting no lectures for her involvement in the situation. With Praff's focus on the big brute, Cuffa thought she might have avoided trouble. At the order to accompany Praff to the temple, however, her ear splayed a bit.

"The temple?" she repeated. Admittedly, as much as she could not stand Dartur, their bickering always made the day go by a little faster, and anything that made suppertime arrive sooner was always welcome. Going to the temple would rob her of that enjoyment. "Wha' for?"