The Cleansing Sea (Skipp, Open)

[Silas]

Gulls circled and cried overhead, riding the salty breeze coming from the ocean. Waves crashed and receeded in a never-ending battle against the immobile land, creating a constant noise that could be heard for a fair distance away. It was this sound that greeted two furry dots in a rolling country of sand, moving west towards the sun and the smell of the sea.

Sergei shielded his eyes against the sun as he walked, grumbling to himself. "Well I got sand in my ears, my paws are scorched, and we've been out here all o' half an hour. All to collect some shells and seawater for some crusty old beast who'll probably die when we make it to the mountains..." Despite the noise of the sea, his voice was easily heard by Ghost, walking in front. The fox shrugged, and replied over his shoulder, "If I am to prove myself before my tribe and my elders, these things must be done. We are almost there."

Sergei rolled his eyes, scratching the fur beneath his red headband. "Thank the Fates we are, y'know? Then I won't have to look out for you and your egotistical self anymore." Ghost laughed good-naturedly, now used to the weasel's comments. "I will miss you too." He said, only half in jest. They had come a long way, from the depths of Mossflower to the shores of the Great Sea itself. Though they always had their quarrels on the road, Ghost considers Sergei to be a good friend. Throughout their adventures, they had each other's backs, never turning tail when it came to a fight. They had learned a great deal about each other, and in so doing, themselves. Though now their journey was at an end, and soon they would go their seperate ways.

A few more steps over one last dune, and the Sea, in all its majesty, was revealed to them. The sun hovered over the horizon, painting the surface of the water with glittering colors as the waves lapped at the shoreline. Ghost stopped at the top of the hill, taken aback by the sight of so much water, stretching past his own sight. It was truely awe-inspiring to a beast who has never even heard of the Sea before. Sergei stopped next to him, and folded his arms. "Well, here we are."

"Yeah." Ghost responded blankly, his eyes fixed on the sea. Sergei glanced over at the fox, smirking. "Don't faint or something." he teased, but in truth he too was struck by the enormity of the Sea. Ghost walked down the dune slowly, coming over his initial surprise and depositing all his belongings on the shore. "I never thought that I would even reach the shore." He muttered, wading out into the surf and kneeling down, letting the water wash over him.

"Wot are ye doing?" Sergei asked, following the tribal fox, and almost slipping on the way down the dune. "The Sea cleanses all things. I am washing away my misfortune and woe, as my ancestors did before me." Ghost replied, not looking back at the weasel, closing his eyes and becoming one with the pulse of the ocean and the warm rays of the sun. He put his paws on his knees, feeling relieved as the cool water washed over his aching footpaws.

"Alright, well have fun with that. I'm gonna look for supper." Sergei called back, gesturing to the gulls. Ghost waved over his shoulder in response, and with that the weasel set off north along the shoreline, wondering how he ever came to the shore of the Great Western sea with a tribal fox who knew how to speak more correctly than he did. He was a good friend though, he guessed. The first he's had since... well, a long time. Sergei didn't make friends easily. He chased the gulls along the shoreline, planning to sling a throwing knife at one if he got close enough.

Huh... Friends, right? Thought you didn't need friends... He thought to himself.

[Treble Tiderunner]

Ssst. Sssssssst. Arrows hissed through the air, bringing down five seabirds. A low crack sounded, a bird dropped from the sky, a thin, braided line wrapped around it. A small party topped the dune, in the lead was a elegantly dressed vixen, she was backed by five crewmembers, three searats, a marten and a big stoat. She looked down the dune at Sergei, seemingly unsurprised at his presence.

“I hunt here, who are you to hunt my prey?” She asked. Her tones were rich, a little low, with the undercurrent of sharp steel under velvet. One would have to look deep to find it. She flicked the short handle she held in her paw, the dead seabird was released from the whip and flew up in a pitiful imitation of flight to land in her paw.

[Silas]

Sergei heard the sound of arrows whizzing near him over the crash of the waves, glancing over to see the five birds tumble to the ground. He was quite alarmed at this development, pausing in mid-stride with his daggers poised, aiming to attack the same bird that flew up into the whip of the mysterious vixen. He looked up at the six beasts on the dune ahead of him, shielding his eyes from the sun as the vixen spoke to him.

“I hunt here, who are you to hunt my prey?”

For a moment the weasel was still rendered speechless by the surprise appearance of such creatures, but soon his confidence returned despite the threatening situation he now found himself in. He smirked a little, in his amused, snide fashion at the comment, and replied, "Ah, these are your birds, miss? I'm sorry, I must've overlooked your name on them." His voice, with a touch of sarcasm, sought to question her authority over his 'rightful' meal.

However, Sergei spoke with extra care, also seeking the invisible line of tolerance to such behavior. That knowledge could prove useful, even when faced with five bows and one whip to his eight daggers. And of course his two paws. But these rarely counted in confrontations of this sort, where once again unfamiliar beasts saw fit to order him around with commanding words and shows of force. The trick, he had learned, was to show his teeth while staying his paw.

For now, anyway...

[Fleech-Hunter]

It had served to have been a dull morning.

As the sun rose higher into the sky and the small party were led farther towards the ocean, food became the necessity which drove them on towards the shore. The wind blew gently through the line of trees nearest the dunes as the pawfalls of those around him reminded Bollun there was much to do.

Lorna had seemed to have been in a bad mood, and that was to be expected after all that had happened. Fort N'Tashi had turned out to be far more trouble than it was worth, costing them a great deal in the end. More than they would have liked to give for such a subtle if not completely non-existent gain.

It caused the searat to ponder and scratch at his chin idly as he trudged on with the others. But he was distracted momentarily as the smell of the sea wafted to him over the dunes. He took a long deep breath, relieved to finally be back where it all had started.

Earth and sand was for landlubbing creatures, and one such creature Bollun was not. He'd never liked the idea of getting off the ship to go after some far-flung adventure in woodlands... No, he'd argued against it. Gently if at all, he knew his captain and he knew not to question her, but he wanted to be sure she knew he thought it a bad idea.

There would never be a time for "I told you so." Not if Bollun wished to live...

And ah, such cruelty warmed the old searat's heart. A finer captain could not be found for any corsair worth his salt. He had to admit, he was fond of the gal, he liked her style.

Lorna had given the order to fell birds from a flock of gulls nearby and overhead. Bollun confirmed the order with a nod and motion of his paw to their current archers. The beasts took aim and fired, bringing down four of the creatures while the captain's dangerous whip took down a fifth.

As they crested the dune to collect their fallen quarry, Bollun was slightly surprised to see a lone creature with a poised dagger, most likely having been pointing it at a flying gull.

With a curious gaze of consideration the old rat looked to his captain, and she seemed content on threatening the creature. He smiled slyly at her comment and turned back to the weasel as his paw slowly came to rest on the hilt of his cutlass. He observed the creature with an air of boredom, almost. As though he were no true threat, and honestly, he wasn't. With a number of good corsairs at their back and Bollun at Lorna's side, the creature didn't have much chance should he choose to attack.

So, like the loyal first mate Bollun was, the rat remained silent and ready. One paw on his cutlass, the other at his side, just waiting for his captain's orders.

[Treble Tiderunner]

"Ah, these are your birds, miss? I'm sorry, I must've overlooked your name on them." His voice, with a touch of sarcasm, sought to question her authority over his 'rightful' meal.

Lorna smiled, coiling her whip and holding it in one paw. The other still held the dead seagull. She tossed it downwards, to land at the weasel’s feet if not caught. “Very clever, weasel. No fear, however, can get you in trouble.” He smile was almost benign as she continued. “Take your bird and go. I would hate to see you again.” Her look turned cruel as she bared her sharp fangs.

The vixen turned to Bollun, ignoring the weasel. “I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, Bollun. How are repairs on the new ship going?” The rest of the party continued in their hunt, bringing gulls down out of the sky for the crew’s dinner. The sun was westering, as the afternoon came on.

“Where would you suggest we go to recruit?”

[Silas]

Sergei let the seagull flop lifelessly on the sand in front of him, paying it no mind as he gazed upwards with brown eyes and a placid expression on his face. As the vixen turned to her second-in-command, a breeze stirred the sands lightly around him as he observed. Wrinkling his nose as the sand flew by, he called back, seemingly in warning, "Now I hope you're feelin' secure up there, miss, having otherbeasts fight for ye... 'Cause there'll be a time when they aren't there to muscle you about as ye please." The weasel glared up at the assemblage one more time before turning to walk parallel to the dune, keeping them in the corner of his eye.

"Maybe then you'll see how afraid you are." He muttered under his breath contemptuously, putting his dagger back into his belt as he searched elsewhere for a meal...

[Fleech-Hunter]

There were no concerns in the bilge rat's eyes as he eyed the weasel. A lone creature was a challenge to nobeast, let alone some wandering landlubber who hunted with daggers. Bollun didn't have a need to keep considering the beast as his captain addressed him with questions of their current situation.

He blinked as he turned to her, and he nodded with confidence in his posture. "Repairs're goin' well, Cap'n. There's wood aplenty on this shore, and vittles t'boot. The crew's 'appy, there's plenty t'do fer 'em, and with any luck we'll have a sea-ready vessel afore much longer."

He then addressed the question of recruitment, a smile spreading across his, even now, grizzled features. "Oh Cap'n, well, I'd say there's only one place for crewin' a ship wid good corsairs n' hardy warriors, an' that place be Sampetra. My brudders n' I were born there, 'tis a good locale full o' beasts just waitin' fer action. But, if'n yer lookin' fer something more readily available, the isle o' Terramort is jus' up the coast, mebbe...two, three days good' sailin'. Last I 'eard good wave-riding beasts were livin' there, but I 'aven't been there for a good many seasons myself." He stated knowingly, paw still resting quietly upon the hilt of his cutlass.

[Treble Tiderunner]

"Now I hope you're feelin' secure up there, miss, having otherbeasts fight for ye... 'Cause there'll be a time when they aren't there to muscle you about as ye please." "Maybe then you'll see how afraid you are."

Lorna missed the second part of Bollun’s reply as her ears swiveled, and her head followed. Her elegant grey eyes narrowed, focusing on the back turned to her as the weasel walked away. Sand flew grittily in a fit of breeze, but it passed quickly and she had disregarded it. Now she descended the dune swiftly and elegantly, the way a panther might walk as it considered making its lunch from some hapless passerby. Her bullwhip cracked, reaching out above the weasel’s head. Wisely, her crew hovered behind Bollun, trusting the first mate in all relations with their unstable captain.

“Spoken like a true coward,” Her voice rang out, low and clear, “Under the breath as you scurry away like a crab.” She trod over the seagull, grinding it down with a twist of her paw as she continued on.

“Why don’t you repeat that to my face,” she started with cowardly worm and went all the way to unnatural acts with a calm vindictiveness and creativity. She then smiled nicely and said “Please.” The vixen bared her sharp canines for a mere moment and waited.

[Silas]

Sergei was unaware of Lorna's approach until the whip snapped over his head, at which he ducked slightly out of reflex, his ears tucked down before springing back up again as he turned around to face the vixen. His cold brown eyes were fixed on her mouth as she slung insult after insult at him, finally coming to a stop with a display of her fangs. It was safe to say that the weasel was quivering with anger, but he held his gaze level with the vixen. It was a stare so uncommonly cold, hateful, a viciousness that would lead the weak of heart to falter and stay their paw.

A moment of silence reigned as Sergei clenched his paws, with only the distant sound of the surf to disturb the two beasts. He was not afraid of her. He wasn't even afraid of death itself, which was shockingly easy for him. The weasel had nothing to tie him down, nobody in this world to hold him back from thinking twice before slinging a well-placed knife in Lorna's face. This became readily apparent in his voice as he spoke to the vixen.

"I don't think I'd waste my breath any further on ye. You're scared of backing down in front of your little band up there. Afraid of losing." Sergei's paws unclenched, still empty at his sides.

"What you should fear... is me."

[Treble Tiderunner]

Lorna wore the slightest of smirks, meeting the gaze of the weasel without a sign of unease. In fact, her own gaze held only mild question, but below the surface her eyes were as cold as the wind that blows over northern ice fields, and as yielding as the cold sharp starmetal that formed the blade of Martin.

Lorna held no fear. Death was not an enemy to this vixen, a friend, perhaps, an old friend that one passed by with a nod of understanding, but never had death been her enemy. And when it came the time she would go to fight him at his own gates. Injury too, did not faze the fox. She considered herself a lady but fought like the dirtiest corsair. And her expression grew more amused as the weasel nattered on about backing down.

"What you should fear... is me."

A silvery laugh tripped and tinkled out across the dunes, the wind snatched the lovely sound up greedily into its fitful fingers. “Fear?” Suddenly the mildness in her eyes was stripped away, and her expression hardened, twisted. She was all sharp angles now, but there was still a harsh beauty to her. “You?” She gathered the leather lash in her paws, feeling the supple weave studded with sharp-edged metal. This whip could break the sound barrier, or flick a fly away without killing it. And Lorna was better with it than the best of the best.

“Surely you must be joking.” The whip whistled out to caress gently along the weasel’s shoulders, teasingly wrapping around his neck. “Lorna Russetfur, darling. So naughty of me to not introduce myself earlier.” She said silkily, in a mockery of politeness. She yanked the whip back, leaving a line of red.

[Silas]

Sergei felt the whip dig into his shoulder, serving to broaden his snarl at the contemptuous air of the vixen before him. His anger blunted the sharp pain evident afterwards, though it was the same anger that gave way to a deadly growl in the bottom of his lungs. He heard that name before, many seasons ago, from passing bands of searats abandoning their wrecked ships on the shoreline. Whispers of a cruel mistress of the waves, flaying the hide off of anybeast who displeases her.

Sergei couldn't care less.

"Lorna, aye?" His voice grated back across the winds, coarse as the sands surrounding them. "Doesn't matter what ye call yourself, when you're dead." He informed her bluntly, letting another gust of wind pass over them before everything became still. He had his knives. A target. The sun to his left falling into a rolling sea. Taking in a breath of the salty air, the weasel stood fast, judging the moment to be right.

In a blur his paw shot to the hilt of one of his daggers, hidden under his vest. His claws grasped the handle, and with a skillful flick he let the blade fly at the vixen almost before clearing the sheath. Few indeed equaled the speed and accuracy of Sergei Ramikov in throwing knives. Otherwise, the weasel would not be alive today had he not learned from experience as quickly as he threw his blade at Lorna and her contemptuous smirk.