Wetworks

[Tilly Brewer]

3rd of Loshis Evening

Tilly took a moment to enjoy the cascade of the dusks pale red light that escaped a familiar canopy of branches and leaves. All the while the bombardment of pitter pattering rain echoed through the brush as it’s watery droplets danced and splashed capriciously. As the downpour became more turbulent the white noise of its melody washed over the landscape.

The fabric of her cloak that often provided sanctuary was to no avail. As the huntress lurched forward and low prowling into the brush. The rolling tide of a harsh breeze allowed the chill of the darkening sky to breach her dampened barriers and gripped her to the marrow of her bone.

Wisps of hot vapor escaped her breath in a plume of trailing mist as Tilly made adjustments to her composure as she pressure tested herself against the elements.

Tilly crinkled her nose in dissatisfaction as she became aware of her surroundings she could smell burning pine and hear the snap crackling pop of its sap. But it was the alluring scent of wild boar cooking over an open flame that caught her attention. She did what any human low life would do, she kept herself downwind and hidden in the silhouettes of trees and shadows.

Smooth bore musket raising as she brought ol kindness to eye level, she fancied herself a pretty good shot from this distance. It was a happy medium of sorts, she wasn’t going to be a headhunter from where she was standing. But the center of mass was a strong option, couldn’t get much worse then having a piping hot fifty caliber slug collapse a lung and leaving a crater the size of an orange as it blew out your back.

Down the barrel of her gun was a young woman with a bow. She looked like a confident archer and those were the most dangerous kind. The audacious notion of a gollie with magic bow powers? Yea, clock that noise! The driving force of fear and adrenaline kicked her senses into overdrive as her focus intensified. The marksman was making adjustments based on the wind and rain as if her life depended on it, because if this was a Galdor it surely did.

Tilly reckoned she could give the galdori a run for there money when it came to powdering her balls. She mentally jested but her nerves were tense. The ambusher brushed away the inhibition as she took a deep nasally breath in then exhaled to calm herself and steady her aim. Anticipation slowly swept through her as her tongue began to grind against her teeth. Tilly remained unfazed as if possessed by unflinching hate while she was eyeballing the lass with rain bombarding her face.

The rifle lowered itself as her finger reluctantly eased itself off the trigger. Pulling away from the scene she’d descend back into the foliage as darkness set in. Tilly realized she stumbled into a wick camp and the notion of harming frontiersmen with no justifiable cause did not sit well.

It came without warning from atop the trees, her owls hoot broke through the white noise of the rain and alerted the lurker to the direction of incoming wicks.

With low visibility there lanterns dim light did little aside keep them on the trails beaten path while Tilly had used her cloak to camouflage herself as part of the terrain. She looked like some sort of mossy abomination as she lay on her belly out of there line of sight.

When the lanterns bobbing light drifted deeper into the woods back to camp. Tilly would get up and stay low, she’d successfully scouted the site while evading detection.

[Maro Seran]

5th of Loshis, 11th hour, 2720

Maro had encountered a peculiar thing early in the morning. Quite curious indeed and Maro was quite the curious fellow, curiously enough. He’d spot a set of tracks, disturbed shrubbery and curious scent in the air as he wandered about the camp. It was footprints to be specific, well, bootprints but that was merely a trivial difference… what was importance was their meaning.

And as Maro crouched before them, he could see the bootprints came from one direction, paused for a time it seemed, a pair of prints being deeper near the sole and a body sized indentation in the tall grass told him they were watching… observing… for how long? That he did not know, but it would have been definitely long enough to sate their curiosity then depart in the same direction.

He had thought it bandits at first, the Wraithwine Woods certainly large enough to house more than a few bands of merry brigands merrily robbing passerby of their belongings, perhaps merrily murdering them while they were at it before merrily returning to their hideout. Perhaps this was one of their scouts coming to survey potential loot within the Seran camp?


Maro had a niggling doubt of that, he couldn’t really speak of the mindset of brigands but as a hunter it made sense to him that if he found a herd of prey to hunt, he’d return shortly with his fellow hunters to help catch a few of them as soon as possible before the herd dispersed. He stepped up and walked about, searching for more boot prints, but there was only the one set.


And it was morning, as a hunter he’d be worried they’d have already left from their resting spot. So as a brigand, he’d worry if the caravan of wicks to rob would have already left. Perhaps they avoided them? Better not to bother a caravan of hunters, armed with bows and some wick magic? There was always that chance.

Perhaps it was someone else who was curious about the group of wicks hunting in the woods, leaving tracks to be followed and thus it led them to the Seran camp?

That was possible as well.

For Maro it really didn’t matter as he went to grab his bow and quiver, with his knife already sheathed beneath his coat, and made to follow the tracks himself.

This was a good opportunity to track a person, and who knows? Perhaps they were amenable to conversation?


All in all he began following the tracks before time eroded them completely, to be honest it was remarkably simple. Whoever had stumbled upon their camp, seemed to not realize the Seran were hunters and thus could track as well. Boot indentations led to distubed vegetation, disturbed vegetation led to more indentations, a snapped off small bit of branch and so on and so forth.

When he reached them he wasn’t sure what the result would be, perhaps he’d fall upon their own camp, perhaps they’d long left the forest. At the very least it would pass the time


Ah, he was sure it would all turn out alright.