Thread: [CLOSED] Pulp Inc. Presents: Thrilling Tales of the New Continent! [Deante & Lasciel]

Walking left her alone to her thoughts, and after they were allowed to stew, she recalled the details the base camp had sent back. They had landed in a natural bay, with a river some two miles to their East which the beach faced North, as the HMS Horizon Skimmer had been sailing South by South West the entire trip. Remembering this much, she also recalled the only notes the original, failed expedition had sent back their location had a small river to their West some three miles. Siona did not spot any roast duck, or steamed onions and potatoes, or even a single apple along the beach. Her passage dislodged a crab, one that moved surprisingly quick and wound up in the water before she managed to get a hold. Though the presence of one implied there very well may be more, and the second yellow and brown crustacean was far less lucky. It's oval body lacked any real meat to speak of--normally one might find it barely worth it, especially given how tedious it was to dig out the flesh--but something was better than nothing. Though no others were disturbed in her wake. She might have needed to resort to eating insects. Which where a good source of food, but far from welcoming. Any further thoughts at that time were lost when she spotted the first member of the crew, a squirrel named Barnet, or Barlen, or...something with a B. He had been one of sailors, the agile rigging runners who worked the sails or any components of the exterior engine that the otters couldn't reach from the water. She ran to him, calling to him, and found that both were unnecessary. He was quite drowned. Billat had brought her no trouble, molesting her a few times with is eyes, but had wisely kept his intentions to himself after a few of his fellows had shown much less self-discipline or ability to learn from example. There wasn't much on him of use beyond a belt that would double for a rope, another sharp knife, and a copper pocket watch. Looting the dead would be frowned upon, but the wolf who had taught Siona survival had instructed her that respect for the dead ended where equipment important for your need to not join them began. So she left the squirrel his earrings all of the sailors had them, and one had explained that it was to pay for a funeral. Mainly a pirate tradition, but real common among sailors as it never hurt to have guaranteed money that went everywhere with you and no one would nick without you knowing. Sadly Bartel would need it. The squirrel would've been a great boon alive, because while a sailor with likely little skills on land, he could've shimmied up a tree like it were a ladder and taken a look around. The next survivor she found was far more upright. The badger, which she could tell from the white stripes on his head, was hunched over, his shoulders shuffling, and at a distance it looked like he was taking advantage of the privacy they hadn't had for nearly a month. But the sound of his cursing dispelled that. There were only two badgers aboard, and she quickly recognized it was Lerron, a carpenter who was rather decent at cards and quite poor with dice, two of the few things one could do aboard the ship. His reaction to her was immediate, his leaping up and taking her in a thank every god above, it's another person hug of desperation. I'm trying to make a fire here, so someone might see the smoke, but I have...no idea how to get a spark without flint and steel, he confessed, pointing at the nest of twigs. That whole 'rubbing two stick stogether' business just isn't doing it. Think it's all the sand? He had little trouble makign eye contact with her, as he was barely any taller and, with the report of a wife and tots back home whom he always wore a smile when discussing, had no trouble keeping his eyes above her collar. The idea would have some merit if the canopy wasn't so dense. Even if anyone wasn't underneath all the trees at the time they looked skyward, the jungle was so dense that their location could be anywhere and hard to reach. Once Siona explained the flaws, Lerron sighed. I'm just dead weight out here, no good but a set of arms, he said, hefting a sturdy looking branch that would at least knock some sense into something that thought they looked tasty. Could make us a shelter as fine as the Empress's shoes, if I had tools. They came across a barrel, from the smell of it full of something pickled. Lerron wanted to open it, as he had not found anything to eat, and only had water once Siona had purified it. But the fox stopped him. Food like that, of that kind of smell, would bring any number of fauna out of the jungle for a taste. If the smell didn't repel them, that was. At the very least, it was secure and they could return to it if they didn't trek too far before nightfall. With much huffing and grumbling, the stout badger relented. Which was not terribly far away. The sky had the first hints of dusk at their backs when Siona heard it first the rush of water. The beach rose ahead in a treeline that obscured their view, but once they broke through the vegetation, they found it a river. A fat one at that, but not so deep here at the mouth, and the current was broken by a line of rocks just upstream. Look, Lerron said, pointing. On the opposite bank were trees that bore some sort of yellow-pink fruit. He made to step into the river, but a loud shout followed a shape bursting from the jungle. The flash of movement grabbed Lerron, continuing to repeat the same word. From the insistence, the near panic on the feline's face, it was clearly a No. Lerron pushed the cat and squared up beside Siona, snorting and lowering his head, but not yet brandishing his club, just yet. Their guest was indeed a feline, a female at that, with a yellow coat covered in an utter riot of spots and stripes and whirls. Her hair was as green as the leaves and vines, and even woven with a few to complete the camoflauge. Which it certainly was, as the minimal hide she wore was brown, bark-like appearances woven into it. She stood as tall as Siona, though more lithe and taut. She waved her hands, indicating the river, and babbled in several long sentences, before she caught on that it was pointless. It then dawned on the feline that she had exposed herself to two strangers, her eyes flicking between the two foreigners. Siona managed to keep the native in one place while she rummaged in her book, and cast a spell to understand. You are wise? You can work wonders? she asked, in awe, when the vixen greeted her. Whiskers back, round ears low, she seemed momentarily awed, or perhaps utterly respectful, and she bowed her head, tail curled around her knees. Yet she gestured at the river emphatically. You cannot drink without praying to Kanjalli, or the water will turn to sand in your mouth, and cannot cross without giving the spirit tribute, or the river will throw you back ashore, and that is before it grows angry. Kanjalli is very strong, its rivers very important, and if you wish to stay, you must remain in good standing with the spirit.