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

Tasa stood in the command tent, which was simply one large enough to allow three people to move around a table covered in papers and a nearly empty map, swveral miles of coastline and a jag into the jungle revealed. With Tasa was a short-tailed weasel who seemed to exist to take notes, find papers, and run orders. One of the soldiers two spellcasters, from the pounce at his hip. The contact device sat on one corner, looking more like a brass and wood flower, or a box giving birth to a horn. Kanjallis river was noted on the map, and Tasa nodded to it. Weve encountered one of those river defenses. I would have doubted the story but the one telling it has no disposition for bullshit. The rain, a stream closer by and our casters have kept us with enough to ration, but we have to get more. Same with food and medicine. We would have been strained without the stranded sailors, and I want a full larder by the time the actual colonists get here. As well, get me geography on the area, I hate being here blind, but the orders were to stay put till you lot arrived. So, good work, and its right in time. The second point thoug raised her ears, and she sighed. Wellit , wheres that questionable health report? The weasel produces it with minimal shuffling, informing her it was updated with Anlens notes. She looked it over. So including yesterday weve had three cases of someone waking up in the jungle nearby, lightheaded and not remembering much, smelling of sex and low on all fluids. If we had any alcohol Id say it was just excess celebration, but now your story.. Looked like one of us you say? She growled. Ask these cats about magical andor intelligent threats. And any preventative methods. Weve ringed the camp in salt, and Wellit has some measeures against hostile magic, but thats it. Like I said, blind. Once more Razel was assigned to Sionas detail, likely because the mink looked more restless than anything, and a solemn grey fox archer named Garrin. As well as Cesarin, the map maker she knew from the ship. A raccoon, his species as foreign and exotic as his accent. Stocky and only fit enough for the hiking and climbing necessary for his job, the raccoon made up for an uninspiring appearance with bright, curious eyes and an easy smile, his words as clever as those fingers. There had been at least one torrid love triangle on the boat that was entirely his fault. The trip was too quiet for Siona. Garrin and Razel not talkative, and the normally gregarious raccoon absorbed in memorizing their path, estimating distance, checking a compass regularly, and taking notes. It occurred to Siona she only had the vague idea of where the village was. They would have to wander till they found it or the cats found them, and she recalled that Omani had said they often moved at night. Would they be up this early? They crossed at the same spot Siona had before, dveetone tossing on sonethong just important enough to hopefully not irritate the river. Once across, they followed the river, zigzagging into the jungle and then back, looming for well-trodden paths and other signs of life while keeping the river in sight. It let Cesarin map its course while keeping them oriented. By midday they had only found crude snares for game, but then Garrin spotted a clear trail to follow. Soon Siona and Garrin smelled the village first, the unmistakable tang of so many cats in one place, as well as the other scents of habitation, including the beginnings of food being cooked. The village was a mix of treehouses and ground huts, spreading out in a clear area, one close enough to Kanjalli that Siona could hear the waters babble. They must have just started stirring, for it appeared the only ones up and about were mothers and a few playing children. It was one of these that saw the group before they had found s good way to introduce themselves. She was shocked, her startlement scaring the the kitten at her breast, which roused the neighbors real fast. In short order they had a whole herd of cats watching them from the trees, along with several young males holding spears and curious-looking flutes, though the weapons were not at the ready. Siona! Omani swung down the tree easily, darting over to stand before the fox. She called a few words of reassurance to her people, who were also being reassured by Romandi as he climbed down more measuredly. They all didnt seem greatly alarmed the knowledge of the base camp had been known, this was only a matter of time. Omani drew them towards the villages center, a clear meeting area shaded over by a reed and leaf awning. Nearby a pair of women worked several large clay cook pots over a fire, their attention no longer on breakfast. As the group settled, two separate entourages approached. In the lead was a reserved older male ocelot, a clear strong man who had started to go, and an equally experienced woman who, by the pouches and foci she worked to fasten to herself as she walked, must have been the tribes spellcaster or herbalist. Each was followed by others that hung back. Greetings, said the chief, we have waited for this visit. It is good to finally speak. And speak, not struggle with unknown words, he added, showing Siona clear deference.