Expedition Introduction Open Mettle: A Very Sandy Giftsgiving

[Kiptooth Rowanheart]

He was here for to provide medical attention and assessment at the direction of the expedition’s lead. On paper that was the full remit of his task for the day, but the elder marten had suspicions that his assessment of the crew’s conduct would be asked after, either in formal report or informal conversation. Hanging back not only offered the advantage of keeping as many beasts as possible in his line of sight but kept him clear of the chaos to come. He could only wonder how he’d ever kept up.

With Freya’s assistance (thoughtful girl, strong too: he’d have to keep note in case he needed more muscle during emergencies) the surgeon waded ashore and followed the party with a respectful distance kept between himself and those taking point. Hostility from castaways was always a distinct possibility, though that halloo from the fox-like beast with the head wrappings went a long way towards easing any of the tension he felt.

For a moment, at least. Kiptooth watched Cryle - first with bemusement, then a distinct thinning of the lips - as she bolted off. One ear flicked at Temerity’s calls as they went unheeded alongside the expletives of one castaway, seemingly deaf to the words chasing her all the way down to the quicksand. It had been explained to him that the BlackShip was not beholden to the same strict expectations as many fully commissioned navy vessels, but he’d seen the price paid for such self-gratification spread out on his operating table time after time.

Temerity’s was not a task to be envied, a fresh reminder of why he had never chased rank. He kept not too far behind Herman’s own advance as their party leader sought to establish a navigable path. “I think she’ll be just fine, lad,” he murmured in answer to the weasel’s concerns before turning his attention to the strangers. First the fox-thing: he attuned his ears to the unusual accent, intrigued by how- Oh. Oh, he was tall. Not amusingly tall, alarmingly so. Kiptooth had seen all manner of creature over the years but none like Wilow: were it not such an inopportune time he’d have been fresh with a litany of questions about limb length, musculature and balance. The ‘pervert’ label admittedly went some long way towards stilling his tongue, even more so that it went entirely unaddressed by either castaway.

His gaze swept to Prim. Her words were directed to Temerity and so the marten let them wash over him and instead assessed her physicality. He’d not been close enough to hear Cryle’s initial assessment, that which had sparked the marten’s ire to begin with, but he came to the same conclusion. This Willow beast seemed articulate and able enough, despite a foggy memory, to maintain balance and speak well: no immediate concern for an emergency, and so triage dictated he check an expectant mother first and foremost, early on though she may be. Kiptooth inclined his head respectfully. “Kiptooth Rowanheart, surgeon of the ship. With your permission,” a nod first to Temerity, then the strangers, “I’d like to conduct a quick physical examination of you both to make sure there’s no ill health needs attending to before transport is arranged.”

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

Watching the shore party reach the isle, Jeshal almost missed the days when it had been him being sent out. Almost. The near death experiences he could have done without. There had been good days though, ones rich with plunder or at least a bellyful of grog, even under the flag of the Imperium.

While Griblo assured him of his confidence in the BlackShip's leadership, Jeshal tilted his head on one side, his attention more fixed upon what in Gates he could see of the figures on the beach. Something odd had happened amid the trees. Were they swinging logs? Cryle had strolled on past the castaways and now appeared to be experimenting with... was that quicksand?

"Vendrana," he muttered. "Brief notes, Cryle, did I not say brief?"

At least the strangers did not seem to be hostile so far. Temerity was playing it safe against the potential of more quicksand with the use of flags; Freya had ensured to haul the boat ashore. The rest seemed to be keeping to task.

Then he saw one of the creatures stand up to its full height. What in the fur was it? Like a fox had been stretched on a rack into something else.

----

Nearby, Vilde leaned over the rails to call down to the feline in the sea. "Good catch, Korya! Be careful bigger fish down there don't eat you!"

@Korya ​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

Calara was a tall beast. A big beast. Not the biggest, even among the crew of the BlackShip, but well accustomed to being one of the tallest three beasts at any given time. She was not used to looking up at another creature. And certainly not at one she had, at first glance, taken to be a fox. Maybe an odd sort of fox, but a fox.

She had been wrong. Whatever that lanky creature was, he wasn't a fox. Willow was a good name. Long and whipcord lanky. Easy enough to remember. At least he seemed polite and friendly as well as tall. The marteness was... less so. Then again, being stranded on a tiny spit of land like this was rarely the sort of thing to bring out the best in a beast.

"'Gates," she murmured, more to herself than anybeast else. "You're a tall one, aren't you?"

It rankled a little, being called a servant, of course. But she had no doubt that Temerity would set Lady Prim (for that was all she could remember of the marten's name) right.

And then, Calara's eye landed on the bandana across the tall beast's forehead. She read it once. Twice. Frowned. Kept her mouth shut long enough that she wasn't interrupting Kiptooth. And then: "I'm sorry. I have to ask. Sir Willow, why is the word 'pervert' written 'cross your forehead?"

 

[Cryle]

Cryle was miserable again. The quicksand had stopped being quick. It was now just... packed sand. She poked at it with a stick, and stomped, and nothing more happened. It had been getting slower, each jump in... She supposed there had been pockets of air beneath the soil, which had triggered the sand to begin moving, and now there was just a little sand crater with lots of rat pawprints all around it. But if she lived here for a while, she could figure out how to set up another one to play in. That would be great.

And now her legs were covered in sand and itchy.

She wandered back over to the grass and scrubbed off, thankful at least that her feet didn't have much in the way of fur for sand to get stuck in. Soon her boots were on, and she had her job to do. She turned and waved at the shore party, yelled out, "Quicksand's gone, I'm going to look for more!" and then began to circumnavigate the jungle.

No matter where she went, the ocean was in view. The sand portion really wasn't that wide at all. And as Korya taught her - count your paces. The average Cryle gait was approximately [𝑥 redacted by the Ministry of Innovation] and so if she continued around the jungle and ended up back at the start, she would know the square footage of dangerous tree life in a heartbeat. A second lap around the shore would give her the island's square footage in total, at least for the current position of the moon - she wasn't sure if it was low or high tide in this part of the world. She would need to memorize that.

She paused briefly, squinting out at the mast of a sunken ship sticking out of the water on the other side, then at the little campsite that had been set up. It being there made sense, and so she ignored it for the time being. There seemed to be more tripwire vines on this side, but no further fake grass mats hiding quicksand pits, which was upsetting.

Pausing in her counting (with a notation in her notebook, of course), she padded over to inspect what seemed to be a primitive dewcatcher made out of some fancy black fabric. It was smooth to the touch and dry at the moment. Beneath, a bamboo pole would drip water down into a cask which seemed to be full of rocks and soil, with the spigot broken off and a cup placed beneath. There was a bit of water in the cup; she sniffed it. Salty, still. A good attempt, but surely she could do better...

Hopefully...

It was so peaceful here, away from the others. Out of sight of the ship.

Her resolve hardened. She would refuse to board the boat again, definitely. There were discoveries to be made. Traps to dismantle. Quicksand pits to dig.

She continued pacing around the jungle, resuming her count.

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo tipped forward at the rail, eyes narrowing as another log swung somewhere inland and a flagged spear planted itself in the sand.

“Gates, Cap’n…” he said, scratching lightly at his jaw. “What’s needin’ protectin’ that fierce? ’Tis barely a key.”

A beat, as he watched the ratmaid apparently enjoying herself in whatever fresh madness the island had produced.

“Place loike d'at don’t get that many traps wit'out a reason.”

@Jeshal the Ironclaw

 

[Temerity Boudreaux]

Temerity felt a rush of gratitude that, in each their own way, the team was taking to their mission like a shark to a bleeding fish. Calara advancing into the unknown by Temerity’s side, Herman charging the beach after them with a cry, Cryle scouting ahead (Temerity decided she would view this as a brilliant display of initiative rather than naive bookish recklessness… as long as Cryle remained unharmed), Freya hauling in the boat, and Kip leaping… ambling, to the aid of the castaways.

Captain Jeshal had tasked Temerity with judging the threat the strangers posed. Tallness, by itself, was a disadvantage in the ship-dweller’s view. When Willow, as he introduced himself, stood to his impressive full height, Temerity immediately envisioned his fluffy head going thonk against a wooden beam. She pictured how he would try to fit into a crewbeast’s hammock, with his limbs hanging out to the floor. How awkwardly he would have to hunch and clamber through the low-ceilinged decks, how he would bang his elbows and knees through every simple task in the confined, labyrinthine underworld of the Blackship.

Temerity’s whiskers twitched in amusement at what she took to be some sailor’s prank or soldier’s in-joke, once Calara pointed out the meaning of the glyphs stitched into Willow’s headband. Willow was disarmingly charming, and more than a little sun-touched. If he had any sinister motivations behind those aqua eyes, Temerity judged that at the very least, he was too big to go stealthily creeping through the ship at night with a dagger towards Captain Jeshal’s cabin. Probably.

The marten jill, however… Temerity got a twitch in her tail when it came to Apricity Lucia Priscilla Araminta Millicent Primavera Lunabelle Abstinence Prim (for in lieu of writing, Temerity would indeed have to commit the name to memory).

Her story could have been a legend passed between sailors in awed tones. A beautiful, noble lady that hid from a brutal - and Temerity knew brutal - horde of pirates that slaughtered her husband and crew, captured her faithful knight, and left her drifting on the open ocean. The heroine, cruelly severed from friends and family, steered the ship onto a reef, swam what supplies she could to a strip of sand and scrub too small to even be dabbed in ink onto a sea-chart, and survived, even thrived for weeks alone amongst the traps laid by a now-vanished mysterious adversary, to be rescued by mere chance.

Temerity considered if the marten jill was lying. Yet would it really matter if Apricity had embellished her tale? She was still a victim of terrible circumstance, in distress and in need of rescue. It would be up to Captain Jeshal or Admiral Keltoi to work out truth and lies, Temerity’s job only was to evaluate the immediate threat to the crew. The paranoid part of herself, the voice in her mind that prepared for everything, proposed the worst-case scenario she could think of - that Apricity had in fact been shipwrecked with other survivors, and had killed them to keep herself alive for longer!

Even if she had… that only spoke to her ruthlessness, not necessarily maliciousness for its own sake. She was also heavy with kit, and there was a fiercely protective instinct deep in Temerity’s heart for the young and vulnerable. For their sake at least, Apricity would have an advocate in Temerity. She would lay aside the mystery of the traps for now.

“Your luck ‘as turned with the arrival of the BlackShip, Knight Willow and Lady Apricité Lucia Priscilla Araminta Millicént Primavera Lunabelle Abstinénce Prim,” Temerity recited, her tail flagging in some small pleasure at having recalled the whole name, though he pronunciation had become quite Alkamarian around a few of the syllables. “Your ‘ealth will be seen to by our doctor, and you will be taken on board, where our Captain will no doubt take great interest in your story. We are death to pirates, should the knaves dare to show their scurvy ‘ides. You are safe now.”

Temerity nodded to Kip that he should proceed with his examination, and glanced at the crates that Lady Prim had laid claim to. “The cargo may well be yours, but we are a Navy ship and crew, under orders, with duty at paw first. ‘Servant’ is not a Navy rank. Nor is ‘Lady’ for that matter. It will be the captain that decides what is done. ‘E may choose to load some, all, or none of it, I cannot say. I ‘ave brought our arithmetician…”

Here Temerity threw a brief, cheeky grin at Herman. Totally a word!

“…to count what can be salvaged, and what is flotsam.” Temerity tapped the pommel of her dirk. Was she being too harsh? A lifetime of salty winds had scoured away much of her social graces. She decided she should at least say something reassuring, to take the sting out of the uncertainty she’d laid on Lady Prim’s belongings. “If we cannot take all the crates, I will suggest to the captain they be buried, and recovered later.”

Temerity was glad that Herman had been keeping an eye on Cryle, while the ratmaid had been… jumping in and out of the water-sand?! But now, with Temerity’s attention split between the castaways and the more immediate members of her team, she had lost sight of their wayward navigator. Temerity huffed, her weaselmum instincts fighting to run off and drag the rat back by the scruff of her neck. She needed to be here though, to watch over the castaways. Kip had to stay and physick them, obviously. Herman seemed keen after Cryle’s welfare, but Temerity was reluctant to let anybeast head off after her alone, even though they now knew the secret of the traps. The thought of venturing further into land with nothing guarding her back was almost enough to make the weasel dizzy again…

“Calara, ‘Erman. The salvaging can wait. Follow Cryle and let ‘er take ‘er notes. It is what she is ‘ere for after all, but I don’t want anybeast wandering the island alone. Keep a sharp eye for orange ribbons, but also keep your snouts up for any unmarked traps!” Temerity commanded. She then beamed at Freya, and waved for the snow-capped mountain of a lynx to approach. “Freya! I will need you ‘ere, in case our good doctor declares ‘is patients unfit to walk!”

Given how shaky Willow seemed on his footpaws, it was not out of the question.

 

[Apricity Prim]

Apricity's muzzle crinkled. In an instant, her demeanour had changed. The aloofness, the sass, the despondent rage, all vanished as a sudden coughing fit overtook her. A coughing fit which, at first, was entirely unconvincing, her paws rising to hide the silly grin breaking out on her face - she'd wondered when somebeast would finally notice! - but then turning into a proper one as she began to choke on her own saliva.

She waved off any and all attempts at help, letting the fit run its course, then the aloofness returned. Her tail curled around her thigh as she shifted position atop her trunk, glancing from Herman, to Kiptooth, to Temerity. Still ignoring the otter on the island.

It wasn't optimal, but it was a plan. Apricity nodded to Temerity. The weasel had earned a tremendous amount of respect; even her own parents failed to remember half of the names they'd given her. It was as if her mother had said, no more children, but all these names I wanted to use... time to spend them.

"Ship has limit space for crate. I understand. Is good idea to bury, for later." If she had the funds - or would this Navy of theirs waste their resources to do it for free? She didn't even truly know what was in all of them, having only taken a quick glance at the topmost items in each.

She shifted her attention to Kiptooth, and here the aloofness wavered. A genuine smile graced her maw, and she gave a dip of the head that managed to convey both how do you do, fellow marten? and Oh my, you've certainly caught me in a compromising position...

He was old, older than Giles had been, but easily thrice as handsome. And it had been a while...

"Doctor, very pleased to meet you..." Her eyelashes fluttered, her gaze shyly glancing downward from his face with a small titter. "Are you sure examination must be qvick? I vouldn't mind spendink more time lettink you be... rigorous. I am sure I am due for exhaustive check-up..."

Her voice oozed honey sweetness. Her claws toyed with the laces of her blouse, while her legs shifted so that her loincloth draped in a way that could only be called enticing.