Expedition Introduction Open Mettle: A Very Sandy Giftsgiving

[Willow "Longshanks"]

He felt disgusting to witness, presently, not much more than a wisp of fur stuck to the sand. Useless, for this Marteness to jostle around as she pleased. Enormous ears flicking and wavering back, he looked up at her as she spoke feeling like not much more than a speck, despite himself.

"You are on a tiny island in a bik ocean, and a lady does not reveal until she knows a todd's intentions."

"That... seems fair?" He murmured softly, clenching and unclenching his offpaw in the sand to see how it moved. After all, what were his intentions with this Marteness? Now that he thought about it, apparently his first instinct been to go for his hip...
The further he tried to think on it, the more the throbbing in its head made itself known with a terrible vengeance, and the more the Marteness looked annoyed.

"So first, I am goink to help you, and you are goink to appreciate it. Roll on your side."

"...Very well... and, erm... thank you? I'm not quite sure—Oh—!"
Then he was back to being maneuvered around again, as though a stubborn and unruly piece of driftwood. He couldn't help it, really; his body ached something awful from tip to toe, like he'd been thrown about and punched from every angle. Maybe he had, given this Marteness' treatment, but... he could hardly blame her, given the situation—could he?
As she flipped him onto his side, he couldn't help but feel terribly large. The Marteness was by no means small, but she struggled to move him purely out of his awkward length. As he grunted and grimaced, trying to settle into position and not be quite so useless, she spoke again:

"Vill only hurt a moment,"

"Oh no—" He thought as much as said.
—then he felt her fist connect with his stomach and the contents of it and his lungs had nowhere to go but up. He retched up an awful beige-y green color, not a bit of it solid, and more salt water came sputtering out of him once all of that had found its way into the sand by his head. The half coconut shell of water looked pretty good about now, managing to escape the mess unscathed and upright.

With a horribly weak mewl, he went to bring his paws up to his face to shiver and curl but found that he was already being moved about again—this time much more roughly than before. His long arms were twisted and wrenched into a position that he found quite hurt and, in a flash, her rather shapely leg was at his neck. He looked up at it and her, eyes wide and watering as she spoke once more:

"Now, tell me who you are, how did you get here... and maybe ve vill get off island alive, yes?"

Now that was a question. Who was he?
...and who was she to him?
He wracked his mind on the subject, trying to think fast and hard in one panicked moment, and found nothing there to greet him except the growing pain prickling across his scalp. The harder he thought, the more it ached and the less he found anything there to greet him but a great, dark void. It didn't make any sense. He had to have come from somewhere, know somebeast; remember at least something of himself?
Home? Family? Life? Means?
...But there was simply emptiness—and that frightened him. A cold and simple worry was beginning to crawl its way up his spine.
'Maybe we will get off of this island alive' sounded a lot like a threat.

Remaining deathly still, not daring to make a movement or motion that might incur more of the Marteness' wrath, he attempted to answer her questions with nothing but honesty. It came out creakier and croakier than a toad, given his awkward angle and the pressure, but that didn't stop him from the attempt:

"I-I d-don't... know?" He grunted, blinking his big, blue eyes up at her. A few tears started to well up then, and he shook his head to try and quell them, wiggling himself deeper into the sand. Hopefully the Marteness would be sated by his answer... he didn't know what else he would do, if not. He felt too weak to be able to throw her off, especially under the full weight of her knee. Perhaps the tactic of being pitiable was all he had...

"My head, it..." He trailed off, looking up at her imploringly. "And I can't remember...?"

 

[Temerity Boudreaux]

Temerity stared up at Calara, mouth ever so slightly agape. Her whiskers trembled, her tail flicked. The seconds ticked by in a lengthy, awkward silence between the weasel and the otter. Behind her blue eyes, the question was bouncing around Temerity’s skull like a billiard ball shot by a coiled spring. It ricocheted off several pins, went up and down a few ramps, whizzed through the hoops, hit the bell with a clang and landed in the 500 point pocket.

Temerity’s whiskers flared, a delighted smile graced her little muzzle, the gaze of her eyes now warm and friendly.

“…Yes!” She declared with a slight squeak in her voice. “That is exactly correct, Miz Driftsong! Everybeast on the shore party, Miz Driftsong ‘as raised an important point! Our mission is to rescue the castaways, but they may be confused and unco-operative. Show caution and patience! The safety of our ship and crew comes first above all. We cannot ‘elp anybeast else if we throw ourselves into peril unprepared!”

 

[Herman Lasichin]

Herman Lasichin found a new pastime on the ship. He came upon a feline pattern deck of cards while accounting the items in vacant cabins, and after consulting with Brasseye to know if he could, the weasel took the cards for himself. While their design was much different and, in his opinion, far better than the ones the woodlanders tended to use, the structure itself was the same and it would be easy to adapt the games he knew to this deck. But until he met someone on this ship who didn't just want to get some supplies from him, he was forced to play the cards against his fate, devising different ways to pit himself against the randomly shuffled pack.

The game was hopelessly blocked. In order to promote the 4 of paws he needed to first promote the 3 of paws, but to promote the three he needed to promote the 5 of gilders, and the four of gilders was stuck under the four of paws. Herman didn't like wasting time, especially if it was time wasted on a certain defeat, so he gathered the cards and began shuffling. Before he could finish however he sniffed the quartermaster coming down into his little office.

"Can't you hear Herman?", Brasseye said with some annoyance in his voice, "the whole ship is on its footpaws!".

Herman learned to ignore the noises coming from above. His job wasn't to run around on the deck and fetch stuff; he just counted and kept track of things. Listening to the yelling and cheering above him could only distract. But he wasn't going to argue with his boss, and instead put the deck aside and stood up. The ferret took this as a silent prompt to give out his orders.

"We are stopping to explore a shipwreck. There are apparently two castaways, but you and I are more interested in what's on that ship. Take count of it and make sure it's all put in its proper place.

Herman smiled and nodded, and this time it wasn't forced. The nature of the work wasn't that different, but it could only feel better doing it outside and around other people. And if it actually turned out to be worse, he would learn to appreciate the loneliness of the ship's storage room in the future.

Within a few minutes, the weasel was on deck, carrying his notebook under his left arm, with three pens stuck inside it. He looked at his foldable knife that he kept more as a souvenir than a proper weapon, and decided to also get a longer dagger just in case. He carefully chose a place to stand; he figured that 4 arms length from the admiral is the good balance between looking eager and not looking as if he wants to be in charge.

He looked with excitement at the island. Herman didn't have a keen eye for geography, just being in a place wouldn't excite him. An adventure that he always heard about and wanted to experience as a kit, that's what he thought of when he saw the patch of land. Who knew who they were going to meet, what they were going to find. The possibilities were endless. For a second or two he was thinking like him young self again. "This will be a legendary story", he thought in himself and then forced himself to stand still and at attention. It came to him that much of the crew didn’t see him before, and it would be best if he made a good first impression.

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

As he guided the ship at a safe distance from the reef, Jeshal listened to the preparations of those around him. He nodded in agreement at Calara's intentions to join the shore party, accepted easily by Temerity. By the time the least weasel returned with an astonishing amount of weapons for what he had thought was a mere strip of land that would barely sustain a beast for a few days, the BlackShip was drawing to a halt and beasts hurrying to the capstan to drop anchor. He noted one of the big cats, Isdatter, using her strength to shove the bars and quietly envied such power of body.

He flashed a grin at the admiral as she arrived and noted Kiptooth joining the readying group. It took pains not to laugh at Temerity's handling of Calara's question. How times had changed.

"Quite so, Boudreaux. Best efforts ter be taking these beasts aboard fer the benefit of all, but if they be too much trouble, if it be between a crewbeast and them, the threat may be removed, says I." He caught sight of the quartermaster's assistant nearby. "Lasichin, if Boudreaux approves, ye may join the party so long as ye keep safe at the rear. Else wait fer the shore party ter signal the all clear afore ye be asalvaging. The lot of ye pay mind fer traps. Known a few beasts what were taken out by the promise o' good rum."​

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

“Could do with a tot of rum meself,” the Admiral murmured under her breath wistfully at the thought of the concoction she had left behind in the infirmary. It never had sat well with her to leave a good drink unfinished, and even now with the chaos and clatter on deck all she could think about was her abandoned tankard. I’ll return for ye, love, no fear.

Still, there was work to be done. Now that the crew was assembling in earnest any assessment of this curious little spit of land was put on pause. Temerity’s update earned a nod of approval from the vixen, enjoying the gathering energy of the shore party as final preparations took place.

Tanya was keen to observe how the BlackShip’s newest would handle whatever situation was to be thrown their way, and though the vixen’s countenance portrayed little more than curious amusement her mind remained agile. There was enthusiasm, strength, perceptive query, efficiency, the fortitude to attend to duty regardless of feelings on the matter…Aye, this shore party was looking like one to be trusted. They were a…diverse team for certain, but to Tanya that spoke of potential: each of them would have their own strengths to lend to each mission.

Jeshal’s handling of duties and the newest arrival was nothing Tox felt necessary to interrupt, it being his vessel when all said and done. Flashing the assembled crew a brief smile and nod, she turned her gaze back to land at the mention of traps, something pensive settling on her narrow features.

 

[Kiptooth Rowanheart]

Kiptooth took the opportunity to inhale deeply, finding himself a moment of serenity in the midst of such activity. Between age and rank he was not strictly expected to join in with matters of preparing the launch, though the energy of those around him proved rather infectious: enough, at least, to bring a smile to his face as he wiggled his toes. It had been so long – too long, in fact – since he’d last joined a shore party. There was an old part of him long-buried which had almost forgotten the thrill of such unknown; the adrenaline he had long fed off of when working in cramped infirmaries when the cannons were booming.

The little weasel lass he presumed to be heading the operation proved both efficient and well-prepared: traits any surgeon appreciated. As weapons were distributed he shook his head before nodding to the boat. “No thank you, I trust you all will be more than capable of looking after me. If needs be I can use a javelin: spears were always my preferred weapon.” Kiptooth twitched his nose then in an old-fashioned manner of greeting common between mustelids of his generation, grey eyes shining as his voice dropped. “I must say I’m glad I’m coming along too, now. As for swimming…well, I would be tempted, though the serious answer urges some caution. It would depend on how deep the water is and what lies beneath. I’d rather not find us needing to fish out anybeast who can’t swim as well as our otter friend here.”

A nod to Calara and her question, then the responses, drew a flick of the ears. It was a salient point for certain though profession dictated he appear less than delighted by the prospect of slaughter. With fortune it could be avoided, or a creature addled from the sun subdued at the least until well enough to converse sensibly. There was muscle aplenty coming ashore after all. A roll of the shoulders to even the pack and the surgeon elected to remain at-ease, ready to depart when the order was called, casting a sidelong glance to the newest arrival, another young weasel, and offering a nod. "Coming with us, lad?"

 

[Cryle]

Cryle sat in the longboat, quivering with anticipation. Her tail was neatly tucked around her waist, and along with the rest of her gear, she had fished out the harpoon-headed javelin from the bundle before anybeast else could claim it. She would need it to fish with while they left her behind.

She had tuned the rest of the world out, for now. She was ready. She was prepared. She was in the boat. She had her notepad and pencil out and was sketching the coast of the island from their current angle - she was doing her job, and thus, there was no reason for anybeast to bother her whatsoever.

Bliss.

Something behind her in the water went SPLOOSH. Droplets of seaspray pattered down around her.

She didn't turn around and look, because prior to that, Korya's distinct voice had belted over the deck: "CANNONBISCUUUUIT!"

~ ~ ~

Some moments prior, as soon as the ship's anchor had halted movement...

"Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepluh-eeeeezepleasepleasepleaseplease?"

The galley was in an uproar, Sudsy was on her back nursing a bruised shoulder and laughing her head off, Brindlecoat was bristling and stomping around, and Korya was making biscuits breathlessly, showcasing the size of her lungs and relentlessness. Most of the next meal was prepared, anyway, and to restore order, poor Carmelita was pressed to find any other option.

"'Gates, fine, go!"

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou...!"

Bits of Korya's clothing littered the way from the galley to the side of the ship. The little leopard cat plowed into several crewbeasts along the way, leapt up onto the ship's railing, and launched herself out into the ocean.

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo was in the middle of a losing argument with numbers when the interruption came.

The abacus lay sprawled across the small table like an accusation, its beads nudged into uneasy ranks while Griblo hunched over it, brow pinched tight and tongue caught against one cheek. He slid a pair of beads over, paused, squinted at the ledger, then slid them back again with a quiet hiss of irritation. The math wasn’t impossible, but it was the sort that demanded patience, repetition, and a willingness to make several deeply unflattering thinking faces before agreeing to settle somewhere in the vicinity of correct.

Steam very nearly did come out of his ears when a runner cleared their throat behind him. The message, once delivered, was mercifully intriguing: they had come across a wreck. There were crates involved. A salvage operation was underway, and valuations would be needed.

With a grunt and a stretch that ended in a satisfying 'Pop!', the abacus was swept aside, beads clattering in protest as Griblo snapped the ledger shut and hauled his satchel up onto one shoulder. Finally, something interesting was happening!

He surfaced onto the weather deck into a ship fully awake, the BlackShip humming with controlled motion as the longboat was readied and beasts clustered along the railings. Out beyond them, the island sat low and pale against the water, crates visible both snagged in the shallows and still bobbing further out, some already hauled closer to shore, others waiting their turn with the tide. A messy situation. The sort that bred misunderstandings and lightened cargo if no one was watching closely.

Griblo slipped toward the quarterdeck where Brasseye and Herman were already stationed, Herman’s notebook moving steadily as he worked at the quartermaster’s side. Griblo didn’t interrupt. He listened first, eyes tracking the flow of activity, already sorting the scene into mental columns that had nothing to do with weight or volume.

Cloth, if it was silk, would be understated on the ledger and fought over everywhere else. Spices would be declared conservatively and argued about later behind closed doors. Metal might be honest, or it might be hiding craftsmanship that doubled its worth depending on who asked. Griblo kept careful note of both kinds of numbers. The ones the Ministry preferred to see, and the ones that actually mattered when he would further conspire with the captains later on.

“I’ll handle valuation,” Griblo said once there was a pause to step into, tone even and deliberately dull. “Make sure the numbers line up clean for the Ministry, an’ that nothin’ aboard invites questions we don’t need.”

His gaze shifted briefly to Herman.

“You keep doin’ the count,” he added, already reaching for chalk and twine. “I’ll let you know what needs eyes, locks, or a quieter conversation.”

With that, Griblo positioned himself near the davits where the first cargo would come aboard, satchel open and ready. His role, here and now, was simple: to make sure every figure entered into the ledger could survive scrutiny from a bored clerk with a sharp quill and too much time. Clean numbers. Sensible valuations. Nothing that looked clever.

Later, when the ship was moving again and the crates were stowed and the sea had reclaimed its distance, there would be other conversations. Not for the ledger. Not for the Ministry. But for now, Griblo watched the longboat’s approach with narrowed eyes and a calculating calm, already weighing not just what the sea had surrendered… but what the BlackShip could afford to admit it had found.

@Herman Lasichin @Jeshal the Ironclaw

 

[Freya McFjorl]

Activity swirled around the Lynx as she stared down at the spot Cryle had been standing for far longer than anticipated. Something was going through her mind, ticking along at plenty of knots, but the only thing visible on her muzzle was a little scowl—smaller than even the ratmaid herself. So distracting, was it, that she missed Kiptooth's entry and subsequent comments.

But it was all shocked away as Temerity placed down the abundance of weapons she had collected with a clatter, her attention flicking to the spot near the longboat with a twitch of her ears and the long black tufts found there. With a disturbed grunt, she made her way over to the pile and the Master-at-Arms to listen as she rattled on about the weapons laid before her with startling efficiency. So much violence for such a small beast. As she withdrew to notch her belt for a dagger that had to be more than half her size and the shore party began to paw through the weaponry, Freya waited until the pile was dwindling to claim her own weapons of choice: a dagger that could have been the twin to Temerity's, though looked far smaller in her paws than the jill's, and a small axe. Mumbling, apparently to no-one, a soft addendum:
"Better with pawz than blade... hopefully vill not kome to blowz."

Then came the conversation sparked by Calara's comment about the Castaways. Her only addition, complete with a mock hammer punch, was another soft: "Eh, if elze failz... good knock on head—boom—vill be lightz out. Doktor vill take from there."

She was sure they would be headed out soon when Herman and Griblo appeared, ready to take account of the count, and after a short back-and-forth between the pair and the Captain, Freya decided to head off the group and make way to the longboat. As the patter of tiny feet behind her heralded Korya's arrival and subsequent departure into the waves below, she stepped up to the edge of the small craft to see Cryle sitting within, swaying in the cool breeze.

She hoped her blanch wouldn't be visible to the ratmaid as they both avoided eye contact. But, following a small spark of hope somewhere deep in her heart, the Lynx took a few halting steps forward and placed something on the little ratmaid's journal after she had jostled it out of her pouch. As she found her way to the other end of the watercraft, all that graced the space between them was a tiny cube of crystallized ginger—and the spatter of water from the little koshka's cannonball.