Snake wades forward into what appear to be the coils of his illusory namesake, willing misfortune on his enemy.
Having found cover, Tendal and Nigel separately take advantage of it.
The retreating ratcatcher draws a second short sword and swings it at Braddon. At the same time, the menacing snake disappears into thin air.
The cockroach swarm heads for drier ground, as its former nesting place slowly fills with salt water.
The other ratcatcher nimbly retreats, wading across the narrow gap to another island. "Remy, the snake's gone! It's gone! Where'd it go?"
Gristav's butterfly catches up to Braddon and delivers Desna's blessing.
The retreating ratcatcher draws a second short sword and swings it at Braddon. At the same time, the menacing snake disappears into thin air.
The other ratcatcher nimbly retreats, wading across the narrow gap to another island. "Remy, the snake's gone! It's gone! Where'd it go?"
"Yes, where could a water python possibly have gotten to?", Gristav asks, moving toward Snake en route to Braddon. "Perhaps the trees?"
Realising that firing through cover was likely to be less than effective, Phil changes tack to focus upon another prey...
Phil keeps his crossbow loaded... and trains it Northwards... but does not yet loose.
Braddon is only too happy to bring his swords down on the hapless ratcatcher before him.
"See, this is what Nigel doesn't want to happen to him."
Braddon's bastard sword cuts deeply into the ratcatcher's torso, and his short sword follows up by burying itself up to the hilt in the unfortunate man's throat. He collapses dead onto the makeshift isle.
Snake moves closer to the current threat.
Tendal continues to keep his head down.
"Gentlemen, let me know if I may be of some use. I feel that I should husband my esoteric resources for the moment, unless you think that you don't have the situation as well in hand as you appear to." Tendal says, from behind the boat.
"Not that I couldn't provide some small modicum of assistance...but I do hate arrows and crossbow bolts, and slings...disagreeable weapons." Tendal mutters, fingering slightly bloody hole in his sleeve.
Tendal continues to keep his head down.
"Gentlemen, let me know if I may be of some use. I feel that I should husband my esoteric resources for the moment, unless you think that you don't have the situation as well in hand as you appear to." Tendal says, from behind the boat.
"Not that I couldn't provide some small modicum of assistance...but I do hate arrows and crossbow bolts, and slings...disagreeable weapons." Tendal mutters, fingering slightly bloody hole in his sleeve.
"Just keep that snake away from me", Gristav growls toward Tendal, before turning toward the foemen again. "So is it all just to be paid to the butcher, or fed to the snake? Or might we trade words rather than blows? We're here for a stumpy dwarf or a stump-handed man. One of each, if you got 'em."
Snake wades up onto the island and fixes a malign eye on the other ratcatcher.
Tendal waits to be called into service, and Nigel hunkers deeper behind the brush.
The roaches disappear into the vegetation of the islet.
"Remy!" the third ratcatcher cries out. "You'll be sorry, all of you! Sorrier than that seamstress b@#&& with her little dog!" He tenses his body with a great shout of effort ... then stands blinking a little foolishly.
The butterfly flutters from Braddon to Gristav, bestowing Desna's blessing.
Rounding Snake to the North, Gristav drew and loosed in grim silence at the roaring fool.
His mark having not shown aggressive intent, Phil maintains vigil.
Phillip keeps his crossbow trained on Nigel.
Braddon withdraws his swords from the bloody corpse at his feet and looks around.
"NEXT!"
He races over to the remaining Ratcatcher and gives a wild whoop as he leaps over the dank waters to the soggy island.
Snake takes another step closer to the Ratcatcher and the familiar red glow among his eyes is seen once again.
Having heard Braddon's shout more distant than expected, and sensing the lack of any obvious threat nearby, Tendal stands up from where he had been crouching. A quick word and a flick of his fingers towards various rents and one large hole in his shirt, and his clothes are hale and whole once more.
"Well Nigel. That was a bit of excitement. Shall we go see how our friends are faring?" he asks the man beside him, then sets out towards where Phillip stands ready.
At the words of the remaining antagonist mentioning the demise of Ethel's former matron, Phil slowly comes to realization and bellows to Braddon "Take that one breathing if we can Braddon... we've need of words with him." pausing a half breath before adding "If you can't manage... at least make it hurt"
Tendal cautiously picks his way across the islet, keeping an eye peeled for the mass of beetles that melted into the vegetation.
"Well Nigel. That was a bit of excitement. Shall we go see how our friends are faring?" he asks the man beside him, then sets out towards where Phillip stands ready.
"I would, but...," Nigel nods slowly at Phillip and his readied crossbow, without making any sudden of threatening moves, "...is it all right with him?"
The final belligerent throws down his bow and raises his hands, palm out, ingratiatingly. "You don't have to hurt me," he cajoles.
The butterfly flutters toward Phillip.
The final belligerent throws down his bow and raises his hands, palm out, ingratiatingly. "You don't have to hurt me," he cajoles.
Braddon's face falls as his target drops the bow.
"I don't have to hurt you... but I'll be easily convinced."
Phillip takes his crossbow off of Magnimar's fresh made friend and begins to stalk towards Braddon's combatant. As he steps he gives flight to voice "And my words will sound towards that inducement... unless... speak to the seamstress, and of the why and who gave order..."
Tendal glances over at Nigel, as the man struggles through the muddy undergrowth. "It would be best to answer the questions that these gentlemen are posing to you. While some might suggest that intransigence might preclude one from coming to harm, I would suggest that alternatively forthrightness would be a more rewarding response than remaining mum." Tendal says, gesturing expansively with his cane.
Phillip takes his crossbow off of Magnimar's fresh made friend and begins to stalk towards Braddon's combatant.
As Phillip's crossbow turns its business end elsewhere, Nigel rises cautiously out of the brush but makes no immediate move to leave his own island unless so instructed.
As he steps he gives flight to voice "And my words will sound towards that inducement... unless... speak to the seamstress, and of the why and who gave order..."
"I'll tell you everything you want," the man grins ingratiatingly, "only the weaponry makes me a little nervous. Upsetting to the memory, you see. What say you tie me up nice and tight and put the weapons away and we'll have us a nice chat?"
"There's rope in my backpack."
Braddon doesn't move.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the ranger, Snake moves over and takes the rope out of his pack. He then heads over to the captive and proceeds to tie him up, unconcerned about him trying anything funny.
Phillip obliges the ratcatcher by easing the tension off his crossbow string and setting it to shoulder... before drawing one of his many daggers. Setting the point of the blade to liberating swamp scum beneath his fingernails, a cheshire grin is offered with the words "Go on..."
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the ranger, Snake moves over and takes the rope out of his pack. He then heads over to the captive and proceeds to tie him up, unconcerned about him trying anything funny.
"That's right," the ratcatcher encourages Snake, "nice and tight there. No need to worry about me trying anything funny."
Phillip obliges the ratcatcher by easing the tension off his crossbow string and setting it to shoulder... before drawing one of his many daggers. Setting the point of the blade to liberating swamp scum beneath his fingernails, a cheshire grin is offered with the words "Go on..."
He gives Phillip's dagger a reproachful look. "Right," he says glumly. "...What was the question?"
In the background, Nigel edges closer to Tendal. "He's stalling," he advises the wizard under his breath. "You should kill him."
Snake stops and looks to the thug a moment through narrowed eyes before continuing and finishing up. He then picks up the weapon he dropped on the ground and moves away.
Gristav gives a worried glance toward Tendal and the sidling whispering Nigel...
...and in the feyfolded flows of the peredhel's mind, myths paraded...
"Yes, bind him well.", Gristav agrees, to Snake, with the rat-catcher. "I'll lend a hand."
Gris finds a loop of rope and twists it double, pondering, before forcing it between the 'surrendering' enemy's lips and teeth, all of a sudden. The spiraled skeins offered room for air and protest, if not speech. And also, room for a silver coin, magicked into Gristav's hand fractions of an inch from it's goal: the creature's mouth, then gullet.
Risking his fingers to shove the coin in, he growls to the prisoner, "Swallow it. Or there's another hole. Or we'll make a third..."
Braddon sheathes his swords and steps back.
"Hey, how come I don't get any fun?"
"Good gods man, what are you saying?" Tendal asks, incredulity crossing his face. "Why in all the heavens would I consider harming a boon companion and friend?" he says an exasperated look on his face as he turns to confront Nigel.
Raising his eyebrow at Gristav's actions to forestall the voice of the interrogatee... the halfling raises a quizzical eyebrow.
The bound man's eyes widen in alarm as he chokes on first the rope and then the coin, coughing and convulsing.
"Oh, delicate of digestion, are we?", Gristav growls, nodding Braddon into the melee. Pulling the rope free and covering the killer's mouth, Gris' free hand twirls his staff, humming through the air to land flat athwart the man's ribs, to shock the wind, rather than to break the bones beneath.
"Ash any help? Swallow the coin. Done it? Good. Now, ponder, please, just where the coin is - I expect you feel it, still - and how large, it would be, relative, to a rat. So, refrain from the sort of pants-soiling posturing you tried previously, and you might yet scrape a silver coin from a privy-pot. Or do, if you must, shrink around that coin, and perhaps Nigel or one of your last rat-wives will scrounge it from your twitching corpse after it breaks its way free."
"Do you know why, silver is a bane to your kind? You know it is, but do you know why? Because it can't be shaped around. Any of it left in a wound, so slight a trace as to be unseen, and it doesn't heal, does it? Not as you expect it to. And that's less than a dust. Now, a whole coin... What would a coin do, to a rat's guts?"
"I almost want you to show me. I almost want to make you, show me. But I'd rather find the dwarf, and the one-armed man."
"Now, see, this is why I leave the mouth and throat till last," Braddon nods knowledgably.
He turns to Snake. "Hey, could you..." Braddon waggles his fingers and points meaningfully at the deep cut oozing blood that he received from the fallen ratcatcher.
Snake looks over to the Ranger, "Yeah sure." He then moves over to Braddon and lays a healing hand upon his shoulder. "Any idea what in the Nine Hells Gristav is doing?" he asks under his breath as the healing energy flows through him. "Shoving a coin down that bub's throat seems a bit on the extreme side for him. That seems more like something Raccoon would do," he says, shrugging. "Just sayin'."
Still not entirely sure what is transpiring, Phil maintains his quizzical air...
Braddon rubs the vanished cut, then sidles over to the action.
"Whaddya want me to break first?" he asks Gristav, reaching for the captives fingers.
When Gristav removes the rope and allows the man a chance to respond, he protests, "I don't know anything about a dwarf and a one-armed man! Only the seamstress! That was Ziphras gave the order. I wasn't involved!"
Gristav had been watching for Mr. Silver's response to the description of the coin's effects, but judged he'd seen enough.
"Nothing more is needed.", Gristav gentles Braddon. "We might decide to kill him, if he won't talk, but only to give Nigel privacy for his part..." Seeing confusion on Braddon's, and then Tendal's face, Gristav began a more proper detailing of his thoughts.
"Gentlemen, you'll recall the hound, and it's sudden fear. And Mr. Silver, here, his attempt to do something, during the battle, looked more like constipation than casting? I think he's new to it. To what? Well, to whatever makes him unafraid of being bound by fellows who've just gutted his fellow. To me, that speaks of shapechange, but again, not by spell. And then, look about at the rats taking cautious interest, when a normal rat would hide and return only after long silence. It's a guess, I'll admit, but it also explains Nigel's calmness throughout the battle: He'd rather be rid of this one, and of whoever they must report to, to make his own way in the world, perhaps."
"They are were-rats."
"But if they really know nothing, why even offer battle at all? No, the math's wrong. Braddon will begin to balance your words against your fingers, I expect. Why fight us?"
Snake looks stone-faced at the news. "Were-rats? Really?" He then turns his attention to their captive, "Is that true, bub? You really a were-rat?"
"How exquisitely curious. I have never met a were-person before today." Tendal says, a look of bemused interest flitting across his face before being replaced with something sterner, and coldly disinterested.
"Nigel. I suggest you tell us more about what you know, or even suspect about Ziphras and the seamstress. And if you find you need your tongue loosened, I remind you that some have already offered to pay you for your trouble, one way or another."
"Why fight us?"
"He told you," the bound man points his chin toward Nigel. "This is Ziphras's turf. No one takes a stroll through the Boneyard without his permission."
"Nigel. I suggest you tell us more about what you know, or even suspect about Ziphras and the seamstress. And if you find you need your tongue loosened, I remind you that some have already offered to pay you for your trouble, one way or another."
"I don't know anything about a seamstress," Nigel replies earnestly. "Nico there, he says he does." He gestures back at the bound man.