As I scribe these words, I close my 15th year – old for one of my kind. I find my mind often turns to thoughts of the past, of our very earliest days – before Ascension.
In those days, Humans thought that they could not long survive the invocation of the Bright Sky Fire. In this, for once, their wisdom exceeded their folly - for they were correct. Most of them, along with their proud civilizations, did not live through the destruction they brought upon us all… but we did. Though many of our brethren were lost, the rest survived by tooth, claw, skill, heart, and talon. It is to those earliest fore-bearers that we give thanks. Blessings be upon them!
While it is right and proper to venerate these heroes of our past, let us not forget who they truly were, mistakes and all. Their deeds are not lessened by the fact that they were performed by flawed and imperfect creatures. In truth, it was their struggle to rise above their shortcomings and join together for the benefit of all that makes their actions laudable and worthy of our reverence and remembrance. Truly, they made it possible for the lion to lie down with the lamb. And our jobs, as Keepers and Chroniclers, is to maintain the true memory of those earliest of days and the long march of years and decades in between… so that our progeny will know the truth and learn from that dark and glorious past.
And so, I begin with one of our earliest records – and one of my favorite stories - not because of the actors (whether real or fictitious – though I hope they were real) but because of the lesson it carries for all of us about solidarity. So let us put our story in its proper context.
This tale begins several moons after the Bright Sky Fire, near the small haven of Restenford, in the midst of the great swathe of what was once called ‘the Midwest’ of the Furthest Continent. What the Fire and Shaking Heavens failed to destroy its partner, the Slow Waste, set about killing by small degrees. It was a desperate time for all creatures as famine, disease, and worse things were set loose to prey upon our once-green world…
- ~Bertram the Elder, 22nd Keeper of Memories
Ascension Day, 221 PA
This game is designed to be evolving, episodic, rules light (but present), and is largely a break between our more serious games. As the game progresses, we may add additional characters, players, and GMs. Any such changes will be made by consensus decision and will mostly be by invitation only.
Lurkers: Feel free to post discreet lurk dots. If you have comments or questions, please post them in the OOC thread. I think I speak for all of the guys when I say that we’ll be happy to know if we manage to drawn a small group of twisted admirers. :)
- We are using Hero Points and you each begin with one.
- Just to keep rolls simple, please consider the last die you roll in any group as the ‘Wild Card’. So if you roll 5d6 with the results being 1, 3, 5, 2, 4. The ‘4’ is your Wild Card die.
The large badger trundles along the narrow valley floor paralleling the winding black Two-Legs trail, following his nose. Since the bright fire in the sky his instincts have kept him moving along the isolated valley, avoiding the larger Two-Legs hives.
But game has become scarce and Turk’s belly gnaws with hunger. As the valley widens, Turk catches the scent of a Two-Legs hive nestled on the shores of a lake. He almost turns aside but there is the delicious smell of rotten meat coming from their wood and stone caves and his hunger drives him to investigate…
He passes a flat wooden plank on a metal stick. It is so bent that the plank nearly touches the ground. It smells of Two-Legs manufacture and is carved with the curlicue scrawl that they seem to put on every flat piece of wood or metal. Though he doesn’t know or even care about their Language-Scrawl… if he did then Turk would know the battered sign says:
- Welcome to Restenford
Population: 616
Flik scampers along the nearly denuded branch of the poplar tree that stands in a line with others along the ‘road’ into the ‘town’. As a cityfied squirrel, Flik knows some things about the Two-Legs and their ways. He leaps from the thinning branches of one poplar to the more scrawny branches of another. The branch whips like a wire but doesn’t break. Clamping his teeth firmly around his odd prize, Flik spares a glance down at his pursuer…
While Flik is a brave squirrel, he knows that squirrels don’t often tangle with raccoons. And this raccoon is strange. It is nearly all white and has been doggedly chasing him for a googatrillion trees, if not half that many! Flik doesn’t dare slow down. While he’s a better climber than any raccoon, poplar trees are an easy climb for anything with claws. And the raccoon has a long set of those.
Flik races maniacally across the branches, heading for the tree on the far side. The meager plan in his small brain is to get to the town and hop onto something that only a squirrel could climb. That’ll show that raccoon! Flik almost stops short. The branch on the next tree is FAR away and down several body lengths. He estimates the leap will take several stabilizing tail rotations to stick the landing. But there is nothing else he can do unless he wants to share this tree with his strange pursuer. He backs up and takes a running leap, his tail windmilling wildly.
Heist is simultaneously repulsed by and attracted to the freaky looking squirrel with the mangled ear. Normally, he’d have nothing to do with the creepy big-eyed rodent. If the squirrel would slow down enough so Heist could get a better look at what it is carrying, he’d be happy to leave it alone. But he can’t ignore what his nose told him.
When Heist saw the rust-color little bugger emerge from beneath the eaves of some Two-Leg dwelling, he was happy to head in the other direction but he caught a whiff of something intriguing… something potentially explosive. It called to him.
Heist continues his reluctant chase of the squirrel, hoping it runs out of trees before he runs out of patience. Then, the squirrel pauses at a big jump. It turns its head for a moment, giving Heist a split second to examine the cylindrical and stick-like object in its mouth…
Prophet has achieved a new level of clarity due to his non-voluntary, lengthy fast in the pet-store/religious retreat. Oh, some would say that the automatic food dispenser in his cage running out of power was just bad luck or a death sentence. But Prophet recognizes the hand of God when he sees it. Unfortunately, several of his fellow ‘hermits’ weren’t blessed with the requisite faith to see themselves through the trial. The skunk in the next cage with the poor attitude and perpetual stink now reeks from decay… but at least he has stopped whining.
The wallaby, armed with his holy scripture and sacred spigot debates whether he should leave his ‘meditation cubical’ or perhaps try to attain yet another level of clarity. Looking at his deceased and desiccated neighbors, Prophet decides that perhaps clarity should be experienced in moderation. He stares past the cages and out the window, wondering what providence may provide.
After a few hours of waiting on the absent providence, Prophet tries to open the cage door himself. He is slightly surprised that God hasn’t opened the door since he is ready to leave his cubicle. Prophet considers this and reaches through the bars, trying to finagle the lock open since God is clearly busy elsewhere.
The raven’s shiny black eyes regard the open field from the safety of a nearby tree. He cocks his head to one side, to better examine the figures in the field. Seven sparrows… 5 male, 2 females… 26 body lengths from the treeline… hmmmm Poe’s ruff rises and he lets out three strident caws, hoping the small birds respond. They don’t.
They were alive only yesterday. He had flown after them curiously… and saw them drop out of the open sky into the field - dead. Something had struck them down as it had many other birds in the area. Was it an invisible predator? Some Two-Legs trap? It got Poe thinking and carefully surveying the whole valley. This was one of seven areas where he’d spied the twisted forms of birds - 46 - in total. They had all been dropped on the wing, or so it appeared. He didn’t get more than a mile or two in any direction before he found a field just like this one. Trapped.
Poe unconsciously makes a muted and dissatisfied chirp-growl in his throat then hops through the branches until he’s on the side of the tree away from the field of death. With a deft flap of his heavy wings he launches off towards the Two-Legs Rookery, staying below the tree tops… just in case there was some invisible hunter in the sky.
Heist sees the creepy squirrel pause, and decides to try reason.
Remembering that the Predator language might well unnerve his target, he switches to Animal. When that fails, he tries Bird. When the squirrel proves to know no languages Heist knows, the pale raccoon raises his claws in despair and bugles a strange call.
He prepares to spring.
"Must...wiggle...fingers...just...so.." The roo thinks as his clever hands work to wiggle free the lock. "Truly the Great God TeeVee has set this before me as a test, a test to determine my faith." he thinks. "I'm coming, Wheezy!" he crows as he works.
Pick Locks
It suddenly occurs to Heist to try Prey. The raccoon has not had to use the language in a while, and had nearly forgotten he knew it at all.
Heist is nearly inarticulate with desire. He knows exactly what the tree-rat is carrying. It is a CBX-2025. He admires its stabilized stick-like tail and the sharply point head of the rocket itself. A design that says 'elegance' and 'BOOM'. It is similar to the bottle-rockets Heist has managed to find from time to time.... except it is about 20 times the size and packed with gunpowder (the 'go juice') and powdered aluminum, titanium, zirconium, and magnesium... and maybe a few other -iums that Heist has heard about but only somewhat understands. Together, they make the CBX-2025 explode in a cascading shower of speckly silver-white burning metal. It is a professional grade firework... all 2 lbs of it. And when it goes BOOM, it'll be big.
The final burst of his powerful hind-legs. The weightlessness of being airborne. The rush of wind over his fur.
These things all bring a manic grin to Flik's face as he corkscrews in the air away from the racoon… whose words are nearly lost to the rushing sound of the wind, but Flik can just make out a few words spoken in Predator, then in Prey.
Not knowing how the spuck to speak in Predator, Flik responds in Prey, "TREE-RAT?! You couldn't catch me even if you wanted to harm me, mask-face! You want this package?!" He grabs his crotch, "YOU'LL HAVE TO COME GET IT!"
Heist's jaws drop as he identifies the explosive. His eyes narrow. "Looks like I'll have a good meal today!" he shouts at the squirrel in Prey.
That being said, he's not sure how to catch up.
Fortunately, Heist knows he's a lot smarter than some idiot tree-rat. He realizes a simple strategy can solve the problem.
The raccoon climbs back down and rushes to Flik's new tree. If Heist can't keep up with the creepy squirrel, he'll just follow until it tires. There is no way it's getting away with that beautiful package.
Prophet shoves his narrow arm through the bars and stretches to reach his delicate paw into the lock. He invokes the names of several Saints within the pantheon of his all encompassing faith... but even with their considerable help (Sanford and Son be praised), he isn't quite able to trip the lock, though he was very, very close to success.
Prophet takes a hop back and considers his options... when another possible option appears outside.
A large black bird flaps into view. It circles once and then lands awkwardly on the window sill. Its beady eyes take in the sun glinting off the empty golden cubicles right by the window. Its head bobs up and down with twitchy erratic movements, observing the metal cubicles from different angles. It taps tentatively on the glass, as if testing it.
The Prophet nods at the sudden appearance of the bird. "Praise the Holy Spigot! Bird! The Power of Cripes compels you! Open this cage and release the servant of Golly Almighty to pursue his holy works!" The Prophet begins hopping up and down, waving the Holy Spigot in the air.
Even a paid-off East German judge would have to give Flik a 5.9 on his landing. His sleek rusty body and the rocket loft through the air perfectly counter-balanced by his wildly whipping tail. He lands with a dull thump on the far tree branch which bends like a fishing rod under the weight of the falling squirrel and massive firework. The limb bends to almost 90 degrees before it recovers. Flik breathes a sigh of relief, mouths off to the raccoon, and begins scampering across the branches with his prize... heading for the low roofed buildings of the town ahead.
Undeterred, Heist follows, tracking the wily little rodent and the prize he carries...
Plodding steadily forward, Turk searches out the smell of his future meal. It might not be fresh, but it's smells plentiful. If he can only find it...
Poe stares fixedly at the shiny animal prisons through the window. So pretty, so dangerous... A Two-Legs once tried to put him in one of those and got a scar below his eye for his trouble. Poe debates how to get at the shinies. Having flown into the invisible walls of the Two-Legs before, he knows he can't break through it.
The thought quickly goes out of his head at the sight of the hopping creature imprisoned further in the cave. Well, to be honest, he's intrigued with the massive metal shiny the odd creature is brandishing and the book at his considerably sized feet. Poe can only hear the creature's words dully through the thick glass... but he gets the meaning.
Poe nods, checks for cats or other predators, and then hops down to the pavement. He stiff-leggedly walks to the door as he has seen Two-Legs do and pushes against it. While the door is slightly open, 3.5" to be exact, and he is able to push it open a bit more... it isn't enough for Poe to comfortably get his wings through. He nearly panics when he feels the door press on his wings. He squawks and jumps free, cawing angrily at the duplicitous door.
Poe looks for another way in and spots the large broken mail slot in the door. He leaps up to the lip and, with some creative beak use and dexterity, he manages to crawl/tumble through the mail slot and thump onto the floor of the pet store.
The raven rights himself and preens his feathers momentarily - all the while surveying the shop for hidden dangers.
Turk is on the scent. It is an olfactory kaleidoscope of deliciousness - dead Two-Legs, dead animals, feces, fermenting vegetation, rotten eggs... a smorgasbord of goodness. Turk's mouth waters as he trundles his bulky body quickly towards the hive. The scents are mixed but while there are several buildings that have 'edibles', one in particular seems to have the most intriguing and varied smells. The Badger makes a bee-line for it...
The raven flies up and lands on the top of Prophet's cubicle. "That's a pretty... object. It has four knobs on the top." He says as if it is an important fact. "Can I have it?"
The scents are mixed but while there are several buildings that have 'edibles', one in particular seems to have the most intriguing and varied smells. The Badger makes a bee-line for it...
Fooooood! Sweet, blessed nom noms!
Turk hurries onward toward the two-leg den that is emanating the savory smells of his next meal. He licks his muzzle in anticipation of the wondrous viddles to come, and plods ahead, seeking either an opening or soft spot that he can dig his way through.
Heist races in the shadow of the broken-eared squirrel leaping from tree to tree - keeping pace with him. Flik exults in his power; the raccoon is beaten! He jumps from a thick branch onto the gutter of the building. He rockets along the gutter avoiding the sometimes sticky patches of roofing. He puts on more speed, looking to outdistance his pursuer now that he has an open path. He passes a window and sees the creepy squirrel running alongside him. And it looks like the creepy squirrel is carrying a bomb or something! Instinctively Flik dodges left, distancing himself from the other squirrel... and right off the top of the building.
Heist sees the fleeing squirrel, for no apparent reason, dive off the roof. Tail windmilling, the crazed squirrel rides the rocket all the way down. If Heist had ever seen Dr. Strangelove, he'd find the scene oddly funny... but all he can think about is that beautiful tool of destruction getting ruined when it hits the pavement.
"Wha--NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Heist finds himself leaping for the squirrel. He grabs at the falling Flik.
Heist rushes forward. His last second diving catch manages to keep both the rocket and the squirrel from slamming into the pavement. He rolls to a furry stop, still cradling both.
Flik, expecting a bone-jarring stop, instead finds himself standing in the clawed palm of a large raccoon.
The raven flies up and lands on the top of Prophet's cubicle. "That's a pretty... object. It has four knobs on the top." He says as if it is an important fact. "Can I have it?"
"Bird! You have the honor of serving as a Tool of the Lord Gosh! You may indeed collect a reward, but you must act fast, as this is a limited time offer! How much would you normally pay to have the honor of releasing a gen-you-wine Prophet of the Lard? $10? $100? $10,000?!?! For right now, you get a free blessing and we'll even throw in a set of knives! That's right! They slice, they dice, they even cut through steel and yet still are delicate enough to perfume eye surgery!"
It was a small and curious moment in our history. Could instinct be overruled? Could Predator and Prey find a middle ground despite inherent animosity? Could cooperation happen? Some scholars have said this moment never happened, that it is mere fantasy not fact. Who can say and does it matter?
- ~Bertram the Elder, 22nd Keeper of Memories
Ascension Day, 221 PA
Heist glares at the freaky little squirrel. "That boomer is mine. Fork it over and I just might decide not to eat you. But only 'cause I'm such a nice person."
Held so close to the raccoon's jaws, Flik gets a nice whiff of Heist's fishy breath. It's extremely fishy.
Turk closes in on his target by nose, following the subtle whiffs of it as they float tantalizingly in between the Two-Leg dens; he's almost there. He rounds a corner and a stiff breeze reveals the smorgasbord must be in the den in front of him. Unfortunately, he might have competition. A white raccoon and some rusty little squirrel are standing near the half-open entrance to his larder.
Poe regards the caged creature with a beady eye, unsure whether he is witnessing a brilliant counter-offer. "I'll try to get you out IF you let me examine that Holy Whichamajigger? How about that?"
Poe hops over to the lock, eyes it, and with practiced expertise inserts his beak and starts manipulating the internals - pushing, pulling, and shaking.
With a few shakes and several loud clicks, the door to Prophet's meditation chamber swings open. The raven bobs his head and caws his victory over Two-Leg evil.
Flik sits stone still in the raccoon's hands, eyes transfixed somewhere above and behind the racoon's head. His right eye twitches as he strains to catch sight of something back up on the roof. "Holy snake sh!t on rat's guts! Did you see him!? Where'd he go!? Keep him off me and I'll give you this... thing. Just. Keep. Him. Away."
He holds up the item the raccoon seems to want, "So... what is this thing, anyway?"
A white raccoon and some rusty little squirrel are standing near the half-open entrance to his larder.
Turk weighs the possibility of a fresh kill against the need to chase it down.
Maybe the racoon will eat the squirrel, and I can eat them both after I see what's in the giant's den. Sniff sniff - Mmmmm eggs....
Marching blatantly toward the den of the two-legs, Turk ignores the bickering creatures for now. After all, the pungent odor from within overpowers the scent of the other animals. Surely the edible treasures within will be far more rewarding than pursuing these two.
Oh, how I'd love to find a fresh sweethive, full of puffy little larvae! Mmmmmm, sweetbees... It's been so long since I've had fresh sweetbees.
Shaking off his reverie, Turk focuses on the meal before him. He marches forward, intent on a full belly in his immediate future.
Flik sits stone still in the raccoon's hands, eyes transfixed somewhere above and behind the racoon's head. His right eye twitches as he strains to catch sight of something back up on the roof. "Holy snake sh!t on rat's guts! Did you see him!? Where'd he go!? Keep him off me and I'll give you this... thing. Just. Keep. Him. Away."
He holds up the item the raccoon seems to want, "So... what is this thing, anyway?"
"Fine," Heist says, not hesitating. He partially releases the squirrel, giving him more room to move around. He offers his other hand for the package.
In response to Flik's question, Heist shows a very sharp grin. "That, little tree-rat, is Seabeax to Zero to Five! It's packed with powdered brightmetal, strongmetal, lightning, whiteflame and a healthy dose of bangpowder!
Hearing something approach from behind, Heist turns and sees Turk. He hisses, dropping Flik in surprise (but holding the explosive quite firmly).
Recovering from his fear, the raccoon starts a rapid succession of growls and barks.
Hearing something approach from behind, Heist turns and sees Turk. He hisses, dropping Flik in surprise (but holding the explosive quite firmly).
Recovering from his fear, the raccoon starts a rapid succession of growls and barks.
"Khrya-ya-ya-ya!"
Turk narrows his eyes and hoarsely growls a mild threat in the direction of the hissing raccoon. Still drawn by the odoriferous vapors drifting from the structure ahead, he plods along without slowing.
They'll be time for those two later, if need be.
As Heist is recommending that the ravenous looking badger 'look beyond' them, he happens to look past the badger and spies something else stalk from around a further corner. It raises its narrow muzzle to the sky, sniffing the air. It sees the badger, raccoon, and squirrel and lets out a low gutteral growl. Head down, it lopes forward at a frightening pace, saliva dripping from its powerful jaws. It looks to be interested in fresh meat.
It is as big as a large dog with long mottled yellow and black fur. Its back end is whipcord thin and ropey but quickly widens to a powerful chest, neck, and forelegs. Its black muzzle snaps in anticipation as the long, fuzzy tail drags the ground.
The three smaller animals size up the situation. The obvious lines of retreat are down one of the cross streets or through the partially-open door to the 'larder' behind them. The nearest tree draws Flik's attention but it is between the dog-creature and himself and he'd have to get past the badger as well. Given how fast the big beast is moving, Flik isn't sure he can make it to the tree in time. In fact, Heist and Turk don't feel confident they can outrun the larger animal either.
It raises its narrow muzzle to the sky, sniffing the air. It sees the badger, raccoon and squirrel and lets out a low gutteral growl. Head down, it lopes forward at a frightening pace, saliva dripping from its powerful jaws. It looks to be interested in fresh meat.
The beast's growl causes Turk to whip around angrily - seeing the toothy mongrel charging in, he barks out a challenge.
Turk shuffles backwards toward the two-legs' hovel, intent on defending his prize. Sparing a quick glance at the raccoon and squirrel to make certain that they don't try to surround him, he eyes the charging creature with menace. He bares his teeth and bleats another guttural warning.
"Hghghghghghghuuuuuuuuuuuh!!!!"
With a few shakes and several loud clicks, the door to Prophet's meditation chamber swings open. The raven bobs his head and caws his victory over Two-Leg evil.
The Prophet leaps free of the meditative cell and leaps high in the air, stretching himself. "Praise the Lard! You have earned a place in the highest of highs, oh bird! You shall henceforth be known as the Fonz, keeper of the holy Eh! And yes, you may rest your gaze upon the Holy Spigot, although it has been known to cause birds to speak with tongues! Beware the tongues, oh Fonz!"
Reverently, the Wallaby holds out the Holy Spigot for the Bird to examine. While he does so, he intones solemnly:
"Yea, though I walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Savings, I shall fear no sale. For thy Ford and thy Dodge comfort me. You prepare a table set with Tang and with Eggos before me in the shadow of the Atkins. You anoint my tail with Penzoil, my engine runneth better. Surely Savings and Bounty will follow me all the length of my increased length penis, and I will dwell in the House of Viagra. Amen."
Poe blinks several times, trying to absorb all that the crazed wallaby has said while casting a loving eye on the wondrous shiny spigot. When he hears himself called 'Fonz' he unwittingly reinforces the wallaby's delusions when his simple question "Fonz? Ehhhhh?" is taken as declarative proof. Poe becomes a fixture in Prophet's Cablevision Cosmology.
Watching the wallaby bounce across the shelf full of cages, the raven hops nervously, trying to calm the excitable fellow. All he can think to do, is repeat Prophet's last words hoping they will have some sobering effect. He caws, "Amen? Uh, Amen."
Poe's and Prophet's excitement is cut short by the sight through the window. A very large and nasty looking dog-like creature charges toward the pet store... or rather it charges at a badger that seems to be defending the store's door accompanied by a broken-eared squirrel and some sort of snow-white, albino raccoon.
Heist tries to sneak to a secure location, squirrel in tow.
Poe blinks several times, trying to absorb all that the crazed wallaby has said while casting a loving eye on the wondrous shiny spigot. When he hears himself called 'Fonz' he unwittingly reinforces the wallaby's delusions when his simple question "Fonz? Ehhhhh?" is taken as declarative proof. Poe becomes a fixture in Prophet's Cablevision Cosmology.
Watching the wallaby bounce across the shelf full of cages, the raven hops nervously, trying to calm the excitable fellow. All he can think to do, is repeat Prophet's last words hoping they will have some sobering effect. He caws, "Amen? Uh, Amen."
"Amen, indeed, my fine feather Fonz. For you are blessed with the name and sacred duty of the Once and Future King of Beers, Arthur Fonzarelli, he who drew the sacred Ehhhh from the Land of Lakes. In your talons rest the sacred ability to make two-legs devices work by bumping them with your hips and uttering the Holy Word." Having made this pronouncement, the Prophet perks up and stares at the great canine beast hurtling toward the doors to the Monastery.
Pop Culture:
WILD! for a total of 18!
"Crikey!" Prophet's entire demeanor changes, going from reverent to almost documentary in a moment. "What we've got there is the rare Aardwolf! And this is a bonzer specimen of wolfie, by crikey! What they really don't like is being given noogies by Nature show hosts! Let's see how this one reacts!" Speaking to an imaginary camera crew, Prophet gestures madly around as he talks, making the presentation into a comical pantomime. His discourse done, he books it for the front door, in order to see what the wily Aardwolf does when given noogies....
For a second Flik allows himself to be towed along by his new raccoon friend, but his usual spasticity kicks in, "Hey, who's the new guy? And the other new guy? They look like they want to fight. I think we can take them. Hey, have you seen my stick? I think with my stick and you and your rocket, I can take'em!" Flik pulls his hand away, looking around as they move towards one of the two-legs dens.
Heist looks around and realises the best defensive positions are in the den itself. He scurries towards the door under a barrage of non-stop questions from Flik. Flik stops only briefly when he spies a sharp sliver of wood siding peeling loose from the den's wall. With a deft grab, he tears his impromptu pointy stick free. Armed and fabulous, the doughty little squirrel is ready.
Prophet and Heist hit the door at the same time - the raccoon pushing to get in, and the wallaby (with invisible camera crew) pulling to get out. Under their combined efforts, the door swings open quickly tumbling the three animals into the shop. Heist releases his grip on the squirrel but maintains a firm paw on his prize rocket. He quickly climbs onto a counter in sight of the door and starts assembling a collection of small throw-able objects that defy description as they were created by crazy Two-Legs.
Flik and Prophet size each other up... or down as the case may be.
Poe hops to the edge of the cage and regards everyone. "The big aard..uh..vark is coming! He has 50% more black stripes than brown!"
Turk, holding ground outside the door to his larder, sees the big slavering beast isn't going to stop. It smells strange - unnatural in some way... but it might make for a good meal. It's hard to say.
"Crikey, lads! It's a common squirrel, Sciurus carolinensis! Let's see what happens when we throw it at a charging Aardwolf!" Prophet grabs at the squirrel, clearly envisioning a catapult situation.
Turk, holding ground outside the door to his larder, sees the big slavering beast isn't going to stop. It smells strange - unnatural in some way... but it might make for a good meal. It's hard to say.
Turk continues to shuffle backwards toward the doorway, growling at the… thing charging toward him and his well-ripened prize. He comes to a stop just beyond the doorway, choosing to stand his ground inside the structure. With a sideways glance at the others he forms his words in their native tongue of Prey.
"Fight this thing or flee. Attacking me would be… inadvisable."
Prophet tries to scoop up the little furry catapult missile but the aforementioned squirrel leaps dextrously to one side of the wallaby's descending paw... either that or the invisible boom mic operator got in the way.
ORDER:
Map: Petshop Boys
"Fight this thing or flee. Attacking me would be... inadvisable."
From his perch on the cage, Poe looks around, trying to figure out who Turk is addressing. He makes a rattling sound in his throat and flares his ruff, "Who, me? I'm not dumb enough to attack a badger. But I'm willing to help - if you won't make a meal out of me."
Flik's eyes light up at the thought of an aerial assault. "No! Once the dog-thing attacks the badger-thing, THROW ME! THROW ME! I'LL TOTALLY STAB IT BETWEEN IT'S UGLY EYES!" Flik holds still (a considerable feat) to let the strange, long-legged fellow get into position for the squirrel-launching trick, holding his new sharp-stick for a stab on the way by.