My Antlered Chariot Awaits

[Vesper]

Glade 20th, 4622

“There are no longer any supplies, Vesper. You were meant to make a profit… I haven’t received any revenue from any of your inventions thus far, cat…” Billowing smoke wafted towards the feline, who leered, nares flaring beneath the faintly cedar tingling aroma.

There was a moment of quiet, mind circling on potentialities. “Yes, brother…” he spoke distantly. “Then I will obtain my own materials henceforth. I have finished preparations for the first part of our plan. Investment can take much time before farthings rain.” He turned his head, blinking in that same motion as those piercing green eyes store down the smoking, indifferent spymaster that funded him. The man who first greeted him when he became Corvo.

“I have made the lathe,” said Vesper. “Guns are next. For each of my brothers; I promise you. We will take Amoren and puppeteer the despots to finance and protect the goals of Scaeva. Do not lose sight of that.” He put his mittens into the pockets of his pettycoat and bowed with his beret, shrugging as the man just smoked in silence.

Silence was acceptance.

Delving his quarters, Vesper tossed all of import into a sleek leather briefcase. Papers and tools, and the hard metal cases they resided in were carefully tucked away within. Then, a few outfits worth of clothes. Vesper sorted and organized as best he could before packing his backpack with sundries and food.

Loaded up and kitted out, the kit-cat wrote a few letters to correspond his absence and then handed them off to a brother for deliverance before setting out into the noble quarter. “Transportation,” he mumbled to himself beneath the glaring sun, beret casting a shadow over his dark-furred face.

“The train to Ciseperant may yield a favorable intersection for foot travel. I do so hate the wastes of the Badlands, but a job is a job.”
”No, no. The train… the drama. I am not a creature suitable for public transit now, not since Arkash…” He shut his eyes and sighed.

“Wagon it is,” griped the small cat as he headed for the commoner quarter, passing by Halamire guards who checked his credentials and searched his things. “Where are the inter-regional wagons gathered?” he asked them, and they pointed him to a frankly run down inn for merchants with several wagons outside.

After nearly an hour of negotiations, Vesper was weary and frustrated; nobody would take him to even the edge of the Badlands, let alone across the wastes to explore those ruins. Not for any reasonable price.

As he left, Vesper leaned against the post beneath the awning in thought, arms crossed, biting one of his dark lips with those pearly white teeth. His eyes were beset upon the city… would he have to walk? He’d done it before.

[Samoset Walemquela]

Tossing the day’s catch over his shoulders, the elk blew a sharp trill on his whistle. He subtly amplified the sound, willing the high-pitched whine louder as it ascended into the windy heavens above. He held out his left arm and looked up, a skull of a rabbit caught earlier in the gloved fist. He was greeted by a familiar sight, one that always brought a smile to his lips. His golden eagle, Swiftwind, was diving down from altitude. She spread her wings in time to slow herself and land on his outreached, gloved arm.

“That’s my girl! You did so well today!” He praised as she took to cracking open the skull and helping herself to brain matter, her favorite part. “Swift, wings!” He asked of her, signaling her to spread her wings. He delicately used his free arm to inspect the feathers, going at her pace. When he was satisfied, he would give the whistle another quick blow and more praise, letting her have more food. He looked over the rest of her as she ate. Feet and talons looked good, rectrices were all in good shape. She was in tip top shape. Taking a final glance around, he made a fist, “Swift, heads.” He commanded. Moving his fist and waiting for her, she would face him and bow her head. He would do likewise, pressing their heads together gently, meeting eye to eye. He conveyed his appreciation and pride in her, she would likewise convey her satisfaction and desire for always more time out and about. The contact was brief, but always worth it to Sam to make sure Swift knew he really appreciated and loved her.

He started making his way out of the small thicket in a row of fields. This time of year, He and swift were busy helping farmers crops not get devoured by all sorts of rodents and some pelts were worth a little more on top of it all. He let swift eat, keeping his arm steady as he walked to the farmer’s abode. He would hold her up to his antlers, and she knew to jump onto and hold on, or to fly away until called. He rapped a knock onto the door, smiling again when the farmer answered.

“Hello! I am all done for the day, we caught a bit more than I could ever use so here is some of the meat that is in good shape.” He offered some of his catch to the farmer who accepted and handed him the farthings due for his work.

“Wonderful, I hope you will keep it up. I know a lot of us around here appreciate it. Even if you are chipping away slowly at the problem.” The farmer smiled toothily.

“Yeah, I wish I could do more for you but I only have one bird and she can’t go all day every day.” He waved and stepped back. “I need to get to the market, I’ll see you on my next rounds, and thank you!” He bowed slightly and turned to leave.

“No thank you! See you next time.” The farmer closed their door and that was it.

Sam did always like that the farmers were a bit lenient for him since he did give them the lion’s share of the carcass. He did save Swift’s favorite parts, but he liked to make sure she had fresh meat.

Bird in antlers, Sam stopped off at the rural market, selling his furs for a few more farthings before heading towards the town proper. He had Swift fly over the wall while he had the Halamire guards check his credentials and do their typical search. He made his way through and looked up; Swift was heading towards the older inns. He followed her through the streets, spotting her perched atop a post, with a darkened cat leaned up against the post. He dare not to amplify anything in this crowd and instead approached with a friendly smile, left arm up.

“Hay Ho friend! Sorry for the eagle, she has her stubborn streaks.” He greeted the feline and tapped his arm for the bird. “Swift, glove.” He commanded, to which she glided down.

[Vesper]

The whoosh of wings hammered at the air, sending a flurry over Vesper’s pointy ears. Leaning forward with surprise, the cat twisted his head up at the wiry-looking bird. “Ulen’s balls,” he cursed, before carefully leaning back against the post. His beret and sensitive ears within pecking range, the Rathor kept glancing back up at the avian with suspicion.

“You a Malformist?” he asked the bird.

. . .

“Okay, okay.” It struck him that he could check if he slipped the bird a Mentalist’s string, but he opted to instead ignore it when something strange bouldered through his peripheral. “Uh-uhn-hh.” As an enormous shadow fell upon him, the sun seemed to have vanished, the brisk spring air cooling down a notch upon his fur.

Tail lashing, the comparitively tiny, four foot eleven Rathor-cat took his beret down into his paw and splayed his ears, slitted yellow eyes adjusting as they store their needling, studious gaze up at the tallest Rathor Vesper had honestly ever met. “It is always a pleasure to meet another fine Rathor upon the road. My, I have never met someone so tall!

As the bird glided over his head, Vesper smirked. “Well trained, your bird; this may be spurious of me, but as you can see by my baggage, I am bound for elsewhere. Are you looking for work, tall sir? No bandit nor hedge wizard would dare bother one who reaches so high into the sky with mere posture!” More importantly, he could bribe the man to carry his briefcase!

[Samoset Walemquela]

Chuckling and grabbing onto Swift’s jesses to keep her on his gloves he then returns his attention to the smaller Rathor. “You flatter me! All of my form are tall or even taller!” His large ears perk and he nods again, “Thank you, she is my best friend. But even best friends don’t listen well sometimes.” He gives a playful chastisement at Swift while also talking to the small Rathor.

He stepped back to give the briefcase wielding feline a little space, “A job you say? I do find myself in a bit of a lull at the moment for a few weeks or so. I can certainly escort you around, but where will you be going that you would need protection from bandits and hedge wizards?” He asks.

He takes a better look at the smaller Rathor, noting the petticoat and beret, and the studious gaze. He smiles and lets out a deep breath, giving Swift and idle stroke along her chest feathers.

Despite the randomness of the encounter, he could feel the tug in his chest, the desire for adventure. He had been locked away for a while, working and training. Which was fine, but he was getting antsy if he was truly honest with himself.

“I am indeed curious as to why you would need protection for a briefcase. Your own safety is always of a fellow traveler’s concern. But I will not beg you to answer. I will charge a mercenary fee but never you mind that.” He responds again, trying to hide the fact that now that a potential reason to go out was on the table, he might just do it for the adventure without a charge.

[Vesper]

Slipping a claw between his teeth, the Rathor gnawed upon it for the better part of several seconds before it fell away, tucked behind his lower back as his neck grew sore from craning up so high. “That they do not,” Vesper laughed in agreement. He had a bead on the elk’s disposition, so now he could loosen up a bit. One never knew when a haughty noble might harry them over the Candor and every other little pretentious facet of Entente culture.

“The Badlands,” stated Vesper. “Ruins from before the war. I have need of metal scrap and old ideas to make new. You see, I am in service to the Entente for Artificery, and my employer has since cut funding to my projects.” He lifted the briefcase, fairly certain he could trust the other Rathor. His long whiskers bounced as he articulated those next words. “We must protect these tools with our lives. It is all for naught if I cannot ply them in study. I am a mage, and as such, if we are accosted by any such Badlands gang…”

Lowering his briefcase, Vesper rolled his finger through the air, creating a visible shimmer with the Weave. That purplish glass-like bend in reality seemed to shift and swirl at sharp angles, like a fractured mirror. From Vesper’s pocket emerged an apple, and he tossed it into the Weave, catching it.

Then, he stiffened and looked skyward, drawing the apple out from Samoset’s shadow. “I can do this to any man or Chariot,” he stated before catapulting the apple from the weave. It hurtled skyward, disappearing into the deep blue Glade sky. “They will not rise so far, but the totality such a fall would have upon the body of a man or machine will be quite final… and to tell you the truth, I would welcome any would-be raider to dare. Chariots are useful for their parts.”

[Samoset Walemquela]

Noticing the other relax a little with a laugh, Sam smiled and nodded. He listened to where the Rathor mage needed to go. He had never been to The Badlands, his travels never really leading him there until now. “Oh The Badlands” He muttered quietly as he listened.

He watched those whiskers bounce as his small travelling partner made sure to articulate the importance of the briefcase. He smiled as he watched the display of magical talent, remembering many of the return students and instructors at Nardothis doing much the same. He could tell the Rathor was indeed, very talented with his magics, but he could not identify much specifically.

After thinking on the whole proposal as a whole now for a minute he simply responded, “Impressive.” He clicked a hoof against a stone a few times before continuing, “I can provide scouting work and help mop up whatever you don’t uh… send skyward. What is it that you were looking for me to help you with specifically?” He didn’t want to admit that he too knew magic and had marks. Indeed, magic was a great tool but it often drew attention that Samoset didn’t often like to have on him.

“I have also heard a few tales of The Badlands, but I have never been there myself. Are there any special insights that I should have before heading there or will the usual rations and traveling equipment be sufficient?” He asked and paused briefly before continuing. “I will meet you at the gatehouse within the hour after I collect my equipment.”

He would take his leave back to his home in the countryside after listening to all that the feline-Rathor cared to share about The Badlands and other perils.

[Vesper]

Vesper's tail lashed. "Mhm," he rumbled plainly with a curt nod. He could tell Sam was only marginally impressed, so he let the elken Rathor take the spotlight for a moment. Those fluffy black ears flagged, the cat's eyes and chin rolling subtly in unison. "Oh, there's much more than that I can do," he said. "Perhaps when we get to Traphole, my old gang will include us on some scrapping runs. I know they miss me painfully."

Sucking on his lip, Vesper's sharp teeth availed themselves. Arms crossed, he thought about the dynamic more carefully. "We pry anything off that'll clean up in acid," he said. "Unbroken ruins - the kind of pissery you'd find in the old empire - hammer it down, maybe pilfer some Chariots from anyone who tries to kill us." Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his head, smoothing over those ears in thought. "Suppose we'll sled the scraps back to Traphole and work them there. Pyrerazers will cut me a deal. They're tough and they lack in morals like any other, but they're in a scuff with other gangs and I should be able to get us shelter and a workshop too."

"The deserts are harsh; water. You're an herbivore so we'll be plucking sweetgrass. I'll be packing sweetened jerky for when your bird isn't hunting game. Oh, and be sure to avoid anything with salt; I've met Halamire who thought it'd be a good idea to salt their meats and head into the desert without a water ration plan. Needless to say, the raiders ate them alive." Shrugging, Vesper couldn't think much beyond that. "That's about all there is to it. Beyond the mushrooms the locals grow, food and water is food and water in the Badlands."

Touching two fingers to his temple, Vesper ran through a checklist. "You'll want goggles for when the air kicks up loose grit. It's mostly hard packed desert along the fringes. It'd be pretty stupid to try traversing dunes towards the center without paddles for those hooves, though, but we can get those in Traphole if we decide we want to risk it. A shawl'd help with the sun, and pack a blanket; it's cold at night in the desert."

"...Are you a good runner?" Vesper asked after a pause. "There're dust storms that can make a man go mad with blight."

Humming to himself, the cat's tail lashed. "The we shall meet then. I'll procure the goggles from a craftshop I know. I'll grab a pack of foodstuffs too. You get the heavy things - barrel, and waterskins - I'd really suggest a pull cart, but bring a rope; you're too tall, plainly." Touching his chin, Vesper figured that must have been everything. "Very well. At the gatehouse, in an hour... ninety minutes at the latest.

Waving the elk off, he went on his rounds to gather up everything on his list.

[Samoset Walemquela]

Went over the list he was provided in his head. He set out and collected the required items for the journey. The hand cart was simple enough to acquire. He bartered with a farmer he had worked for a week or so back. The farmer was a little reluctant but relented when Samoset said if the cart made it through the adventure, he would give it back. The barrel with the waterskins took a bit of shopping around. He had to go to a few places to ensure he had more than enough waterskins for himself for a week or two. He then doubled his amount to make sure there were enough for him and his comrade.

He headed home and checked his small house over. He donned his armor and grabbed his pack of travelling equipment. He packed his rations of various grains, fresh fruits and vegetables, and fresh elm leaves from this morning. He strapped his spear on his back, filled his rucksack, organized the handcart and set off towards the gatehouse.

He tied a rope on two ends to create a loop from the handle of the cart for him to stand up fully and not hunch over. It was rough, but he was glad he wore leather gloves so the rope didn’t dig into his hands. Swift perched on his antlers and let out a call, almost as if to ask what was going on. Sam smiled and gently shook his head, “We are going on an adventure Swift.” The pair arrived at the gate a little later than the 1 hour promised. Both were ready to go and eager to get on the road.

[Obsequies]

My Antlered Chariot Awaits

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Points awarded:

Vesper

Acrobatics: Ducking
Animal Handling x1
Leadership x1
Logistics x1
Tactics x1
Field Craft x1
Appraisal x1

Samoset

Animal Handling: Commune with an Eagle
Animal Handling: Commune with a friendly animal
Animal Handling: Positive Reinforcement Practices
Animal Handling: Falconry
Druidism: Commune with an Eagle
Druidism: Commune to convey feeling or emotion
Negotiation x1
Field Craft x1

Lores:

• N/A

Loot:

• N/A

Injuries:

• N/A

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Notes:
This adventure sounds fun! I'll probably snoop on further threads too. Great job!