Post by Stage on Apr 22, 2018 4:34:27 GMT
A few minutes before dawn peaked over the horizon, the last living Lexian from the Cinnabar staggered onto Lalli shores. He was among the majority, but only by a narrow margin. Many had been drowned or trampled to death by their own comrades in the panic top escape the ship. The bodies that had been recovered were strewn across the beach like metal-jacketed driftwood. Many of the survivors refused to look down on the corpses, as if acknowledging their fate might doom them to a similar one. All eyes quickly fell to the ground and the carcasses that covered it when an even more terrifying sight appeared.
"<How many dinghies survived?>" Shrike demanded in Lexian to the nearest red-shoulder.
"<Only two,>" the unfortunate soul answered weakly.
"<And Vigr?>" the Pale asked, the rage in her eyes deepening.
"<We... we found nothing. He may have survived. W- We did find this though!>"
As if he was placating a wild beast, the red-shoulder hurriedly offered the paleback something damp and folded into a small square. She snatched it away, and he stepped back as if it had nearly removed his hands.
The Pale let the item unfold. It was the bicolored Lexian flag, two broad stripes of white and blue. Something broken up the simple design however: a crude, but recognizable, depiction of a fox's head.
"<That idiot One Ear!>" Shrike growled, almost shouted. "<Letting that stupid Fox aboard so she could cripple my poor brother! She'll pay... they'll both pay!>"
Whirling around, the icy eyes of the Pale sought out someone: a golden-haired sable fretting over her nose, which was crooked beyond repair.
Shrike barked at her, causing her to look up with eyes wide in shock. Or rather, one eye wide in shock. The other was kept sleepy and half-closed by an ugly knot on her brow.
"<Name.>"
The mouth of the sable fished mutely, blood trickling from her split lips.
"<NAME!>"
"<G- Galina Popov!">
"<Do you want revenge on that idiot One Ear?">
The once hesitant sable traced the lump above her eye, then her ruined nose, and her blue eyes grew hateful. "<Y... Yes.>"
"<Good. Then you'll come with me. We're taking a dinghy and following that Fox. One Ear is vindictive. He will follow her. Or us. And we will kill him. Both of them.>"
"<I m- must protest!" the red-shoulder stepped on. "<She is but Sable. And we should use the surviving dinghies to ferry our men to shore. The dead as well. They deserve a burial.>"
Cold eyes pierced the man, making him pale. "<Galina and I will take one dinghy. Two of you Carmine will take the other and ensure my brother reaches Alisdre safely. If I hear even a whisper of discontent from him when I return, I will have both executed. The rest will remain here. There is plentiful game and supplies may be recovered from the bay. I will return and make those who survive part of my personal entourage. Do you understand?>"
The red-shoulder faltered. "<E... Even so, there are still many of us. And if you intend to hunt that woman first, we may run out of resourced even here before you return for us.>"
"<If you are so worried,>" Shrike sneered. "<Then thin your numbers. Anyone who cannot walk has no worth.>"
When the red-shoulder made the mistake of allowing his eyes to drift questioningly to Thrush, the female paleback removed his pistol from his hip, pointed it at his chest, and shot him dead.
"<You have been promoted,>" she told Galina, tearing the epaulette from the warm body and thrusting it upon her. Then she raised her voice so that all the beach could hear. "<Does anyone else have concerns?>"
Predictably, there was no answer.
"<Follow,>" Shrike told Galina simply before marching towards one of the surviving dinghies.
The sable, or former sable, now a red-shoulder, did as she was told, but stopped momentarily along the way. She bent down and plucked an eye patch from a bloated, blue corpse of a deceased superior.
Rubbing the damp patch dry then stretching it around her blonde head to hide her lazy eye, Galina asked, "<How will we track the Fox?">
"<We will not. She is a bleeding heart. She will want to return those she stole home. She is headed towards Matta. We will imitate her path.>"
"<How many dinghies survived?>" Shrike demanded in Lexian to the nearest red-shoulder.
"<Only two,>" the unfortunate soul answered weakly.
"<And Vigr?>" the Pale asked, the rage in her eyes deepening.
"<We... we found nothing. He may have survived. W- We did find this though!>"
As if he was placating a wild beast, the red-shoulder hurriedly offered the paleback something damp and folded into a small square. She snatched it away, and he stepped back as if it had nearly removed his hands.
The Pale let the item unfold. It was the bicolored Lexian flag, two broad stripes of white and blue. Something broken up the simple design however: a crude, but recognizable, depiction of a fox's head.
"<That idiot One Ear!>" Shrike growled, almost shouted. "<Letting that stupid Fox aboard so she could cripple my poor brother! She'll pay... they'll both pay!>"
Whirling around, the icy eyes of the Pale sought out someone: a golden-haired sable fretting over her nose, which was crooked beyond repair.
Shrike barked at her, causing her to look up with eyes wide in shock. Or rather, one eye wide in shock. The other was kept sleepy and half-closed by an ugly knot on her brow.
"<Name.>"
The mouth of the sable fished mutely, blood trickling from her split lips.
"<NAME!>"
"<G- Galina Popov!">
"<Do you want revenge on that idiot One Ear?">
The once hesitant sable traced the lump above her eye, then her ruined nose, and her blue eyes grew hateful. "<Y... Yes.>"
"<Good. Then you'll come with me. We're taking a dinghy and following that Fox. One Ear is vindictive. He will follow her. Or us. And we will kill him. Both of them.>"
"<I m- must protest!" the red-shoulder stepped on. "<She is but Sable. And we should use the surviving dinghies to ferry our men to shore. The dead as well. They deserve a burial.>"
Cold eyes pierced the man, making him pale. "<Galina and I will take one dinghy. Two of you Carmine will take the other and ensure my brother reaches Alisdre safely. If I hear even a whisper of discontent from him when I return, I will have both executed. The rest will remain here. There is plentiful game and supplies may be recovered from the bay. I will return and make those who survive part of my personal entourage. Do you understand?>"
The red-shoulder faltered. "<E... Even so, there are still many of us. And if you intend to hunt that woman first, we may run out of resourced even here before you return for us.>"
"<If you are so worried,>" Shrike sneered. "<Then thin your numbers. Anyone who cannot walk has no worth.>"
When the red-shoulder made the mistake of allowing his eyes to drift questioningly to Thrush, the female paleback removed his pistol from his hip, pointed it at his chest, and shot him dead.
"<You have been promoted,>" she told Galina, tearing the epaulette from the warm body and thrusting it upon her. Then she raised her voice so that all the beach could hear. "<Does anyone else have concerns?>"
Predictably, there was no answer.
"<Follow,>" Shrike told Galina simply before marching towards one of the surviving dinghies.
The sable, or former sable, now a red-shoulder, did as she was told, but stopped momentarily along the way. She bent down and plucked an eye patch from a bloated, blue corpse of a deceased superior.
Rubbing the damp patch dry then stretching it around her blonde head to hide her lazy eye, Galina asked, "<How will we track the Fox?">
"<We will not. She is a bleeding heart. She will want to return those she stole home. She is headed towards Matta. We will imitate her path.>"