KHAZUUL

Freki rubs his now stubbly shaved head that has a week of regrowth, "No chance of this catching," he smiles at Flint, "but I'm not as practiced with a sling as Sow, so I'd need to get a lot closer."
With a big smile Freki squats down and opens his arms as the dogs rush over. "It's good to see you too! I know, I know, have you been good dogs protecting the base?" he playfully talks to the dogs as he gives them some pets.
"It's good to see you too Willy," Freki squeezes the old man's shoulder as he accepts the skull. Probably from a previous guard dog by the looks of it, so seems appropriate, and painted black with a thick glistening oil and charcoal mixture. Must have been a big one like the mountain dogs from the north because it was big enough to fit on his head. The jaws hang open with his face looking through framed by the four long canine fangs.

Turning his attention to Tunny and the mission at hand, Freki says, "From what we've heard, they've got twenty-odd men up there and the place is riddled with traps. Doesn't sound like the best conditions for a direct assault unless you want to lose everyone in the process. What do you think of a more covert operation? Perhaps we can fake a direct assault to draw their attention but send a small team by another route to sneak in and light their tower on fire. Beat'em at their own game." Freki presents Sow's idea since she seems suddenly shy again now they're back at camp. "I'll volunteer to be part of that special team, especially if I can take the dogs with me to sniff out traps along the way."

Cutwell nods along. They had made their plans before meeting Tunny. The man looked ready for a rest, not a night time raid…

"We’ve got some ideas, ain’t we? How long can you hold off on the assault? We can get up close by ourselves…" he says, thinking of their magic flute ""… and work something out!"

Foreman Tunny considers your proposal as you select your black masks from Wilmot. "You're looking to earn a reputation, I wager. Well, you'll deserve it if you come out alive. Alright, you can have my dogs. We'll keep them busy from the front, harry 'em, make a lot of noise. We'll head out in a couple of hours, so you have that long to sharpen your blades, empty your bowels, and make peace with the Almighty - or whatever it is you do before a battle. If you need supplies, I'll see what we can rustle up. The armor is emptied out, mind you..."

Flint nods hello to everyone and lets Tunny finish his rant. He notices Sow slink away from the intimidating leader and reassures the girl. "Ah, his bark is worse than his bite. He won't bother you. Don't worry about him."

Listening to Freki's plan to use the dogs, he wonders what they are capable of. "Can they really sniff out traps? That would be helpful if they could."

He nods along with Cutwell, "That we can. We have a few tricks up our sleeves."

Sow chooses a mask when several are offered -- a wooden, full-face affair that depicts a painted, grinning skull. There's someone's dried blood on the inside, and she's not a big fan of that. It's not easy to breathe or see out of, but it's better than some of the other ones she tries.

"We should have a signal," she says hoarsely to her friends. "Something to let Tunny and his men know we're making our move. Then they should charge, when the Dreadwings turn their attention to us."

"Yeah, their sense of smell is incredible. Probably depends on the nature of the traps a bit, but the smell of metal stands out strong to the dogs against all this vegetation ... or anything recently touched by a stinking Dreadwing," he adds with a chuckle, really it's anything touched by a stinking human as long as the rain continues to hold off else it might wash the scent away.

---

Freki surveys his possessions and asks Tunny, "I could use something with a blade. Nothing too big, we'll be trying to be discrete, a hand axe, or short sword, or even a dagger would do." His whip has great utility, and his darts are a wild card, but it would be useful to be able to cut or chop on their mission.

"Oh, and do you have any old rags?" he remembers, they need some cloth to wrap Sow's sling stones. He could cut off a bit of his shirt, but the faded livery was the last token of his days at the university.

Flint nods at this piece of information. He didn't know much about dogs other than he thought they were dirty and ate too much food. He had been thinking about Sow's suggestion and wondered what animals were native to this area that might be easy to mimic for a signal.

"Has anyone heard any birds that we could copy for a signal to you Tunny?"

Cutwell handles his own mask, and grimaces as he looks at the thing. Adorning the top half of his face only, the mask’s teeth sit firmly over his top lip! He puts it up to his face, and wiggles his top lip uncomfortably beneath! Having someone else’s teeth so close to his own…

"Could do with a knife myself!" he says, thinking it best to keep his scalpel out of the melee! If he was right, that knife would see enough use after the battle, and he didn’t want to risk losing such a precise instrument before it was well needed!

Flint needs no weapons and feels uncomfortable using anything but his own, but he does take a mask unwillingly, turning his nose up at the smell of it and reluctant to place it over his face until the last minute.

"Smells like piss, doesn't it?" With only slits for eyeholes, it would be of little use in a fight, but he understood the need to have it on hand as he sensed Cutwell's discomfort with his as well.

"Piss and onions!" Cutwell answers, wondering if the smell belongs to the original owner of the mask, or the original owner of the skull.

"Freki or Sow seems the type to know a bird song, don’t they?" he answers to Flint’s original question. In truth, he wasn’t sure how Sow’s raspy voice would do as an alarm signal, but he could tell the young woman felt flighty, and yet eager to get stuck in!

"Will a bird c-call be loud enough?" Sow asks, her voice breaking at just the wrong moment. When there's talk of better armament, she doesn't meet Tunny's eyes, but she does say, "Bows and some arrows. Those will be more effective than my sling..."

Tunny scowls at each request, but you're starting to see through his tough act. In fact, you can tell that your arrival has reignited some hope, as if he had been contemplating the last stand of the Black Skulls. He's even forgotten to pick on Wilmot.

He addresses your requests with uncharacteristic cooperation, starting with Freki. He commands Wilmot to bring you some rags ("Cut up her mother's bloomers if you have to!"), and then he unstraps a knife from his boot and puts it in your hand. Then he speaks to you in the Northern tongue.

"Good hunting, Freki. And you'd better bring my fucking dogs back, or ill cut off your testicles."

A small grin implies he's joking, probably. Practically sentimental in Northern terms!

The knife is in a leather boot sheath that slides down the side of your boot comfortably. Drawing the blade, you find it is a finely balanced knife, good for close-quarters fighting or throwing.

Next, he turns to Cutwell.

"Ah, the mighty Cutwell wants a knife, too? I heard about that shaving blade you carry. The Iron Fist should carry a nasty knife. The truth is, men love to follow a man other men fear. Makes them feel fearsome, too. Men don’t dream of doing the right thing, but of ripping what they want from the world with their strength and their will."

He loosens a strap on his chest and off slides a great big sheathed knife, and tosses it to Cutwell. Unsheathing it, you find an 11 inch, full tang steel blade. On the pommel is a pointed tip to be used for cracking skulls. Then you have the brass knuckle part for the really close-up social occasions. This is a nasty weapon.

Next came Sow's bow, but he was almost dismissive of her request.

"A bow? Ha! Can you even pull one back? Look, I can barely spare any. We'll need to get their attention from the bottom of the hill, and for that, we'll need bows. Wilmot! Give her our last bow and three arrows."

Wilmot returns with a fairly worn wooden bow and quiver, containing the parsimonious sum of three arrows.When Flint speaks about bird calls, Tunny flat out explains the jungle will be too noisy and the distance too far for that to get through.

"If you put their tar-lobber to the torch, even Dario will see it from Vanguard Bastion! Let that be your signal. Now, gather around, I'll show you the lay of the land..."

As Tunny moves to brief you on the hill, you notice out of the corners of your eyes some movement. A few black skulls are sulking about the supply lodge, the one that holds the underground vault and escape route, in which Cutwell earned his name in a duel. One of them is quietly attempting to pick the lock.

When he looks up, nervously, you see it is the young Syrian, Falco Sparra, who runs the fort's black market. You purchased your Wilderness gear from him. Before you have a chance to act, Falco has the door sprung, and he and his conspirators are hastening inside.

Cutwell doesn’t know if he believed all of Tunny’s guff. Supposing he did, he didn’t know how he felt with it being attributed to him. Cutwell had done some amount of fighting yes, but he was more a man that put most of his hours in after the fighting.

Still, the man was going through the motions, and so Cutwell plays along, for hope’s sake!

Then he spots the commotion. As Tunny goes on about lighting a signal, Cutwell tries to draw the others’ attention to the odd gathering of craven or turncoats!

Flint can't help but arch his eyebrows and snicker at Freki when Tunny threatens his manhood. "Maybe you can find a better replacement for those like Cutwell's mechanical arm."

As Tunny doles out the requested weapons, he bows his head in appreciation of their workmanship and obvious lethality. He admits that the tar lobber idea is far better than his bird call tactic given the noisy jungle and is about to give voice to that when he notices movement by the supply lodge.

"Look, over there!" Poining toward the supply lodge he looks back at Tunny.

Sow inspects her new bow, testing its pull as she glowers briefly at Tunny, showing him that she can indeed draw the thing. When Cutwell and Flint point to Syrian and Flaco, her eyebrows go up but she waits for her fellows to set their course of action.

Freki is surprised to receive such a nice blade from Tunny himself. He accepts it with a nod of appreciation. The northern words catch him off guard for a moment, but he laughs and replies in an unpracticed northern tongue, "Well, you have to be realistic about these things. That's up to the dogs. But I will let them know what's at sake and hopefully they'll take care of themselves, for the sake of my manhood."

As he slips the knife into his boot he hears Flint's alarm and looks up to see the group sneaking into the supply lodge. He's not sure what to make of it and looks to see how Tunny reacts.

As Flint raises the alarm, Tunny turns to see the young Syrian enter the building, followed by the other two.

"Why that fucking little shit! What does he think he's doing? If he wanted to be strung up on the pole he only had to fucking ask! MEN, TO ARMS! TRAITORS IN OUR MIDST! FALCO AND HIS BITCHES ARE BREAKING INTO THE SUPPLY LODGE!"

Beast by surprised and confusion, the Black Skull hunters are slow to react. Tunny looks to your company, who are the closest to the supply lodge, and says "What are you waiting for, get them!"

Now was no time to question if Tunny was jumping to conclusions or not; given how easily the others had been branded traitors.

Maybe they can be coaxed out without bloodshed, he thinks to himself, and hopes it so!

He sighs, and looks to the others!

"Who wants to try and play at ambassador this time, then?"

"They look up to you and you seem to have the gift of the gab. Why not you, Cutwell? We can watch your back. No need to take turns."

Flint chuckles but remains ready to fight, nevertheless.