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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 14, 2019 17:21:23 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
He assumed to be silent, but for a small indifferent grunt to Toast's comment on the good Florence's own little expedition... It was more of a sunday stroll but the Darkest Estate had a punishing reputation. Even taking a piss near the tree line might get you snatched by Cultists, Pigmen, or worse.
But he kept that to himself as he looked to the Doctor and the Vestal respectively; he moved back to position himself between Toustain and the woods. Nodding towards Florence, like a sheep dog might bow its head at a lamb.
Though, he noted Florence wasn't particularly going in any direction either. Simply searching... So he moved to walk poignantly past her as he gestured for her to follow as he made to lead the party through the brush, doing his best to bring them back to the trail he and Florence had blazed.
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Post by rosallora on May 14, 2019 19:31:41 GMT -8
She follows. The woods are dark all around, occasionally she sees or hears something that makes her freeze or jump, despite her internal insistence that she was fine, things were going to be fine. But the tears that had streaked down her face, she knew, were just some precursor. What had been seen could not be unseen. Cruelty could not be undone, mistreatment could not be forgotten. And her cowardice, her bad faith, sat in her stomach like a cold stone, disrupting everything else. She rubs at her abdomen despite only feeling ill-fitting armor.
Her footsteps are more shuffle than walk, but she does the task. She raises her head to see the back of Arnulf and Florence, but only just. Otherwise she is just trying to keep herself from tripping over her feet, wondering... why did she feel so tired? Surely it couldn't have been that long, since she'd left the Hamlet. Surely...
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 14, 2019 19:57:23 GMT -8
Florence followed Arnulf back to the trail, the nose of her mask pointing sharply downward as she scanned the forest floor for mushrooms or poppies or other floral goodies. Despite his prickly personality, Florence trusted his instinct for navigation. Although normally she would have preferred to follow the road back to town, no doubt a shortcut would prove to be superior to the well-being of this Toustain.
---
There was death in the air, and not just from Toustain.
It hung thick and sweet in the breeze, of which Arnulf was downwind; as such, the keen-nosed hunter was gifted with a rather rich profile of what to expect just further ahead. Newly-decaying fat, the tang of old blood, with undertones of sweat and dirt and despair.
If he looked ahead, there was a fat, nude body dangling by his neck from a tree. A modest pack of three dogs were enjoying dinner consisting of what they could reach: the legs.
As it were, it was a rather gruesome display of the circle of life. One might expect the beasts to get territorial over a rare, free lunch.
---
Mercifully Toast saw nothing, unless she looked up. If she were conscious enough to register it, perhaps she may smell the body, but nothing more.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 14, 2019 20:04:54 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
"Balls..." He grumbled as he stopped rather immediately as the scent of death gave way to sight; the fat man certainly looked large enough to be an ill-fated noble, perhaps left to die by some bandits... though to strip a man of all his belongings was... rude. But plausible; there was no shortage of those who'd like to see such ripe men strung up as they were.
The hounds were a bigger problem. In these woods it was hard to come by food at all, if their idle snapping at the man's toes wasn't enough to go by.
"... We've got hounds. Get your knife out, and get ready to fight." He ordered simply, quietly, as he looked back to his compatriots for a moment before standing straight and true to bring his bow to bear.
He nocked an arrow and aimed for the hound that would be the farthest to his left; the last thing he'd need is a dog to bite his bloody flank. He counted himself lucky that they'd gotten the drop on the pack of dogs at all.
"You ready..?" He readied to loose his arrow at the slightest provocation, lest the women be slow on the draw.
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Post by rosallora on May 15, 2019 12:12:50 GMT -8
Something smelled kinda funny. Maybe it was just the area? There was a strange smell of rot about them, but Toustain was... getting used to the smell. Better than burnt flesh, she supposes.
Then, sound. She looks up, and gasps, the feeling of everything around her intensifying, down to a pinprick of sensation. The dead man was... oh Goddess, please. Not now. She feels something lurch in her stomach, but keeps the feeling tamped down, nodding furiously, readily. Yes. She was ready.
She'd fought her way in this far, she'd fight out too. She grips the mace in one hand, as taught, drawing it back in preparation for the first strike. You can do this. You can.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 15, 2019 12:34:42 GMT -8
This was precisely what Florence needed...-- or maybe 'precisely' was a bit extreme of a word, as she would have preferred not to research yet another corpse with ragged legs. And the noose the man's head was caught in could prove troublesome, too. The usefulness of this one would depend entirely upon whether the vertebrae had been snapped, or if he had simply strangled himself to death. A quick death, or a slow one; it was not often that she hoped for the latter.
Nonetheless, she located a rather generous scalpel from her bag and prepared herself to use it. It seemed that all good things must be fought for.
---
The dogs bristled and bared their teeth but made no move to attack yet. The littlest of the pack, even, seemed to shrink away from the group of three with his tail between his legs.
They were the slightest bit clever, it seemed, in that they were hesitant to go three versus three.
The largest of them inched forward and snapped his teeth, but it seemed that the pack may not be willing to die for their meal after all. A good, loud noise or a flash of a torch might do to scare them off and away from the hanging corpse.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 15, 2019 16:21:28 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
These hounds were certainly of a different cut than the usual mange ridden flea bags he encountered... they didn't seem to be rotting, which was certainly reassuring. It seemed like the corruption of this pit hadn't quite reached them yet... The little one's sheepishness was almost pitiful.
But this realm was Dark, and full of terrors. Violence would soon get them, if he and the Vestal, and Doctor, did not.
With a soft exhale, he drew the arrow back and shifted his aim to the largest hound; if they killed the pack alpha, he hoped the rest would scatter. His arrow was shot forth within that breath, aimed squarely at the center of the beast lest he miss; it was the only shot he'd be able to take if the hounds fell upon them...
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Post by rosallora on May 15, 2019 19:24:38 GMT -8
These were certainly no good man's hounds, no sweet dogs waiting for their master. These... these were foul and twisted things of the land. Toustain steadies the grip on herself and her mace. She knows that she can do this - if she can bust up the wing larger than the man in front of her, she can certainly take down a mutt. She takes a running start after his arrow has been loosed, just aiming for whatever is closest, rage on her face as she swings the mace down with all the vitriol left in her blood.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 16, 2019 21:19:41 GMT -8
Arnulf's well-practiced aim did well to lodge an arrow between the largest one's eyes. His unbotched shot killed the beast instantly, a mercy that was rarely afforded in the Weald.
With the largest one downed the other two scattered, with the smallest one yelping as he took a decent whallop to the shoulder from Toustain's mace. They dashed through the brush and made to disappear, though they could surely be tracked if one were so inclined.
---
Florence watched as the dogs fled.
"Good." She nodded, scalpel in hand as he stepped up to inspect the corpse. 'Hmm'ing pensively, she prodded the leg, above the knee, of the dead man. It seemed to only be a day-old corpse at worst-- although the telltale lower edema of a hanged man could have easily been abated by the generous holes chewed into his shins.
Although, she reasoned, a corpse would not remain unscavenged for very long in this Weald.
Regardless, there was no way to tell until she could get a proper look at the body.
"Arnulf, please cut this corpse down." She requested of the much taller man, hands on her hips as she apprehended the body. "I must inspect it."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 19, 2019 15:20:25 GMT -8
/Arnulf/
It was good to see his aim was true when it was needed most... he knew far too well that shooting a stag in a king's field was a far cry from shooting shooting that king's enemies, in the field or otherwise. It was only after he exhaled, slowly, that he noticed his hand was quivering slightly; he hadn't faced hostility in these woods for a long while now... most times he just snuck by the monstrosities.
He stole a moment to himself as the two women went forward, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes before exhaling again. Slowly, through clenched teeth as Florence's words came to him.
"Mmmhm..." He began in a grumble as he plodded forward, bow still ready, left hand still upon the next arrow as he approached her; his icy eyes set upon the bushes the hounds scampered off to.
"... Sh'oah." He mumbled as he sniffed, the corpse took his attentions as he slipped the bow over his shoulder and moved his hand from his quiver to the dagger in his pauldron.
"You paying me for this?" Arnulf inquired, though his dues on this bout were duty and morallity, he could use some coin or... something. He squinted at the man and pinched his prick between his thumb and forefinger, before wiping it off on the corpse's thigh.
"Reckon we ought not linger for too much longer. Those Hounds'll round back soon enough.", he mused a warning as he sniffed about, checking below the man to see if he'd shat himself there or if he was dragged there to identify both the means of this man's demise and how long it'd been since he'd kicked the bucket...
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Post by rosallora on May 19, 2019 15:31:29 GMT -8
Toustain feels her stomach turn at the idea of cutting the corpse down, the smell of rotten flesh finally pushing her over the edge. Toustain staggers to the side of the path, falls to her knees, and empties her stomach of it's contents. The expedition had started only that day, but it felt like the bread and milk had been in her stomach for a lifetime.
Well. It wasn't in there anymore.
She coughs, groaning softly.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 19, 2019 21:54:32 GMT -8
Florence craned her neck and tore her gaze away from the corpse to observe as Toustain vomited.
"Oh." She said without much surprise... or much of anything, really. "I suspect you may have ingested water too rapidly. It would be advisable to sit down."
With that momentary, doctorly business concluded, she again turned her attention to the corpse. She watched, puzzled, as Arnulf fondled the corpse. Not only did it trouble her, but it also had nothing to do with cutting the corpse down and thus was even more troublingly unnecessary.
---
From Arnulf's rather impolite observations it could be concluded that death for this man was a recent installment. The ground was relatively clean, but from the observations made of the man himself it could be presumed that he had originally died wearing clothes.
By the lack of any apparent possessions in the immediate area, one might even suppose that more than just animals scavenged upon the hanged man.
---
"What are you doing?" Florence asked before she could decide that it was an unhelpful question. Whatever Arnulf's intentions were, it wasn't pertinent to her immediate goal of releasing the corpse.
She pointed upwards, at the rope:
"You are much taller than I; as a result, you are more likely to succeed in cutting the rope without damaging the corpse. Please cut the rope."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on May 20, 2019 21:17:47 GMT -8
/Arnulf/ He spared a glance at Toustain's retching state before scoffing and planting the knuckles of the hand which wielded the dagger upon his hip, posturing beside the corpse as he squinted at Florence, "No shit I'll be better at cutting the fucking rope... I asked if I'm getting paid for it you deaf bitch." He spat out in a hoarse but hushed manner, a small glance to Toustain betrayed his scowling demeanour's hostility; he'd rather the good Vestal not be privy to all his foul words... He knew what the cloth could do to a homeless man they thought foul. And he'd enough to atone for than to add unkind words to the mix. He rolled his shoulders and stood a bit straighter, moving his hands to rest on the front of his belt with bollock dagger in hand. He looked up to the rope, then the tree... quietly gauging whether or not he'd be able to reach the rope or if he'd have to climb. Thankfully, the man was short, and Arnulf did have rather long arms, so he reached up and cut the rope, then caught the man before he hit the dirt.
He hefted the corpse over his shoulder and awaited Florence's reply...
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Post by rosallora on May 21, 2019 3:39:32 GMT -8
She raises her head in time to see some tense body language from the man, which makes her nervous. She doesn't want for anyone to get hurt; there's been enough suffering today. She takes a stumbling step toward them before righting herself, muttering a "sorry". The force of the act had pushed tears into her eyes. She was so tired. She wanted to go home.
"I... I hate to push, but please... Tell me you'll be heading back to the Hamlet soon. I fear I can't take much more of this." She feels weak admitting it, but it's the truth. She glances at the corpse, then away.
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Post by Vanitypirate on May 21, 2019 14:50:18 GMT -8
"Of course. This is what I need for my research." Florence answered simply, making to pluck the arrow out of the slain wolf's forehead as she cast it aside. And then she hefted it up, arms underneath its shoulders. She let the other half of the wolf's limbs drag along the ground.
"I have never offered you payment, and you joined me uninvited. If no one else has offered you payment, either, then you are likely not being paid." She spelled out, already setting about walking along, dragging the dead wolf with her.
"Let us depart this Weald. Our work is done."
[We can return to the Hamlet Streets now, if you'd like!]
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