The Would-Be Warriors


 * Landing Pad - Four Corners - Quaquan


 * Jutting out from the edge of the New Chapin Mesa, overlooking the jagged yellow gash of Honaghaaghni Canyon with its outlandish toothy peaks and furrows, this broad platform serves as a landing zone for incoming vessels.

Brightclaw steps off the shuttle ramp, looking about somewhat furtively. He moves to the side of the landing pad in a small shaded area to remove all the electronics from his persona, including his pulse pistol, and put them in a small pouch at his waist. He weaves through the bustling crowd towards the Decon Corridor.

Freespirit walks up behind him, feet padding noiselessly in the bustle of the spaceport.

Snowmist yawns and stretches as she gets off the shuttle.


 * Decon Corridor


 * Evenly spaced shafts of light line this nondescript, semi-cylindrical hallway. Atmospheric sanitizers hiss and blowers move the cold air around you. Your feet clank on the grated metal floor. On one end, an airlock leads to the landing pad. The other end opens out to the spaceport lobby.

Freespirit arrives from Landing Pad - Four Corners - Quaquan.

Snowmist arrives from Landing Pad - Four Corners - Quaquan.

Brightclaw pauses mid-stride, seeming to feel someone watching him. He turns around abruptly, trying to catch a glance.

Freespirit tucks his hands into his sleeve, meeting Brightclaw's eyes as he turns.

Brightclaw gasps. 'What the-?!' Freespirit?!

Snowmist cocks an ear at the soft exclamation, and moves past a Mekke as she finally spies Brightclaw.

Freespirit smirks slightly, his well tended canines gleaming in the light. "I seem to remember someone promising to explain what the hell is going one."

Brightclaw glowers and walks towards Freebie. 'What's the meaning of this?'

Brightclaw shakes his head. 'Now is not the time, Freespirit. I'm here on personal business. Now if you'll excuse me.. ' he turns toward the exit again, head swiveling past Snowmist.

Snowmist ducks her head, hiding a grin as she slips up to them. "Still looking for explanations that you'll accept, Spirit?"

Brightclaw boggles, seeing Snowmist. 'What!?!'

Freespirit falls into step just behind and off to the left shoulder of the older demarian. "Of course I wouldn't want to get in the way, but just let me accompany you on your way. To pass the time, you could try and explain..."

Freespirit looks towards the new arrival. "Of course."

Brightclaw sighs, and puts his head in his hands. 'I can't go anywhere..'

Snowmist nods and winks.

Brightclaw frowns slightly at Snowmist. 'And I suppose /you/ also need an explanation of our cause?'

Snowmist raises her eyebrows. "Me?" She grins sharply. "I've already got my own reasons. Don't need yours."

Brightclaw growls low.

Freespirit stands patiently by.

Freespirit's swords clink softly as he shifts his weight.

Brightclaw says, "I don't know /what/ you two have in your noggins about following me around on /personal/ business, but I recommend that you both get back on that shuttle and hie on back to Citadel before I-"

Snowmist pats Brightclaw consolingly on the shoulder. "Is it one o' those days? Hm, maybe we can find a bar around and have a nice chat if you have the time...why, I'll even treat."

Brightclaw shakes his head at her. 'Please, Snowmist. I'm - a little late.. could you please take Freespirit here and .. go back?' He croons these last few words.

Snowmist blinks, deliberately obtuse. "But we just got here."

Brightclaw says, "/Ooooh!/ I don't have time for this. I /really/ don't! Snowmist, Freespirit, I /order/ you both to go back."

Brightclaw turns to the door and walks out.


 * Spaceport Lobby


 * Yellow stone blocks compose the walls of this rectangular building, which has a ceiling about four meters above the floor. Light comes through round holes bored high on the walls during the day. Plasma torches burn within glowing blue cylinders mounted in the ceiling when it grows dark. The waiting room here is equipped with benches and tables with scattered periodicals. A ticket sales booth stands next to an information plaque that lists available destinations. A corridor leads to the shuttle landing pad. A door leads out to the street.

Freespirit arrives from Decon Corridor.

Snowmist arrives from Decon Corridor.

Snowmist glances at Freespirit with a grin. "Hm, When did *you* enlist, Spirit?"

Freespirit follows, grinning obstinately. "In case you forget, I'm not under any orders... perhaps I can find out what's going on better by tagging along.."

Brightclaw looks back at them with a kind of doomed-man variety of looks, and sighs.

Brightclaw walks quickly out again, seemingly lost now.


 * New Chapin Road


 * Yellow dust perpetually hangs over the hard-packed dirt of this main thoroughfare. Adobe style buildings sit in a tight, blocky row near the street. In the distance, jagged mountain peaks split a sky that is the color of corn stalks.

Snowmist arrives from Spaceport Lobby.

Freespirit arrives from Spaceport Lobby.

Navajo children weave in and out of the tourists on Qua, pressing bead necklaces into their hands. Brightclaw pauses to buy a small wrist bracelet from a young boy, frowning slightly at the price, but delivers the cred chip in any case. He seems to remember something, looks about quickly, then speaks in broken Navajo to the boy, who giggles at his ineptness, and speaks in clear common languange, pointing to the road leading south.

Freespirit follows, looking as if nothing bothered him at all.

Brightclaw nods, and thanks the boy, speeding up his pace and muttering under his breath. 'Mental note-never trust mercenaries..'


 * New Chapin Road


 * Yellow dust perpetually hangs over the hard-packed dirt of this main thoroughfare. Adobe style buildings sit in a tight, blocky row near the street. In the distance, jagged mountain peaks split a sky that is the color of corn stalks.

Snowmist arrives from New Chapin Road.

Freespirit arrives from New Chapin Road.

Brightclaw pauses mid-path. 'Look, would you guys at least just wait here while I take care of business? What is /so/ interesting about my personal life?'

Brightclaw is red-faced and out of breath.

Freespirit glances sideways at snowmist. "Me? Just a curious medler, it seems."

Snowmist tilts her head. "I dunno. What's so interesting that you gotta get rid of us?"

Brightclaw groans, and stares at both of them, before exhaling heavily and turning with heavy steps towards the lake.


 * New Mummy Lake


 * This stone-lined reservoir is 90 feet in diameter and 12 feet deep. Built around a natural depression in the ground this water catchment collects rainwater used for drinking and crop irrigation.

Snowmist arrives from New Chapin Road South.

Freespirit arrives from New Chapin Road South.

A canvas flap flutters in the breeze on the front of a ragged-looking tent on the shore of the reservoir. A small cookfire smolders in a brazier pit before the tent, with some kind of porcine-looking creature skewered and rotating with the assistance of a small generator that controls the spit.

Freespirit follows, but at a greater distance now.

Brightclaw glances around the shoreline, then spots the tent, and heads for it. 'Now just stay back, you two, please!'

Brightclaw stomps towards the tent, clutching some flowers and a bracelet in his hand.

Freespirit stops, hands still tucked into his sleeves, standing rigid and straight, nodding slightly as he lets the older demarian continue one alone.

Brightclaw calls out when nearby the tent. 'Master Ringtail? It's me, Brightclaw... a boy in town told me I could find you here..'

Brightclaw steps over a few tree-limbs and rocks, panting for breath.

Freespirit came close enough to hear anything said within in normal tone before stopping.

What Brightclaw didn't see was the snare he just stepped into. THWANG! The snapping sound resounds across the lake as the Demarian is snatched by the left ankle by a hemp loop that tightens and dangles him from a tree. He hangs, upside down, his arms hanging about three feet from the ground.

Brightclaw says, "DWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Blood fills Brightclaw's head, and he tries, in vain, to free his ankle. 'Master Ringtaaaail!'

Freespirit lunges forward, blade flashing through the air, aimed for the rope. "Hold on...for Bikiru's sake, man, don't wriggle like that..."

Snowmist blinks, Seeing that he wasn't in immediate danger, she relaxes slightly.

Brightclaw screams, seeing Freespirit lunging at him with a sword.

A second snare nabs Freespirit's right leg - WHUMP! THWANG! Up he goes and upside down, as well, hanging right beside Brightclaw.

Brightclaw gurgles furiously. 'Nice work, Freespirit.'

Brightclaw lowers his voice more plaintively, close to the tone of a bleating sheep 'Master??'

Freespirit quickly folds himself in half, his blade slicing through the air again, aimed for his own rope.

There is a dead silence. A dry chuckle and snort issue forth as a figure steps out from the gloom. It is an almost ancient-looking Demarian, with silvered mane worn in Qua-styled braids and a woven beard. His eyes are like flat silver discs, devoid of color. His silvery tail is ringed with black. It is apparent now that he cannot see in a conventional sense. 'Hahaha.. but it is good to hear your voice, petulant and whiny though it may be. Brightclaw Starmark, my errant student. And who is your clumsy friend with the whickwhacking sword?' He does not turn his head but one can sense his /knowing/.

Freespirit successfully slices the rope, then falls unflatteringly on his back.

Brightclaw waves his flowers about in the air aimlessly, as if he were offering it to the sky. 'Oh, ah, that's Freespirit. He's.. sort of a prisoner, but not really. Uh, I guess that doesn't make sense. I brought you a birthday present.'

Brightclaw drops the flowers and a little bead bracelet as well.

Freespirit regains his feet, the sword returned to it's scabbard with one effortless motion. He growls lowly as he stands straight.

Brightclaw tries to make sense of the Master's upside-down image.

The aged Demarian grunts as he sniffs the air. "Flowers and beads. Again. You shouldn't have." He walks assuredly down the hillock toward the dangling former student. "And here I thought I would be eating well for a week." He pats Brightclaw's belly. "You've grown soft."

Snowmist hmphs as she walks up from where she'd been quietly observing.

Freespirit turns slowly, tucking his hands back into his sleeve and standing straight and rigid.

Brightclaw swings with as much dignity as he can. 'Well, not - not really, Master- ah, haha, that tickles- ahm. I - I can get some food, but ah, are you going to let me down?'

Ringtail ponders this for a moment, then silently reaches a hand out to Freespirit.

Freespirit holds out the scabbard for his shortsword, the hilt pointing towards the old catman. He doesn't seem ready to be overtly hostile or friendly at this point.

The old Demarian takes the sword, and runs the palm of his hand over the flat of the blade. "Exquisite craftsmanship," he pronounces, not even looking at it. "Demarian steel?"

Brightclaw clears his throat, and dangles impatiently.

Freespirit nods silently, yellow eyes watching cautiously.

Ringtail tilts his head to the side. "I can just barely hear your brains rattle and detect the whisper of the wind between your ears, warrior. Speak!"

Brightclaw notices the upside-down Snowmist walking towards them - 'Oh and this is - well, behind you, as you already know, is Snowmist, she's ah-'

Freespirit says in his low growlish voice "'Words spoken in haste are the enemy to the upright', isn't that what is written, o sage?"

Brightclaw chuckles nervously, shooting what he hopes is a warning glance towards Freespirit. 'Well, now that we're all here-'

Snowmist looks him up and down. "Been talking 'bout me again, Claw?" she grins, then bends and tilts her head with her hands on her knees in an attempt to see him 'right-side-up'.

The old Demarian chortles. "'Respect thy elders,' it is also written, 'or they may smite thee with thine own blade.' Now...let us deal with the matter at hand." He turns to face the tent, not at all facing Brightclaw. "I shall cut my young student free."

Freespirit snorts softly, his lip curling up in amusement.

Brightclaw looks a bit concerned. 'Master Ringtail, shouldn't you ah, maybe you could just give that to me-'

Snowmist straightens again, swaying slightly at the relocation of blood and prudently moves away from Brightclaw.

With unexpected deftness, the movement of wind and the stealth of shadows, Ringtail spins and leaps and in one fluid motion slices the sword through the rope suspending Brightclaw above the ground - cutting the younger Demarian loose - and then he comes down on his feet about six feet from Freespirit. He hurls the sword through the air at Freespirit - it whirls blade over hilt in a whistling arc and then stabs into the earth at an angle between Freespirit's legs.

Brightclaw stretches out a tentative hand, then winces and yells 'Whoooooaaaaaa!!! Oof!' He lands in an ungainly heap, and rolls upward somewhat clumsily, brushing dirt from his silks.

Freespirit looks down at the sword, then keeping his eyes on the old man, retrieves it silently, returning it to it's scabbard.

Snowmist grins, enjoying the show, *just* managing to keep herself from clapping.

Brightclaw says, "Well, as I said... now that we're all - erf- here, maybe I should make some introductions.."

For an old man, Ringtail looks remarkably not out of breath. "I had no idea you were coming," he growls, walking back toward the cookfire. "You'll have to catch your own dinner." Petulantly, he snatches a broiled leg off the roasted creature and begins to gnaw on the charred flesh.

Freespirit steps forward with a rigid bow, "Calico Freespirit Tsuclaw."

Brightclaw growls at Snowmist's amusement, but continues. 'Master Ringtail, this is Snowmist and Freespirit. They are- well, Master Ringtail, we can hunt some food for you..'

Ringtail waves a hand dismissively. "I can catch my own food, thank you very much. Or didn't you notice?"

Brightclaw mutters to himself '.. if we can find anything in this dusty godforsaken- Oh yes, Master Ringtail, of course! Of course..' He strokes his own rumbling belly.

The elder Demarian thumps into a guru-sitting position next to the fire. "Brightclaw, you may approach and sit by my fire. Speak. Then be gone with these...outsiders."

Brightclaw bows his head, nodding and sits cross-legged to Ringtail's right. He glances at the others briefly before continuing. 'Master Ringtail, things have changed on our Demaria.'

Chewing on the Qua pig leg, Ringtail shrugs. "And?"

Freespirit remains standing rigid and alert, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe.

Snowmist moves up beside Freespirit, examining the campsite and the 'elder' curiously, encountering a culture she'd never experienced before.

'And, well I know you served my grandfather in the wars we've had before, and- well, I think I'd like to continue training with you. And get your advice and help. Demaria is in bad hands right now.'

Brightclaw pauses to gather his thoughts, not able to tell if the elder Demarian is listening or not. 'And, well I know you served my grandfather in the wars we've had before, and- well, I think I'd like to continue training with you. And get your advice and help. Demaria is in bad hands right now.'

Ringtail growls, staring out over the placid surface of the lake. "Damn the stars." He hurls the meatless bone in a graceful arc that ends with a splashless plop in the water. "I can't concentrate with that damned grumbling in your stomach and the mumbling of those two off in the shadows. Call them over and eat. I will catch more later."

Brightclaw nods, a ghost of a grin sneaking onto his face. 'Yes, Master Ringtail. Freespirit! Snowmist! Come sit with us!' Brightclaw gestures to the two standing on the fire's edge. 'These two 'outsiders', as you put it, are loyal to Demaria as well, and any help you can offer..'

Freespirit approaches slowly, kneeling in rigid formal style just inside the firelight's circle.

Snowmist calls out from where she stands, amused but nevertheless miffed, "We wouldn't wanna impose..."

The old Demarian shakes his head. "They may sit at my fire. They may eat my food. But my knowledge is not given easily to outsiders."

Brightclaw speaks with his hand en-route to the juicy meat, ripping off a leg. 'They are worthy, Master Ringtail. I have seen Snowmist- Snowmist! Get over here!'

Snowmist sighs and ambles over, sinking to her knees as well, lacing her finger neatly in her lap.

Ringtail snarls, "Tsuclaw, you will find quaberry wine in a jug in my tent. Fetch it."

Freespirit bows his head respectfully, but without any sign of submission, and stands to retrieve the wine.

Nearly choking on the food he is inhaling, Brightclaw continues '-have seen Snowmist here risk her life for us, more than once. Let them prove their worth to you, Master.'

Brightclaw looks ruefully down at the bare bone in his hands, glancing up to the pig and then to Snowmist and Ringtail, and back to the pig.

The old Demarian rolls his eyes. "For Altheor's teeth, Brightclaw: Eat."

Being much more cautious now, watching the ground carefully, the large catman enters the tent, returning with the wine jug.

Snowmist sniffs and mutters something beneath her breath about, "...need...proving myself to...as if..." but for the most part remains silent.

Brightclaw smiles broadly. 'Well, if you insist Master.' He rips off the third leg and begins to gnaw, sighing around the meat as he hears Snowmist's comment.

Sniffing the air again, Ringtail goes silent for a few moments. "The female is injured, or has been quite recently."

Snowmist stiffens slightly, eyes immediately locking on Ringtail.

Brightclaw stops chewing abruptly, eyes widening somewhat in amazement.

Brightclaw looks Snowmist over carefully, obviously not seeing anything.

Brightclaw says, "Snowmist? What happened?"

Snowmist scowls at Brightclaw's blatant examination.

Freespirit returns to his rigid kneeling position, and sets the jug respectfulling within reach of the old sage.

Tilting his head to the left, the old Demarian asks. "Which arm was it? Left or right? The scent is that of a pulse pistol wound..."

Snowmist frowns, narrowing her eyes at Ringtail, her suspicions about him confirmed. "Left," she says simply, tacitly acknowledging the type of wound.

Brightclaw whistles and speaks low to Freespirit, as if Ringtail couldn't hear. 'Master Ringtail here was the battle trainer for Demaria's militia for more than two generations. Voluntarily, of course..'

Freespirit nods slightly, his bearing remaining stoic and rigid.

Ringtail growls. "I also left voluntarily. Now, quit changing the subject." He glances toward the spot where Snowmist is sitting, although his eyes seem to gaze beyond. "How did you acquire this wound? It seems...sloppily aimed."

Brightclaw says, "Wait a min- pulse pistol wound?! Yes, how /did/ you manage to endanger yourself without me being around /again/, Snowmist?"

Snowmist snorts. "That's because it wasn't aimed at all. And oh hush, Claw, I'm a big girl, I walked into this myself. I was on the Galore and taking care of a certain captain while my companion tried to fight off Grim with a chair against the majordomo's pistol. My companion succeeded admirably well in that he didn't get himself shot--but he deflected Grim's aim which then hit me."

The aged Demarian's sightless eyes widen. "In Altheor's name...*Grim?*"

Snowmist tilts her head. "I sincerely hope he wasn't a friend of yours."

Brightclaw almost stands up 'Grim! You actually shot- ouch!' He cries out, dropping the hot meat into his lap, and abruptly sits again.

Snowmist muffles a chuckle, looking away from Brightclaw quickly as she composed herself.

Ringtail chortles and shakes his head. "That sand eel? He is no friend to me. But he is known to me. Who does not know of him?"

Freespirit remains a passive observer.

Snowmist grins. "Good. Because I would hate to ruin the afterglow of shooting him by having to apologize."

Brightclaw squints at Snowmist. 'Since when does a merc in the employ of the exiled Demarian militia not let her immediate CO know about a Fagin-hunting expedition?'

Brightclaw says, "Good job, by the way, but that doesn't let you off the hook."

Snowmist blinks at Brightclaw. "Why, employer confidentiality. A client hired me for a little sidetrip, which I accepted. It wouldn't have affected your plans, and indeed, might have helped them if it succeeded--which it did," she emphasized.

The old Demarian nods. "Bringing us back to your point, Brightclaw. The travails of a free Demaria, unencumbered by the crooked Imperator." You might detect a trace of sarcasm in the raspy voice.

Snowmist shifts her attention to Ringtail, content to have attentions pass her by, curious herself as to how others viewed this Imperator she'd only heard bits and pieces of.

Brightclaw shakes his head and mutters 'When did I lose control? When did I lose it?' He turns to Ringtail, 'Actually the Imperator was never proven to be crooked. But it looks very seriously like the Senate is.'

Ringtail reaches over and smacks Brightclaw in familiar fashion on the snout. "Mind your tongue. I spoke in jest. Of course he wasn't crooked, just megalomaniacal. But, so many politicians are."

Brightclaw grows serious, fruitlessly trying to paw the stain off his pants and begins to babble. 'We contacted a Mr. Wallflower who led us to a Bloodfur Darksight, you know, the father of-ouch!' He nods, sulking now a little at the reprimand.

Snowmist blinks at this offhand treatment of Brightclaw, and glances down, biting her lip, suppressing another smile.

Brightclaw sticks his tongue out at Ringtail furtively, then draws back, expecting to get smacked again.

There is the briefest flash of disaproval across the features of the calico furred demarian, but it is quickly repressed.

And, not one to disappoint, the old Demarian refrains from smacking - but *does* speak simply: "Do that again, and I will bite it off."

Brightclaw manages to creak out a 'Yes, Master..'

Snowmist can't suppress it this time and a giggle escapes her.

Brightclaw glares at Snowmist.

Waving a hand dismissively, Ringtail says, "Now, then, what of old Bloodfur?"

Freespirit can't help but wonder what kind of circus he's been thrown into...

Brightclaw says, "You knew him? Ah.. I'm afraid that.."

Staring into the flames underneath the pig, Brightclaw speaks softly. 'He was a good man, too. Spoke to him before the Senate.. had him killed.'

The old Demarian's bushy eyebrows flicker upward. "A serious charge. You have proof?"

Brightclaw 'Not hard evidence but.. ' he looks to Snowmist.

"What exactly does *she* know?" Ringtail growls, swiveling his head toward Snowmist. "Altheor's claws, she seems to be quite the font."

Brightclaw mutters softly 'I'll never know how he /does/ that..'

Snowmist says in a surprisingly sober tone, "It is uncertain whether the Senate was behind the killing. However, it was warned that the senate knew of his attempts to contact others and make known the 'truth' as he calls it. And thank you, I would like to think I keep up in the trade."

Brightclaw nods in agreement 'In addition, he told us that his boy had been framed by the Senate, who was working with Fagin. He turned up dead about a few days after we met with him and asked for his help.'

Brightclaw says, "I guess, in a way, we're responsible.."

Brightclaw sighs heavily.

Snowmist sighs as she regards Brightclaw. "There you go again. If it wasn't us, it would've been someone else. He *wanted* to spill."

The old Demarian chuckles. "So, you've got vague mutterings to pass for proof. Brightclaw, one must never assume that any one person is telling the truth. The truth - it is like the surface of this lake, a fluid, yet unchanging thing."

Freespirit sits solid and silent, the only change a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Brightclaw scrunches up his brow, as if trying to store the elder's words in his mind permanently, given he doesn't seem capable of absorbing it in the moment.

Brightclaw says, "I see.. but nonetheless, things are too convenient for the Senate to have taken power so swiftly and for their opponents to disappear so conveniently."

Ringtail bows his snout in agreement. "That much, I concede. But intrigue and political machinations are as old as the soil on our homeworld."

Brightclaw looks amazed that Ringtail is agreeing with him and slowly speaks. 'Aye, that's true, Master. I can't speak of the purity of any Imperator or Senate. But I know that these three hearts are pure and loyal to the people of Demaria.. well, two, and I suspect the third is as well. Will you help us?'

Snowmist snorts and shakes her head at the talk of 'purity'.

The aged Demarian laughs bitterly. "Help you what? Help you fight to overthrow a government that the people themselve's support? Help you fight to replace it with a *different* government that will be just as corrupt - or perhaps even more so? Altheor's teeth, kit, you have forgotten much."

Brightclaw bows his head in defeat. 'Yes, Master Ringtail.' Then he raises it with a flush in his cheeks. 'But perhaps it is /you/ who have forgotten. Forgotten the people of Demaria who know no better, who believe in the surface of things, and rely on people like /us/ to correct it for them. Perhaps /you/ have forgotten.' He stands, shaking slightly. 'I came to you because - because you were always to me a symbol of Demarian strength. I am sorry for taking your time and your meal.'

Growling, Ringtail says, "Sit."

Brightclaw hovers hesitantly a moment, moistness in his eyes, and finally collapses slowly. A pause. 'I am sorry, Master Ringtail, for my words.'

Once more, the old Demarian reaches over and thwacks Brightclaw on the snout. "That's for insulting your elder." He snarls, then says, "You dare to preach to me? To condescend to me?"

Brightclaw cringes, but doesn't cry out this time, or, wisely, talk back.

Snowmist frowns slightly. "Does age automatically grant you wisdom?"

Jabbing a clawed finger at the heavens, Ringtail says, "I left that accursed world for the same reasons that you now want to save it." He glowers toward Snowmist. "The honorific title of "elder" does not necessarily refer to age, whelp."

Freespirit chuckles growlishly from the far side of the fire.

Snowmist says, "Perhaps. But it doesn't mean you get to be condescending in return. Is that how you win respect?"

Brightclaw seems to be working a million thoughts with his jaw muscle alone, his brow tensed and worried.

Brightclaw says, "Snowmist. No, I'm sorry, it's my fault. He is very .. a very honored individual, he has given his whole life to Demaria.."

Ringtail tilts his head, pondering the dying fire. "I ask these questions because I know how these things work, from experience. You must ask them of yourselves. You must examine your motives and the ends you seek." He doesn't look toward Snowmist when he responds to her: "Win? I am not the one who has come seeking affirmation." The embers glow in his eyes. "Brightclaw, speak. How do you plan to make good on this honorable goal?"

The fire crackles and *pops* as it hits a hidden wet pocket in the smouldering wood.

Brightclaw says, "Master, we have information on a particular Senator Longsnout, who once we have access to him, we may find the truth from. I cannot lay out the ultimate plan without the Battleclaw's consent, but I would know more. As it is, we are unable to retrieve even our shuttle from Nephthys without running into Fagin, let alone foray again with our skills into Demaria proper to confront Longsnout. I ask that you train us in your ways, so we may be better prepared."

The old Demarian sighs. "Three of you."

Freespirit speaks up finally. "Two, just yet..."

Brightclaw says, "Well, four, actually.. although yes, I suppose three here, being trained.. ahem.. Two then.."

Brightclaw glares at Freespirit.

Snowmist tilts her head, waiting for things to sort themselves out first.

Ringtail shakes his head. "Tsuclaw will train, else he is a coward. He has much to learn."

Freespirit says growlishly. "I want to know exactly what the hell is going on before I sign on to go against the planet that gave me life."

Brightclaw says, "But wasn't it you who told me, Master Ringtail, that often an individual can accomplish often what a batallion may not?"

Snowmist rolls her eyes. "All this talking, Spirit, and you still haven't heard a single word?"

Brightclaw says, "You're not going /against/ Demaria, Freespirit!"

Brightclaw says, "You're going /for/ Demaria's people.."

Brightclaw groans inwardly.

Chortling, Ringtail says, "I also said one can win a war without lifting a blade in combat. Not all my teachings appear to have sunk in."

Freespirit glares at Brightclaw. "How do I know you're not just more greedy political terrorists? Bikiru know's there's been more than enough of those."

Brightclaw reddens slightly at Ringtail's words. 'How else then, Master?' He turns to Freespirit 'Do you /honestly/ think that we'd be risking our necks like this,' he glances at Snowmist briefly '.. all across the galaxy for personal gain? And me, mouthing off to the most venerable and revered military hero of all times for what? What, Freespirit? A nicer bunk? Come on..'

Freespirit growls harshly, "Talk is cheap, dear sir. All I have seen so far is a bunch of foolish mercenaries trying to play hero, and putting the populace at incredible risk by their own childish games."

Snowmist shrugs with one shoulder in irritation. "Well, ok, you win. Claw, stop wasting time on him, he obviously doesn't *want* to be convinced."

The aged Demarian scratches his chin and growls. "I must meditate on this." He glances at the others around the fire. "I will train you - I have precious little else to do besides catch fish with my fangs and hunt hogs in the woods. Yes, I will train you to fight, but I will, if possible, equip you with skills beyond these crude blades and hands."

Brightclaw growls at that as well. 'If talk is cheap, Freespirit, so is sulking. You've done nothing but sulk and eat the food on my ship - you're right, let him sit on the sidelines-' He listens to Ringtail and bows his head to touch the ground. 'Thank you, Master!'

Freespirit bows slightly to the old sage, still rigidly formal.

Getting to his feet, Ringtail stares toward Freespirit and beyond: "You must choose where you belong, Tsuclaw, and affix yourself. Hesitation and uncertainty are murderous."

Freespirit says, "I cannot afford haste when so much is on the line, honorable sage."

The old Demarian shrugs. "Who said anything about haste? You've waited all your life."

Freespirit says, "I need to see what this means to them, how willing they are. I will not fight a cowards war."

Snowmist sneers, muttering beneath her breath, "Judging--*testing* us, are you...?"

Freespirit doesn't so much as give Snowmist a glance, his eyes still focused on the aged demarian.

Ringtail chortles. "Before this training is done, we will all know." He turns and ducks into the tent. Before sealing the flap shut, he pokes his head out. "Enjoy the wine. Enjoy the pig. Enjoy the ground. I shall enjoy my cot." With that, he is gone into the depths of his mesa home.

Brightclaw frowns slightly, staring at the tent's closing flaps. Then he chuckles, rolling onto his back. 'Amazing! After all these years, still the same.. still the same Master Ringtail..'

The flap opens just long enough for an empty bottle to be hurled in an arc that brings it down to bonk Brightclaw on the back. "Keep it down," the old Demarian growls.

Freespirit stands again, drawing himself up into a straight rigid figure. He picks up his tattered pack from where he'd set it on the ground nearby. "I have a blanket, since I imagine neither of your honorable persons are as occustomed to sleeping in the elements as myself."

Snowmist chuckles.

Snowmist raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry I won't be requiring it then, oh high and mighty one. I've been surviving on mountains in the dead of winter since I was a kit."

Brightclaw yowls and winces, rubbing his back and sitting up. 'Wheeeuuw..'

Brightclaw nods at Snowmist. 'I've certainly bunked on enough metal gratings aboard ships in my life. I think some dirt would be a refreshing change..' He winks at Freespirit. 'But thanks in any case. And I hope you join us eventually..'

Freespirit pulls the blanket out of his pack before dropping the sack back to the ground. He tosses the blanket to land near Brightclaw. "I will go get firewood to keep through the night."

Freespirit glances towards the older demarian with emotionless yellow eyes. "That, dear sir, will depend entirely upon you."

Brightclaw open his mouth in anger, and claps it shut again, chuckling to himself. 'All right, rebellious youth. I bid you all a good night. I think I'll see if I can find a nice patch of grass around this rainforsaken place..' He winks at Snowmist and walks off into the night.

Snowmist grins and waves, calling out a "good night"

Freespirit treks off in search of wood, stopping only briefly a good distance away to get his bearing and fix the directions firmly in his mind.

A skitter of rocks and a little yell is the only signal that Brightclaw is making his way through the canyon overlook.

Snowmist rises, stretching by reaching up with her right hand and going on her tiptoes. Shaking her limps out, she moves her other arm more cautiously while brushing off her knees.