Weed Whacking

People were contacted, strings were pulled, information was sent. The coordinates give to Marcucilli pointed to a small island in one of New Luna's oceans, a small speak in the vast blue, charted, but not explored. After a few weeks of preperation and a brief flight, the Warren crew has landed on a clearing by the shore, a short distance away from a dense concentration of jungle leading to the heart of the island.

Marcuccilli steps off of the Venture, toting a projectile pistol himself, while the Warren's four professional guards follow him, each carrying a pulse assault rifle and wearing a flak jacket.

Now in the clearing, Lucius Tullius Castus, all camoed out in his breathable armour is checking the bullets in the large sniper rifle he carries. After making sure it's on safe and cocking back the reciever, he loads a round into the chamber. Quickly, he verifies and does the same thing with his pistol, which is then slid back into the holster. "Ready." He says.

Trugkar lumbers out of the dropship, hauling a bulky assault rifle with him. His nostrils flare as he inhales ocean air. "Salty," the Zangali grunts.

Sea birds call out to each other as they circle overhead, and the wind gently rustles the trees. It's scenic.

Too scenic.

"Perhaps we should light something on fire," Marcuccilli suggests. "Less distracting that way, hmm? Alright, gentlemen, onward. Lucius, be ready with that thing."

"So the job here, is, if I understand.." Lucius begins to ask, looking down the scope of his rifle and aiming it downrange, to find the proper calibration with his fingers. "We're looking for a fucking tree. A mutant tree. That I shoot with this here rifle. Splendid, keep me behind these guys. At close range this rifle is useless."

"Trug not softskin shield," Trugkar snorts at Lucius. "Softskin do own basherering."

"Your guns are closer range than mine, Trug. No one's asking for a shield, I just need you up so we can maximize the cone of fire if we need to. Although I have no idea what the fuck we're up against, to be honest."

Lucius shrugs. "Let's move on."

"Keep your mouths shut and eyes open," Marcuccilli suggests, stepping forward behind his bodyguards. Trugkar utters a low growl and readies his rifle as he heads toward the jungle.

Lucius does likewise, ice blue eyes steadying and sweeping the area in front of him, and ears perked.

From within the jungle, there is a loud crack followed by a scream, cut short.

"Encouraging sign," Marcuccilli says with mock cheeriness. "Webb, McAllister, Guthrie, Griffin-- you are ready, correct? And you, Lucius, and you, Trugkar? Whatever this thing is, the moment we see it I want it dead."

"Trug bash," The Zangali affirms to Marcucilli as he moves quickly into the vegetation.

Alarmed and alert, one can see Lucius's shoulders tensen as he swings the rifle into a ready position, pointing towards the scream. He does a quick survey of the area, and nods at the boss. "Ready as they come." He answers.

There are sounds of twigs and foliage being crushed by something coming toward the clearing. A voice can be heard as the being approaches. "Help! Someone!"

"Come this way!" Marcuccilli shouts. "Lucius, Trugkar, make some noise somehow."

Make some noise. The easiest way to do that? Lucius removes his .45 from its holster with his free hand and fires a round in the air, causing a loud crack as the bullet sails upwards. He quickly replaces the pistol and continues on, quickly, after Marc.

Trugkar complies with his boss by unleashing a very loud belch and firing a couple shots of his rifle at the trees, lumbering along with Lucius.

Scrambling through the jungle appears to be a very haggard Timonae wearing a badly ripped camo outfit. "Lady Smile! Someone has come to rescue me." He smiles, revealing teeth that haven't seen proper dental hygiene in some time. "Who are you fine people?"

"I'll answer what, first," Marcuccilli replies. "We're heavily armed and highly curious. Tell us about this place." "What the hell are you running from? Quickly!" Lucius is very to the point, dropping down on one knee to better support the weight of his rifle. He seems to be balancing the act of being perceptive to listening to this haggard Timonae, although less the latter than the former.

Trugkar levels his rifle at the Timonae, as if to emphasize Marcucilli's statement.

The Timonae looks behind him and gestures back to the clearing. "Please, leave this place at once. The island is alive. It... it killed my whole squad. It was me and Wardan until a few minutes ago... back there... please, leave now!"

"Curious," Marcuccilli says. "How much firepower did you have?"

"This fucker wants the thing that killed his brother? Tell him he better get the island carpet bombed. If all these trees are alive then we don't have the firepower to deal with it." Lucius states bluntly. However, it doesn't look like he's about to go anywhere before being told to.

"We had three different landing zones on the island, twenty men each. Trust me, you can't--" The Timonae is cut off by vines lashing downward from the treetops and grabbing him by the arms, pulling him up into the canopy. Another short scream, ended by a cracking noise.

As the vines work above, large, vividly colored flowers begin to bloom on surrounding trees.

"I think," Marcuccilli says, "that it is time to leave now." He turns, and with a gesture at his guards begins to run as fast as he can--which isn't especially fast--toward the shore."

Trug follows suit, taking off as fast as an eight-foot-tall lizard can run.

Clicking his rifle on safety and slinging it over his shoulder, Lucius does likewise - he breaks out into a full sprint towards the landing zone.

As the Warrenites retreat, they might notice wisps of green spores floating through the air, though their eyesight is becoming a little blurred. Even though they run, they seem to be moving rather slowly. Then, a feeling of sluggishness and fatigue. The spores continue to fall like snow, their negligable weight a heavy burden on the backs of the syndicate members.

Marcuccilli lifts the edge of his coat up over his mouth and begins to breath through it, hoping to filter some out. "Keep moving!" he says, as best he can through the membrane. "You stop and you die!"

Despite the feelings of slowness and his blurring vision, Lucius continues to try and move as far away from the trees as possible. He drops the rifle on the ground, moving past it, trying with all of his strength to get safe. He does a similar thing to his boss, trying to cover his mouth with some fabric.

Trugkar snarls, attempting to brush off the spores as he lumbers along toward the clearing.

Despite his best efforts, Lucius's little filter of fabric makes little difference. He collapses to the ground in the sand a few meters away from his dropped sniper rifle, unconcious.

As Lucius and others of Marcucilli's guard fall to the green sleep, thick vines descend once more and wrap around the scaly form of Trugkar, lifting him upward toward the sky.

Marcuccilli looking around wildly, Marcuccilli pulls his pistol, pointing it at the nearest tree and yelling, "Drop him or I shoot!"

A sound of tree limbs creaking comes from behind Marcucilli. A voice, one that sounds like it has not spoken in a long time, utters a single word to the crime lord.

"No."

So of course, Marcuccilli looks over his shoulder, at the same time asking, "Who-- what are you?"

Behind Marcucilli is large sillhouette blocking the way to the landing area. Branches extend outward from the broad-shouldered body. A thick arm, almost as wide as a tree trunk itself, rushes to meet the form of the Sivadian gangster. "I am the Keeper."

There is a crunch as bark meets flesh.

And for Marcucilli, darkness.

The Grove A small clearing somewhere in the middle of one of New Luna's forests. The surrounding foliage seems to be larger and more verdant here. Enormous trees escalate toward the sky, letting in only the slightest amount of sunlight, and vines and roots snake out rampantly from overgrown plantlife. Some of the shrubbery seems almost entirely alien from the rest, bearing odd kinds of fruit and strange flowers. Off in the distance, the sounds of animals can be heard.

And with a start, Lucius jerks his head up. Unfortunately for him, he is also bound to a tree, which causes his head to smash into the bark. "FUCK!" He yells, in slight shock. The real shock is saved for a moment later, when he opens his eyes. "Got to be kidding me.."

Marcuccilli is across the clearing, head leaning forward and a nasty bruise on his forehead. Bound to another tree is Trugkar, who seems to be coming to right about now, given his incomprehensible grumbling.

At the center of the clearing stands the thing briefly viewed by Marcucilli earlier. Standing at ten feet tall, it seems as if the being couldn't decide on whether to be a person or a plant. Roots and plant matter make the structure of the body, with tree bark and lichen overtaking at seemingly random points on the body. A vague assumption of a head rests on broad shoulders, with deep set eyes that burn green at the center. He looks toward the hint of sunlight up at the canopy, unmoving.

Lucius doesn't know whether to be freaked out or to laugh it off as a bad dream. He ends up finding the middle balance - basically, shutting the heck up, if only for a moment. He stares at the creature/tree thing, motionless besides his breath. Finally, he speaks up. "Where are we and what are we doing here?"

Marcuccilli, for his part, is still unconscious.

Trugkar echoes Lucius's sentiments. "What stupid plant thing want?"

The plant-man turns toward Lucius. "You have trespassed." He pauses, focusing on Lucius, and then Marcucilli and Trugkar. "...but you are not like the first. Nor his kin."

Marcuccilli makes a noise that might signify he's near possibly soon waking up.

Trugkar snorts. "Trug not stupid softskin. Trug Zangali. Trug basherer."

"Trugkar. Shut your trap." Lucius says, evidently a bit disoriented from the effect of being hung upsidedown. He pauses, then speaks again. "We didn't know that you were the keeper of this island. We didn't know that there /was/ a keeper to the island, for that matter. Or that the forest itself would move in life."

Another long silence from the tree being. He shakes his head. "There is much you do not know."

"Ain't that the sad truth." Replies Lucius. "One of those things being.. what is going to happen, now?"

"You will take your men and leave this place, and I will spare your lives," the Keeper replies. "And speak of my presence to no one. If you trespass my lands again, you will die."

"That's a very acceptable outcome. You've been very generous." Answers the Martian man, his face red as a beet. Not only because of the heat, but also because an enormous amount of blood has rushed into his head. Comfy, for sure.

A massive hand is waved, and the vines uncoil themselves from around the Warrenites and snake back into the trees. "Go then."

Trugkar plummets about five feet onto the forest floor, landing with a thud in the dirt. "Stupid planty thingies. Stupid softskin water place," he mutters as he struggles to his feet.

Lucius lands on the ground with a thump, his back slamming against the jungle floor. He shakes the impact off and rises, then gives a mix of what one could call a respectful nod. Making sure he has all that he brought with him, and watches as the guards are also lowered from their trees. "Carry the Boss, boys, he's out cold. You won't do anything like that, Trug. The Keeper was nice enough to not devour your ass even though you've got a wide trap; now lets go as instructed." With that, he's off.