Poisonous Fox

“Mu-car-y.”

The infested guardsmen spoke haltingly when asked for what to call the Jungleborn. But after listening to it, as he led me further away from the pit and from Muleater, he repeated it several times, as though a tongue twister.

“Muh-kahr-ie,” he tried again, this time over pronouncing it.

I thought I might have had it. “Mucary?” I asked, smoothing out what he emphasized.

“y-Ye-hs.”

We soon reached the southern lip of the bowl, where the creature waited, standing tall against a pillar, viewing the shattered horizon.

The creature spoke, though those words were carried in scent, and my name was actually a scent profile that I only barely noticed as an absence. If I were to deconstruct it, my name was actually, ‘purple furred humanoid who is a friend.’ Obviously, a mouthful, or in this case, a noseful.

“Good morning,” I said, and then fumbled. “I, err, don’t know your actual name, unless you want to go by Mucary?”

Fortunately, there were infested creatures–mucary–nearby that still retained audible sensory and were able to translate my words to scent profile, otherwise communications would have remained difficult, though not impossible.

the last part I struggled to parse.

“Sorry?” I asked. “I couldn’t catch that.” It was definitely a complicated slew of scents and images, with even a partial dance mixed in. Altogether, it was so overwhelming as to be hypnotic, and made my own ‘name’ seem like a pebble to her mountain.

And they repeated the entire process once again, to repeat herself.

<...>

I could parse parts of it, but not fast enough.

Fortunately, one of the infested guardsmen was nearby to translate the hive-queen’s name into a verbal, humanized version, even if it was far too trite and wholly insufficient for the meaning that they wished to translate.

“Em-bo-roo.”

But even then, the infested guard, whose tongue was partially animated via tendrils, struggled to make the appropriate sound. I could tell the entire process pained everyone involved. They practically radiated frustration. And yet, they tried once more.

After a few more attempts, they finally came close enough that I caught it.

“Emboru.” the infested guardsmen finally said.

“That’s your name then?” I asked the hive-queen.

Again, I struggled to decipher all of the scent markers.

“h-Va-ahl,” the guardsmen said, then repeated several times until forming the word to their satisfaction, “Vaul.”

By then, minutes had passed, and that was solely to interpret their name in a method I could understand. I felt relief when I finally strung it all together, and I could tell they did as well, though there was an element of dissatisfaction as well.

“Then, Emboru of the Vaul Mucary, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

I largely kept myself calm and unmoving, considering Emboru. I still was unsure what they planned for me, or why they had helped me and then thrown me into a pit with Muleater, but I could guess.

“What can I help you learn?” I asked.

Emboru let silence hang while they loomed over me, examining me with their tulip shaped head. I doubted they had eyes there, at least none that I saw. However, they must have used it to sense me somehow.

I resisted the urge to scoff. It might have been offensive. Instead, I pretended to go along with their doubt. It was all a sleight of hand, and both of us knew it. We were merely feeling eachother out. I could play this game.

“I suppose there are many reasons to have steered me towards their caravan? to house me with a human?”

Because there was no way that my meeting with the mucary had been anything near chance. They had scouts spread out all across the wastes. They must have, if they could track the humans half so well, and with the number of infested creatures I had thus far seen. Nothing else made sense.

But the game continued, with Emboru playing coy.

Again, they continued with the overlapping sentences-worth of information. I was getting better at piecing it together though.

I pretended to tap my chin in thought, before asking aloud, “But wouldn’t Muleater be more of a prisoner than a guest?”

They acted as though it were a new concept, that there was a difference between guests and prisoners. Unless that really was a new concept to them, but they seemed too smart to not know that. No, I decided, they were pressing my buttons, estimating what made me tick. Likely, they had a future manipulation in store. In some ways, that reminded me of my–

“The difference is that prisoners aren’t voluntary,” I explained, cutting off the unpleasant thoughts before they could devolve further.

Well, I supposed that in some instances guests had nowhere else to go, or lacked the means to leave.

“There are edge cases, I suppose… but let me ask you this–” I licked my canines in preparation for a potentially unpleasant answer, “Am I a prisoner?”

Emboru sent forcefully.

“If that’s the case, then why are you imprisoning me in a pit?!” I asked, immediately regretting the tone I was setting. It had been rash.

Fortunately, they took it well enough. Surprisingly well. I wondered if they would have taken it a bit more poorly had I nothing they wanted. Actually, scratch that. I already knew the answer to that particular question. Had I nothing they wanted, I would already be infested.

Emboru continued.

I hated how reasonable they made it sound. Of course, the hivemind of zombie-like tentacle creatures have trouble socializing with outsiders. And of course, they lack awareness of appropriate accommodations. Except by their own words, they had epochs worth of knowledge, likely some including not housing people in latrine pits.

But I sensed that Emborue would not be budging here and now. No, this was all merely to determine what kind of person I was, and if I could deliver what they wanted.

I decided to take another track.

“And of Muleater? Could better accommodations be provided–”

I barely had time to finish the question before Emborue snapped several tendrils together, cracking the air.

They radiated anger. All of the mucary did. And while Emboru may have lacked a face, I could practically feel the scowl. It was a sudden mood shift. And we had danced around the topic of Muleater previously. I was uncertain why directly mentioning her accommodations would cause such a reaction. Wisely, I refrained from pushing, lest I also be contaminated with whatever about Muleater upset them.

was all they sent. They pulled away as they sent it, and the infested guardsmen were quick to return me to the pit.

It seemed I had a puzzle to unravel. Just what had Muleater done, and what horrible fate was planned for her?

Muleater was pacing by the time I crested the top of the pit, though she stopped immediately upon seeing me. She frowned with worry at first, but then quickly began glaring at me, especially as I climbed down the ladder to rejoin her.

“Well?” she all but demanded. “What did these monsters want? Thought they were going to infest you, but I see that’s not the case. Or is it?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I shrugged, unsure of what I should say. That I had been speaking to the leader, Emboru, and asking why our accommodations were so lacking? I thought Muleater might respond poorly to that. But I needed to offer some sort of answer. As the silence stretched on, I realized I would look fairly suspicious if I was unable to provide at least something.

So I began with the barebones.

“They took me up to the southern lip of the valley,” I said.

She pursed her lips, confused.

“Why?”

Because of course she would want more.

“The leader wanted to speak with me,” I said, wincing as she snarled and latched onto the front of my jacket.

“The wykwirk don’t speak,” she hissed.

“Ah–” I thought quickly of a method that would neither be a deceit nor reveal too much of my own capabilities, or of my relations with Emboru. “-but, you’ve heard the infested humans speak?” I asked weakly.

She scoffed and let me go.

“Alright,” she said. “So what did it want? They sent you here to put the screws to me?” She sneered.

I shook my head. “I requested better accommodations. They really are mad at you. What did you do to them?’

“They even feel emotion?”

“Yes?”

“How. How can you tell?”

I pointed at my noise. “They carry different scent markers.”

“Well, they probably know it was me that led the defence against them. I killed a lot of them.”

“Really?” I asked. “I got the impression that the individuals didn’t matter too much to the whole.”

“Like insects.”

I winced, but nodded slightly, hoping I would not be overheard by the mucary . That seemed like the type of thing that would offend them.

“If not that, then only the Crown knows.” She sighed, slouching against the earthen wall.

We both remained silent, in thought. And I recalled back to when the mucary first attacked.

Why had they attacked the caravan? There must have been a reason. And thinking back, there had been a crate that had smelled distressed, similar to the mucary, though I had not realized it at the time.

If I recalled correctly, it had been an interest of the alchemist.

Realizing I might have stumbled on a clue, I asked suddenly, “What was in the crate?”

“What?” Muleater asked, looking up. From the shadows of the pit, her face was largely concealed, but I could see her eyes focus like a hawk beneath the grime.

“There was a crate, I think that the alchemist was shipping. It smelled like the infested. I think that might have been why they attacked, and I was wondering what was in it. If that might explain some of the aberrant behavior.”

Rather than answering, Muleater swore.

“Gods take you Charson!”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

Talents:

Athleticism (3/9):

Climbing I (1/9)

Featherlight (5/9)

Stealth I (4/9)

Trackless Tracks (8/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver (2/9)

Evasion (6/9)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (6/9)

Closed

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (3/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)