Log: The Glorious Beetle-Hunters of Cibola

[beatrice_rta]

Note: the whispers between Cyrus and Beatrice should not be assumed to be instant

Mon Mar 17 15:03:12 2008



--[ Cyrus ]---------------------------------------------------[ idle 42s ]----

A man of below average height whose thin frame proves to be constructed of wiry muscles. His short blonde hair has been cut very recently. His eyes are emerald green and rarely stay focused on one thing for very long. His skin is tanned and his nose has been broken at least once.
He wears sturdy, well-made clothes in shades of grey and green along with black boots which fold over at the knee. The hilts on his blades follow the same green and grey color scheme.

--------------------------------------------------------------[ male pbg ]----

--[ Lucretia ]-------------------------------------------------[ idle 1m ]----

Appearing to be in her early to mid twenties, Lucretia is not more than average in height. However, she is a demure package of a woman, with long, thick reddish gold hair which falls below her hips when it's allowed to; presently it's worn in a single braid as thick as her wrist, bound at the end with black rawhide cord. A thick fringe covers her forehead, falling almost to the delicately pointed arch of her eyebrows, eyes slanting slightly exotically, irises a creamy dark blue. Her face is heart-shaped, chin delicately pointed, her lips full save when pulled thin in disapproval or in a sleek, feline smile.

Presently, she wears a white shirt with bloused sleeves with snug cuffs, the tailored collar unbuttoned to just below her collarbone. A snug black rawhide vest cinches in beneath her breasts, and she wears an ankle-length black skirt which is slit up to the hip on both sides, some sort of white shorts barely visible underneath. With this she wears a pair of water-treated rawhide boots with soft soles that lace all the way up to mid-thigh; a dagger is at her waist, a whip coiled neatly on the other side.

-------------------------------------------------[ female pbg no-chatter ]----

The trip to Cibola is backed by favourable winds, moving away from Amber as it is. The spot has been pinpointed on the map after fairly thoroughly exhaustive research with some sailors; many people have not wanted to talk about the place to where they are going. It is a particularly barren stretch of coast; a horseshoe bay is blue and green, white sand backed by green jungle. The bay is mercifully a bluewater inlet, but it goes from blue to shallows very quickly, requiring a tender be lowered for accessing the shore.

The beach itself is white sand which rapidly turns into stones that crunch unpleasantly underfoot. The jungle canopy is thick, all but shutting out the light of day; and there is a silence only rarely broken by the flap of wings of some unseen bird taking off, the sleepy hum now and again of insect wings.

Beatrice and the Benedict are in fact on the beach, or rather, lurking in the shade at the edge of it, sheltering under some mosquito netting set up in a canopy. There is tea involved.

Cyrus pulls the oars into the little boat and beaches it. He swings over the edge and crunches onto the beach before waving a bright yellow flag in the direction of The Coda. He then looks around to get a sense of the place.

Lucretia moves to help drag the tender up onto the beach so it can't be caught by the tide, then looks up and around. "Well," she says brightly. "It appears we're here. I've got a map which is supposed to take us to the Folly. Oh, there's the Prince! And my cousin!" She is unbelievably perky, despite her lack of coffee. She bounces with every step.

Beatrice leaves off the tea, and the netting, as the boat pulls in, and greets the boat with a wave and a smile.

Beatrice shouts, "Lucy! Cyrus!" in greeting.

Benedict is smearing some kind of cream onto his skin, and the mosquitos leave him alone as he leaves the netting, packs it swiftly, and shoulders the tiny back-pack that holds it and the tea-things.

Heulwen appears somewhat out of place but tags along for the adventure helping out when needed.

Cyrus slaps the back of his neck and then his forearm. "Ah," he says. "Cibola."

Beatrice must already be smeared, as the mosquitos also seem to bear little interest in her. "Lucy!" she greets, "Cyrus! Ah, and Lady Heulwen. Welcome to Cibola, inseed." Her eyes crinkle. And not just from the sun.

"Cibola," Lucretia agrees cheerfully. She seems unbothered by the bugs, for some reason. "Hullo, Bea, darling. So, let me get the map." She fishes in her pack, coming up with a bone tube from which she takes yellowing parchment. "Who wants to lead? I'm here mainly for the beetles, so I'll be bent over a lot staring at insects. I'll lead if you want, though."

Benedict comes on down the beach, and takes another tube of the cream out of his pocket as he does so, waving it gently to catch Cyrus' attention. An offer, rather than a taunt.

Cyrus takes the tube with a nod of thanks and begins applying it. Once he's done he offers it to Heulwen.

Benedict offers, "Lead. Do you need a handy machete?" He flexes his fingers, his left hand.

Heulwen accepts it from Cyrus clearly confused about the bugs but not the application. "Is this what Gilgamesh meant about bugs?" She asks Cyrus, "How do you get them in traps?"

Cyrus replies, "I think the ones we're looking for are bigger."

Lucretia surrenders the map to Benedict. It is somewhere in the jungle. "Machete probably would help," she agrees. "We're looking for white beetles which are only found in and around Garn's Folly. It's supposed to be about a mile from the beach."

Beatrice is curious, "I only have a small pack... any traps that need carrying?"

Benedict says to Cyrus, "I assume you know how to use a compass?" lightly.

Cyrus nods to Benedict and by way of further answer, produces just such an instrument. He opens it and checks the position of the sun.

Heulwen watches Cyrus check the compass, then looks down the long beach. "Do we have reason to expect something to go wrong?"

Cyrus snorts

Benedict says, "North by nor'west, until we hit the first mark, handrail the river north until we can cross it, and then due west a quarter mile. Plenty of marks along the way." He seems ready to set off.

Beatrice warns, "At the very least you'll wind up with leeches under your trousers," to Heulwen.

Cyrus listens closely to Benedict and appears to be taking mental notes.

Benedict even shows Cyrus the map, while waiting for further instruction.

--[ Heulwen ]--------------------------------------------------[ idle 1m ]----

Heulwen is taller than average for a woman with a near boyish slenderness. Pale hair is nearly white and highlighted with a subtle shade of blue which creates an interesting ripple effect among wavy tendrils. Inquisitive indigo eyes and a clear complexion combine with schooled alabaster features to lend a 'borrowed' air of composure. An easy going manner betrays a need to be constantly seeking new adventures when coupled with a youthful appearance.

Black leather pants fit snuggly in over her hips as if they were cut for a man. A wide leather belt cinches at her waist. A white silk shirt is worn beneath an oversized black leather jacket; the top few buttons are left open at the neck. Her boots are sturdy black leather. A sturdy leather backpack, oiled and likely water resistant is worn over her jacket.

-----------------------------------------------------[ female pbg finger ]----

Heulwen nods and seems to note the warning. It does not appear to deter her enthusiasm for the adventure.

Lucretia hefts her pack, moving to fall into line. She does seem to be staring very intently at any and all insects who cross her path. "The traps are folded up. The beetles are said to be found only around and in the Folly itself, so I'm leaving them in until we get closer."

Cyrus has no pack but a small crossbow hangs from his belt along with his usual sword and dagger. He looks balefully towards the jungle.

Benedict sets off, as there seems to be a good consensus that he should. He knows which end of a machete is which, and luckily, his sword seems perfect for the job. Almost as if he thought of it earlier. He glances over his shoulder to Cyrus to make sure he is at #2 and then that's it, driving into the jungle.

Beatrice wonders, "Is there anything in particular we need to get with them to feed them on or any such thing?"

Beatrice is, on the other hand, taking up the rear.

Beatrice is doing so watchfully, mind.

Heulwen starts to follow after Cyrus and Benedict with a complete lack of fear for the unknown.

Cyrus follows out of sword's reach and sets to land navigation.

Benedict is more than efficient. He is implacable, as if the jungle is a foe and must be conquered. Hack, slash - and never with a moment missed. he is sweating heavily in the heat, but not breathing hard. He does not look back at Cyrus again, although he keeps an eye out for the flanks.

The jungle's density only increases. There appears to be the remains of a stony path of sort, but it rapidly vanishes into the leaf mould and bracken underfoot; here and there is the quiet scrape of tree limb against tree limb, of scales against bark as some unseen serpent or venomous toad makes its displeasure known at having two-legged beasts invade its abode. The first landmark is almost unseen - save that one grotesque carven mouth has the light of the unforgiving sun shining directly upon its broken-toothed maw in a break at the treetops. The swollen protuberance of its tongue is an obscene thing, the rest covered in vines from which sprout sickly-sweet scented waxen yellow flowers.

Heulwen's jacket is removed at some point and wrapped effiently around her backpack. She buttons the top buttons of her silk shirt as she does and seems to be able to follow behind as if it were one of any number of tasks she can keep track of at the same time.

Benedict pauses and says to Cyrus, "Mark," and sinks to one knee to drink some water. He glances around the rest of the group as well, checking on them. Habit.

Beatrice drinks water, as well. Or any way, something from a thermos.

Cyrus checks the compass and the area around the group, orienting and comparing things to the map. He follows Benedict's example and takes a swig from a canteen. Every now and then he looks skyward, as well.

The sky is bright blue with only a few fluffy, fleecy clouds; little to cut off the glare of the sun. It's early afternoon, to gauge by its position, and from somewhere ahead in the jungle's stygian gloom comes the sound of running water. From somewhere deeper in the jungle there comes the raucous shriek of some bird.

Heulwen finds a canteen in her backpack, she pulls it out to have available before organizing things in the pack compulsively and moving the leather coat to the bottom of the pack since she has a moment while they have stopped. A scarf is found to tie her long hair out of her face.

Benedict asks "Miss Daffydd, would you like some cooler clothing?" as he gets ready to get up.

Lucretia absentmindedly draws a dagger, tucking it into her waistband.

Heulwen shakes her head briefly determined to man it out. "No."

Benedict glances to Beatrice, nods to Heulwen, and then gets up and goes on. Hack Slash. Pause to sharpen machete. Hack.

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict means to keep an eye on her for heat exhaustion, of course.

Privately, to Benedict, Beatrice probably already is, bringing up the rear.

Cyrus follows doggedly. From time to time, his free hand finds its way onto a hilt or near his crossbow.

The river is discovered almost by surprise. The rushing of it gets louder and louder, and then there is a break in the jungle; the ground falls away, two idols carved of agonized faces conjoined into a twisting, piled mass of bodyless heads are to either side of a rope bridge leading over the rushing water. Here and there, rocks stick up, the water forced to rush around the jagged edges.

Privately, to Beatrice, Heulwen follows along behind Cyrus, she does not seem to be overly burdened by the weight of her pack. She is hot but seems to be the type of girl who his often pushing herself to the limits of her endurance in one way or another.

Benedict pauses again to look around. "Mark," he says to Cyrus, nodding to the idols, and then he sinks to one knee against to examine the crossing. Too, too military.

Cyrus does as he is asked and then studies the idols. From a distance.

Lucretia peers at one of the idols from up close, curious - then disappointed. "Scarab beetles. Not a bit of white."

Heulwen's belt ends up tucked away in her backpack at this stop. She doesn't really need it and her shirt is pulled away from her skin to fall loose.

Here, too, the idols are covered in those strange flowers and vines. The scent is not unpleasant; it grows on one. The flowers are large, with a mildly waxy sheen, and the aggressive stamens common in tropical flowers, thick with whitish-yellow pollen.

Benedict instructs, "One at a time, I go first, you come when I take a knee on the other side." He checks everyone has that right, and then sets off, sword sheathed. The idols and the flowers seem not to bother him.

Lucretia seems accepting of these orders. "I remember the last time I was in a jungle like this. Of course, I wasn't hunting /bugs/ that time."

Benedict has quit the army, but apparently it won't quit him, and he is the sort to check the opposite bank thoroughly before he kneels.

Cyrus pockets the compass and follows once Benedict gives the 'all clear'. He moves slowly though the rocking of the bridge seems to cause him little concern. He does, however, refrain from looking down.

Benedict points out to Cyrus, "Mark," of an idol picked out by a solitary shaft of sunlight. A frog is doing something horrible to a sloth, there.

Cyrus studies this tableau perhaps a bit longer than is scrictly necessary.

The idols on the other side appear more overgrown than the ones on the first side. Overhead, a few more lazy white clouds begin to blow in.

Heulwen walks across the rope bridge as if she has no fear of the rushing river below the bridge. She may even look down at it once or twice longingly as if it may suddenly and abruptly satisfy her heat problem.

Beatrice is all business across the bridge, as usual, checking behind and sides as much as front. Even on the bridge. The idols receive a more-than-cursery glance and she notes, "We've been running into some trouble with local religious types. I wonder what this place's signifiance is."

Benedict takes on more water, and looks innocent. One of the idols has had a haircut, vegetation trimmed neatly back.

Lucretia follows Heulwen, glancing over to Beatrice. "Really? What kind of religion?"

Cyrus might be leaning a bit closer to the trimmed idol as he looks around.

Beatrice answers, "Not sure, honestly. The Black Road is trying to get a foothold, though."

(Carved gibbering mouths reach to envelop both sloth and toad.)

Beatrice blinks a bit. She points at where the sloth and toad were, but then, she is in the rear. "Did anyone else see that?"

Cyrus takes a slow, cautious step away from the idol. "Huh," he says. He follows this utterance up with another, "Huh."

Beatrice loosens the sword her sword in its scabbard.

Benedict looks out into the jungle, scanning the green.

The trees are entirely silent now. Even the insects have stopped buzzing.

Cyrus unhooks the crossbow from his belt and arms it.

Heulwen mutters to Lucretia, "... clothes."

Benedict says, "Stand to," and then translates, "On the Alert."

Muttering to Heulwen, Lucretia turns to Heulwen. "Er?... I... said... do..."

Beatrice is alert, but doesn't go for her bow yet. She seems to want to keep her sword-arm free, perhaps as wary as the nearby idols than the distant jungle.

Beatrice remarks, softly, "The idols are eating things."

Lucretia tells Benedict, "I'll guard Heulwen. She's got to change."

Benedict says, "Clothes in Beatrice's backpack," and keeps on looking out, not letting talking interrupt his conversation.

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict didn't pack spare clothes in your pack.

From somewhere deeper into the forest there is a dragging, scraping sound. It is still distant.

Beatrice nods, and offers it. "Mind the stuff inside the red pack," she warns.

Heulwen appears to have clothes in her own pack, it is a very organized pack. A FANTASTIC Karm backpack.

Benedict says, "Quickly or not at all."

Cyrus eyes the jungle and turns toward the sound. He raises his crossbow.

Beatrice suggests, "Perhaps now isn't the time...?" At the sound. She takes her pack back.

Beatrice changes her mind, goes for bow instead of sword.

Lucretia mutters something foul-sounding and draws her whip.

Heulwen does not decide to shed her clothes though a set of more reasonable clothing rests now at the top of the backpack which she shrugs back over her shoulders as if bracing for trouble. She appears to not be carrying any range weapons but a small sharp knife is now in her hand.

Benedict asks Lucretia, "On?" as she is heading the expedition. He does not seem unduly worried by hungry idols or strange jungle sounds.

There is a sudden scream, and a pack of goat-like creatures on two legs with mottled black skins charge out of the trees. Their breasts are full and supple as human breasts, but dark with shining scars where nipples might ordinarily be. Their eyes are yellow and their teeth the sharp, rending fangs of predators, and in their horny claws they hold assegai of rusting metal. Seven there are in number, and each is fully eight feet tall.

Benedict reacts like he has been fore-warned, moving towards into the path of the beasts, but he does not give them all his attention. He checks the flanks again, gives another glance above.

Cyrus shouts, "Crap!" and sends a bolt towards the nearest goat-giant. He then attempts to rehook his crossbow while drawing his sword. The sword is in his hand but the crossbow falls to the ground.

Three more burst from the other side, snarling with slavering jaws while the first group breaks into four and three. The four seem intent upon Benedict; the other three, upon Cyrus.

Beatrice has her bow read, and lets the arrows fly. She seems to have allowed for where Benedict is likely to push himself, and there's no chance of her bows misfiring and, say, hitting him. She's swift with her bow, and deadly accurate.

Beatrice reminds, "Don't let your guard down on those idols," under her breath to Lucy and Heulwen as she continues to let arrows go.

Heulwen appears to be perfectly willing to let whatever comes come at her, but for once she isn't actually rushing into the danger to confront goat-giants. This leaves her open to watch the idols.

Cyrus leaps toward the nearest goat creature and slashes her with his blade. He catches her neatly across the hamstring as he moves past her. This puts him right in the path of a second goat person's fist. Cyrus's head rocks backwards as he is punched squarely in the chin by a savage uppercut. His sword flies out of his hand and he slams into the back of the goat monster he cut.

A boot to the kneecap, a slash over the throat, an elbow to the chest - Benedict fights hard and dirty, and very very fast. He has seen the other groups but does not react to them.

Beatrice lets out a soft noise, lets her bow drop and takes the sword out as she rushes in to Cyrus's position. The fighting was getting too close for arrows, anyway.

The goat woman who had been injured by Cyrus howls and stoops down to pick the man up. She turns and sprints into the jungle with him.

The idols do not appear to be moving; or not very rapidly, in any case. Benedict is managing to make mincemeat of the first goat-creatures to attack him, the other two trying to get into a position to attack him in turn. The goat creature who's struck Cyrus lets out a howl, following her sister, leaving one to snarlingly try and bar pursuit. Beatrice's arrows deal with two of the remaining three; the remaining one moves menacingly towards Heulwen and Lucretia.

Beatrice does not cry out; she fights with a sharp eye and a disciplined wit despite the tight urgency overcoming her. The goat creature between herself and Cyrus is being dealt with first.

Heulwen widens the distance between her and Lucretia only slightly as if she were trying to make the creature commit to attacking one but not both of them. She seems to be prepared to strike out with fists and knife if the creature picks her but Lucretia has some range with her whip.

Benedict grimaces as he sees Cyrus go, but finishes off what he is doing rather than trying to be heroic. Blood splatters, mostly in directions that keep his face and eyes clear of it.

The whip snakes out, grappling one of the goat creature's arms; the one in which the assegai is held. Lucretia yanks on the whip, forcing the creature to stumble to one side.

Benedict's able to dispatch the other two goat creatures without too much trouble, although one does manage to get his sword hung up for a moment on her spear. It's a temporary setback at best, however. Beatrice runs into a similar problem, albeit with just one on her - its purpose seems to try and prevent her from following, rather than an attempt to outright kill her, giving fewer openings in an all-out assault.

Benedict kicks the last goat-creature to death; maybe he meant to hang up the spear on the sword - maybe he just made it look that way. He turns to check what is happening, and run a beady eye over the jungle again.

Beatrice's style is not unlike Benedict's in that it is highly physical; she doesn't depend on just her sword. Kicks, elbows, and a precise use of body weight are all brought to bear. She gets around the goat-woman's defenses to deliver a final cut, severing head from neck (despite the height) while at the same time giving a last kick to push her back so that the head and blood roll and spurt off to the side, covering neither her nor the tracks.

Heulwen pounces the one that Lucretia pulls over as if she has some pent up aggression to spare. The small Rebman may not seem like much of a threat but she is quite a dirty fighter. She seems to be willing to use fist and fingernails as well as the small blade.

Blood and gore seem to seep into the jungle floor without much need for encouragement. Where the idol has been spattered, the blood is absorbed into the stone thirstily.

Beatrice says, tense with worry, just the name, "Cyrus."

Lucretia says grimly, "We'll find him." She eyes the corpse Heulwen's so brutally and efficiently dispatched, and kicks it towards the edge of the ravine.

Benedict snaps to Lucretia, "Quiet," and turns back to listening to the jungle.

Beatrice takes up the fallen machete, looking prepared to take point, but she is tense and waiting for Benedict, watching him and the jungle.

Things are still quiet, but the dragging sound has stopped.

Benedict glances to Lucretia. "On?" he suggests, but he glances to the trail left by the goat-woman.

Heulwen nods and cleans her knife before tucking it out of sight.

Lucretia looks at Benedict, then at the trail. "Check the map. See if it's the same direction. I don't anticipate a heck of a lot of structures being built out here." She rolls her whip up.

Beatrice doesn't have the map so is left waiting, tense. Straining at the bit. Straining for something. "Damn the stale air," she hisses. "I can hear nothing from him."

Beatrice whispers, nonetheless: brief, and under her breath. Given to the wind, what little there is of it.

Heulwen rubs the back of her neck and sits down somewhere there is no blood and gore--or not much. Waiting for Benedict and Lucretia to be ready to continue.

Benedict says without having to look, even, "Along that area. If we handrail the idol-path to avoid it, we'll be in a position to look in on the target, and if they turn over our trail before us, we'll know." He does not add the significant riders like 'lost in the jungle' and 'doomed' that Lucretia will have to factor in for herself.

Lucretia says calmly, "Let's do it. I have faith in us. And Cyrus wouldn't leave us behind." So she's claiming. Easy to do with Cyrus there not to contradict her!

Beatrice has heard what she needs, and looks prepared to take point, Cyrus's machete in hand. 'That area' is persued, and the unspoken filled in.

Benedict glances to Beatrice, and then what would be the back of the line, but does not force the matter. He sets off at a quick pace.

Heulwen appears to be willing to follow along on a rescue mission. She seems to have forgotten the desire to change her clothing for the moment.

The jungle thickens quickly; however, there is a path left by hooves dug deep into the turf below. Not just one set of hooves, either; it appears that there is a trail of sorts, used not infrequently.

Beatrice was closer to the path, and already on point. She's restrained enough not to rush headlong into danger or doing anything stupid, but it's personal now.

Benedict wasn't so close to the jungle as he wanted to be, so he has to settle for pausing that fast pace, and then going at the back. He looks like he thinks it is a bad idea, but 'personal' over-rules him.

Heulwen rubs the side of her head briefly and blinks as if she were trying to clear her vision. She takes a deep breath and continues along with the rest.

Lucretia takes a position in the middle somewhere, following Beatrice. She's frowning, but so far doesn't really look worried as much as she does interested.

Benedict sticks close behind Heulwen.

The idols begin appearing again - but this time, not where marked on the map. They are larger now, fully the height of a man, and begin to take on more defined shapes, of strange, rutting beasts, writhing with odd markings, marbled veins throughout the stone. The large yellow flowers grow here as well, vines wrapping as if to hold the beasts in their eternal caress.

Beatrice cuts with the machete as she must as she goes, noting the idols of course. And with a wary eye on everything else.

Long distance to Cyrus: Beatrice has sent a whisper: we are coming. Send word back if the damned stale air allows.

Heulwen follows walks near Benedict she seems to be improving just from the conversation. It must be an inspirational pep talk!

Benedict ushers Heulwen, as he keeps an eye on the back of the party. Someone always has to stick in the rear with the beer, and today it is he.

The jungle opens up suddenly. Set down into a hollow there is a stone structure which has half-collapsed in ruins in places; a rectangular opening leads into gaping darkness. Two massive idols stand guard, it appears; both of strange creatures; man-like, with rampant horns and phallus, scars and cicatrixes carved deep into their flesh.

Heulwen's lips seem to be moving along to something, but upon spying the massive idols ahead, she says, "Not that's interesting."

Benedict says, "Mm. That scarring is the sort that barbed thorns make, around wrist and ankle." Even though he is at codpiece level, he seems unembarrassed.

Beatrice has followed the tracks to this point, and pauses, to study the figures and the surroundings. "The tracks go down and in," she murmurs for the others.

From afar, Cyrus's voice is muffled but the whisper comes through. It says, "Bea? I'm hurt but alive...Oh, just *great*. Another altar...

"Well, then I guess so will we." Lucretia touches her whip as if it's a lucky charm.

Beatrice then catches something. A rustling of leaves brings a faint breeze from the direction of the temple. A tautness in her is very faintly relieved. "Cyrus is alive but hurt. He also said something about 'great another altar.'" She whispers under her breath again.

Beatrice holds her hand up for Lucy to wait.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice's voice comes when the breeze allows, "Can you tell us what is inside the stone structure waiting? How deep in you are?"

Benedict looks for another way down, catches himself doing so, and forces himself to relax and not be in charge.

Beatrice nods for Benedict to get on with what he's doing. She's straining at the breeze now.

Benedict is looking at the jungle, but tells Heulwen, "Listen out," and steps foward just enough to check out the area without skylining dramatically.

Heulwen may not understand what Benedict is saying, but she goes quiet and seems to be paying attention to the area around her. Her knife may be noted in her hand at this time.

There appears only the one way into the temple; although it's possible the wreckage may have opened up other ways.

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus says, "Big room...huge. I'm alone but there's chanting. I'm right in the middle and there's one...no, two exits. Maybe momre."

Beatrice shakes her head. She keeps lookout while Benedict prowls about, keeping an eye particularly on the idols, but also on anything in place to jump the ex-field-marshal. She breathes, "He's in a big room, huge. Alone but there's chanting. There's two exits, he's in the middle."

Benedict grimaces. "Funnel," he warns. He obviously wants to go first, but does not ask to.

Beatrice frowns, "We should hurry."

Beatrice seems to mean this for Benedict, which means he's back on point.

Benedict steps forward - and is running by the time he hits the slope. he's strong, agile, fast, and apparently determined to set off any traps /behind/ him, and not in front.

Just inside the temple are steps leading down into the depths. They are wet, and slime drips from the walls. Ahead of Benedict is a shapeless congerie of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light reflect from the tunnel ahead.

Beatrice warns, "Don't follow *too* close," to the others. In case he does set off traps. She takes goes in behind him, keeping the right distance, herself.

Confronted with something that fills the tunnel like a train, Benedict tries his sword on it.

Benedict leaves his current cluster.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice whispers, "Keep me informed if things change."

Beatrice's sword is out as well. She's ready to take her position back-to-back with Benedict if it comes to an open fight, but for now stays cclear of his swing.

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus says, "still tied up..."

Heulwen lingers near Lucretia and her lips move faintly as if she were praying or chanting.

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus says, "Footsteps coming...lots of company now...Uh, oh...High Priestess!"

Beatrice hisses carefully, and the words stay only to those near her, "Footsteps coming near Cyrus -- he says the high priestess." Tense.

The creature roils forward, a low sussurrent moaning echoing eerily through the corridor. It is a gibbering which comes from many mouths, though it has no mouth at all; only eyes. It lurches towards Benedict with gelatinous motion.

Benedict tries a sword-stroke, silver blade flashing down. "Back," he warns the others, and he looks prepared to spring out of the way as well.

In the distance comes the sound of high pipes in mad tunes.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice says, "Have encountered shoggoth-thing. On our way."

Heulwen backs up at the order and yet there is something about the way she tenses herself that suggests she might throw herself into the face of danger despite all caution.

Beatrice whispers under her breath, even while stepping back. It's a good thing it's a bit draftier down here.

Lucretia seems to have - believe it or not - been distracted from the behemoth Benedict is fighting. "Beetles!" She's scrambling to get her traps out of her backpack, setting them up at the exit and unfolding them to lock them into place.

Beatrice hisses, "Lucy, we can get them on the way -out-."

The thing splits slightly as Benedict slices into it, but then it accelerates like a steam piston, and engulfs him. It is translucent, and he can still be seen inside, moving in slow motion. By the time it slows and starts moving back, he has dropped his sword and is trying to get his hand up in front of him.

Lucretia calls to Beatrice, "They're shake and expand. They'll fill up and we'll be able to grab them on the way out."

Beatrice is probably failing to register what Lucretia is saying, or perhaps it will sit in some unregistered place, to be processed later. Right now there is a prince with one arm trying to breath inside a gelatinous monster right in front of her. Clearly, if the slice approach didn't work from Benedict, it's not going to work. But then this is the jungle, and there have been leeches.... she rummages frantically in her pack for salt calling for, "Ideas?" very rapidly before spraying some of the salt at the thing.

Heulwen watches the creature and Benedict and then turns toward Lucretia, she look sready to tackle Lucretia out of the path of the monster if it comes to that.

Although the salt makes the creature quiver, it also makes it retreat at speed, with the Prince still inside.

Beatrice curses, "Damn," which is as strong as it gets form her mouth, and gives chase, shouting, "More salt!" She's trying to get her hands around more while giving chase.

Benedict makes a few short choppy gestures with his hand, glare and gloop occluding what he does, and the thing begins to roil and bubble, first of all around his hand and then all around him. It even starts to dissolve at the edges, where the salt hit and then all over.

Heulwen chases after Beatrice when she goes after the creature but stops as the thing begins to disolve around Benedict.

Beatrice gets more salt sprayed in waves, to try to dissolve down to Benedict. She's also VERY alert lest she get absorbed by the remaining creature, herself.

Scrambling to join Heulwen and Beatrice, Lucretia looks around. "...Huh. It's falling to pieces."

Benedict spits out phlegm, with a sound like 'waghnagle' and reaches almost blindly for his sword. He has cleared the way, but at the cost of choking on goo and losing vision down to a very basic level, and he is not going to be fighting much until recovered.

Beatrice closes the distaince to Benedict, her pack open, she scrambles to get him things to wipe himself clear with. A pair of linen shorts, a head-scarf.... A helpful thump on the back.

Benedict lets Beatrice wipe his face as he scrambles for his sword, and then staggers on, still trying to get to Cyrus in time, but now no longer the efficient choice.

Lucretia frowns. "Your highness. Let me tend to you." She looks to Beatrice and Heulwen. "You two go on ahead, maybe." She's already reaching for her pack.

Heulwen watches Benedict, "I've been swallowed before," Heulwen says, "By a sea monster it wasn't very pleasant for some time afterwards."

From somewhere there is a shout in a strange tongue. The voice sounds like it could be Cyrus', however.

Beatrice nods, and with a solemn look at Benedict, she turns to take point. She's no less urgent. Onwards and inwards and... downwards. Alert. But hurrying.

Benedict looks up at Heulwen and Beatrice. "Run," he croaks. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just a splutter.

Heulwen nods once, sputters, "Yes!" and runs after Beatrice with her lips moving as if in a soft prayer that keeps oxygen going to her lungs.

Beatrice is gone from Benedict's sight, soon enough.

Heulwen continues behind Beatrice perhaps not the best armed to rush into a combat. Still, she has spirit and enthusiasm what else could she need?

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus says, "Priestess...knife...knife!!"

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice's whisper is breathless, "Running...."

Beatrice is moving at speed, which is to say breakneck speed, sword loose and ready. She's alert, knowing she's running into a mess of trouble, and hisses at Heulwen, "We'll be outnumbered, and we have to take out the priestess most of all, and they'll be surrounded. Can you keep a few busy while I go for her?"

"I'll do everything that I can," Heulwen says which may not be reassuring. "I've been in streetfights and bar fights--I can start a brawl." It's a lot of words to come out and be trying to keep up with Beatrices speed, they don't all come out at once.

The two women charge into a large chamber filled with robed cultists, easily one hundred of them, though the chamber is large enough for five hundred. They are masked, the women wearing masks to look like goat's heads, the men wearing faceless black masks. Murals upon the walls hurt the eyes with their bright colours, the scenes seeming to change and shift the more they are stared at. One woman is without robes; she straddles Cyrus, demanding something of him in strange words. Her skin is pale as the moon and strange black letters writhe upon her skin, across her naked breasts. Now she reaches for a dagger, lifting it high in both hands over her head as she demands something of Cyrus.

Cyrus strains against his bonds and fixes the priestess with a crazed glare. He shouts a single word. "Hastyr!" It seems to cause him pain and he gasps, falling back onto the slab. The sound of his head against the stone rings through the room. He inhales slowly and deeply as if to shout again.

"Ahhh!" The shout is led bythe priestess, and she lifts her hand to her head. The crowd goes wild. Not just wild, but really wild. This is rugby match, teams tied for hours, just scored the winning goal wild. It is just one shout; and then they go silent again. The knife drops from the woman's hand, and she places both hands on Cyrus' chest, remonstrating with him, imploring.

Heulwen appears to be ready to charge in and start fighting but she hesitates as Beatrice pulls out her bow waiting for an order that she might, under other circumstances, resent.

Beatrice warns Heulwen, "Get ready," under her breath as she readies and aims are bow. Aim. A whisper.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice says, "I have her in my sights. Fire?"

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus says, "Yessss"

Beatrice fires.

Cyrus takes another ragged breath and shouts "Hastyr" a second time.

A fighting, furious small mass of raging Rebman girl, Heulwen seems prepared to do her best to be bait launching into the room of followers in what could only be a bad decision. With a small knife blade in one hand and fists and sharply filed fingernails, she strike out at random at whomever gets into her path. She seems willing to take the beating that will follow. "Come get me!"

There is a scream from the priestess as an arrow buries itself between her shoulderblades. She falls forward from the force of it, on top of Cyrus.

Beatrice has her sword out and lets her bow go in one gesture, to fight her way in if she must.

The priestess scrabbles at Cyrus' wrists, then slumps, falling to the side, off of the slab. The cultists are in a state of shock; they are unarmed, and unprepared for this. They are, however, at least prepared to try to defend themselves. Some try making a break for it; others try to defend the approach to the altar. There are about twenty between Beatrice and Heulwen and where Cyrus has been bound.

Heulwen continues with THE PLAN where THE PLAN is to be loud and violent and cause as much mass distruction and bloodshed as possible and take whatever beating follows from it.

Beatrice is not so much interested in cultists for cultists' sakes. What she is interested in is her cousin's position, and anything that gets in her way is going to feel her blade, feet or both. She fights, physical as before. Efficient. Blazingly so.

Cyrus rolls off the altar and falls to the floor. He attempts to stand but his legs give way and he collapses.

With their priestess dead, the majority of the cultists seem to find the desire to flee possessing them. However, there are still four faceless cultists focusing on Heulwen, shouting in an unintelligible language. Beatrice seems to have a knack for fighting her way through, but it helps that the cultists around Cyrus shriek and fall as tendons are hamstrung.

What's life without a few beatings? Heulwen charges the four cultist as if she were a whirling mass of blades, death and destruction which she is NOT. She gets knocked down but she get gets up again. Trying to keep them off her until she gets a chance to beat one down. Already redness and bruise patterns are starting where she has been knocked about by cultists.

Beatrice gracefully skirts the slab to find her cousin on the other side of it. "Cyrus," she breathes, grateful to find him alive on the other side of it. Keeping her sword arm ready, she bends to help him up with the off-arm.

Cyrus lies sprawled against the priestess in what at first looks like a passionate embrace. He rolls to the side to reveal his dagger embedded to the hilt in her throat. His entire right arm is covered in blood.

Beatrice's eyes shine as she tries to help Cyrus up. "If you're quite done with your girlfriend there?" Her tone is fond, still strains of worry.

Continuing to take and deal out damange, Heulwen's white shirt is so damp with blood and sweat at this point it would be impossible to tell how much of it were her own. Her light hair while tied back in the scarf is damp with the spray of blood. She snarls and moves toward a cultist as if she were prepared to bite a piece of flesh out the creature. It seems she has found an outlet for her angry rebel girl frustrations.

The majority of the cultists by now have fled. There's one desperately trying to get away from Heulwen; if it could speak Thari, likely it would say 'get it off me, get it off!'

Cyrus grabs Beatrice's arm with his non-bloody hand and struggles to his feet. He remains silent. In fact, his jaw is clenched shut as if he's trying to keep something in.

Heulwen slashes at the one that may be trying to get away but leaves the cultist alive but brandishes the short bloody knife in the direction of the cultist in a manner suggesting 'bring it on'.

Beatrice drinks in Cyrus's demeanor as she helps him to his feet. The triumph at having him in one piece fades a touch in favor of deeper concern, but she turns to help him out. "Heulwen, you are a wonder."

The cultists have fled; the last one, bleeding and howling as he goes. The chamber is now empty, save for the three.

Cyrus leans on Beatrice. His strength returns slowly.

Beatrice murmurs to Cyrus as she leads him from the chamber, checking to make sure Heulwen is in one piece, and with them.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice murmurs, "Was that one of the Words, Cousin?" her tone is concerned more than curious, clearly noting his silence.

Heulwen slips in blood that she seems to realize that she caused and falls to the floor. "Huh." Her fingers tug at the scarf in her hair to pull it out and wipe her face before she struggles to get back up. It could be that the last bit of her fight was more bravado than true enthusiasm. She straggles along after Beatrice and Cyrus. Moving, despite the protest of some of her muscles.

Cyrus makes a series of simple gestures at Beatrice using the hand that's not clinging to her shoulders. The bloody one.

Beatrice notes the gestures.

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus uses a form of sign language to communicate, "Not our word. Theirs. Do not let me speak. Knock me out if you have to."

Beatrice nods her head in understanding to Cyrus. And murmurs to him, reassuringly, "I will. With love, of course."

Despite her injuries, Heulwen appears to be paying attention to their back. Moving in such a way to watch for large jello train monsters or cultist to attack.

Lucretia seems to be keeping an eye on Benedict and looking a bit worried. No jello monsters or cultists appear nearby.

Beatrice is looking Protective. More than a little. "Lucy," she greets gratefully as they get into sight. And, "My Prince," formally but fondly to Benedict. She gets Cyrus to where he can sit down near Lucretia.

Benedict is sitting down, most of the gunk and goop scraped off him or sublimed. He looks like he is happy, which is very unusual.

Cyrus sits heavily and closes his eyes.

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict seems punch drunk, in fact.

Lucretia has progressed from looking worried to looking unnerves. Happy Benedict. "Right." She moves very, very carefully to check on Cyrus. "Captain. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

Beatrice rests a hand on Cyrus's unbloodied shoulder. Not hard. Reassuring. She does take stock of Benedict, though.

Heulwen falls down with a thud and braces herself against her backpack. "I really need to change."

Privately, to Benedict, Beatrice is worried, still. But still something crinkles at the edges of her eyes, at first, when she looks at Benedict, but she knows enough to be wary of him punch-drunk, as well. Something in her manner, overall, is deeply, deeply grave.

Cyrus opens his eyes and holds up the same number of fingers as Lucretia but he does not respond verbally.

Beatrice tells Lucretia softly, "He won't talk just yet."

Benedict looks to Heulwen. "She had bunny ears," he says. "Why did I think that?"

Lucretia looks concerned. It's an expression she's getting a lot of wear out of today. "Is he injured?"

Beatrice suggests, "Check his shoulder? Bruised, certainly. Yes or no questions would be best for now."

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict seems scared by Heulwen, somehow. Maybe. For a moment.

Lucretia nods, bending over Cyrus to begin efficiently and professionally examining him. "Do you know who I am, Cyrus?"

Heulwen shakes her head, "Bunny ears? What? Is that another military term?"

Cyrus nods yes to Lucretia but he seems to be focusing on a point a hundred yards beyond her head.

Benedict thinks. "No. I knew a girl once - she had long ears that she kept tied back. She was my bodyguard..." And he blinks, and gets more of a hold over himself, shrugging away the matter. "Not important."

Lucretia looks behind her - just in case. "Can you walk?"

Beatrice glances up, the frown of worry turned on Benedict now. "My Prince," she murmurs, steadying. That is all.

Benedict scrabbles back a little so he can push himself up against the wall. He looks steady, but his gaze too is distant.

Cyrus's head whips around in the direction of the temple room. He looks monumentally frightened and attempts to push himself to his feet. He looks like he's heard something in there and is about to bolt.

Beatrice is alert. Her hand was still on Cyrus's shoulder and now her hand is ready to her sword. She watches Cyrus's hands, though.

Benedict readies his sword grimly as if preparing to fight whatever Cyrus heard. He might be looking forward to it.

Lucretia looks around slowly, "...Maybe we should go," she suggests helpfully.

Privately, to Cyrus, Beatrice breathes, "What?"

Benedict says, "If I try to shift, the world may fall apart. Cyrus can't run." He might be wrong about Cyrus.

Cyrus's legs are not up to the challenge of running so he falls flat on his face. He is beyond communication now and curls into a fetal position.

Heulwen finds a bottle of something blue and probably alocholic that seems to have been well cushioned in her back pack. She opens it. "Yeah. I'm trying to get up."

Benedict might be right, too.

Beatrice bends down to hoist her cousin. "We need to get him out of here."

Lucretia looks around. "I'd say that's a good idea. Heulwen - lean on me. Unless Benedict - your highness, can you walk?"

Benedict nods, but keeps looking in the direction of the temple, rather than at Lucretia.

Heulwen seems to have a second thought about drinking the liquor. "Probably not a fantastically good idea in the jungle." She looks toward Lucretia as if asking the doctor's opinion.

Beatrice agrees, "Not." Doesn't need to ask the doc's opinion, and once she has her cousin in arms, is making her way out with him.

Lucretia looks Heulwen up and down. "You were dehydrated before. You've lost blood. No alcohol til later. Stick with water. Here, I'll give you a temporary stimulant - shouldn't kill you and has electrolytes to help restore your balance, it'll get you back to the beach, at least."

Heulwen tucks the bottle away and nods to Lucretia. "That will do." She still has water in her canteen and opens that instead as she struggles to stand. She manages with a stumble in her step but a wide and enthusiastic grin. "Thank you."

Lucretia gives Heulwen a pill after a moment's hunting around. "Swallow with water. Let's get out of here." She eyes Benedict. "Prince. The ship is /that/ way."

A shudder passes through Benedict's frame, and he says, "I hear piping." He steps back slowly, but not past any of the others.

Privately, to Beatrice, Cyrus shudders in time with Benedict.

Heulwen swallows the pill and walks near Lucretia.

Beatrice turns sharply from Cyrus to Benedict. "So does Cyrus," she breathes.

Beatrice turns from Benedict to Cyrus, that is.

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict's sword stayed steady even though his hand shook.

Beatrice urges, "*Hurry*," to the others. But isn't leaving without Benedict moving.

Benedict is moving back slowly. "Traps," he says. "Beetles."

"Hurry?" Heulwen whimpers faintly but picks up the pace and a trap.

Lucretia tells Benedict, "They're by the entrance. We'll grab them on the way out." She grabs four traps - two in either hand - by the straps.

Beatrice has arms full of Cyrus. "You can load some into my pack." Which is on the floor nearby somewehre.

The traps are /full/ of dull white beetles crawling slowly around, over one another.

Benedict steps back further, and at the entrance to the temple he hooks a couple of the straps over his right arm, but he does not look forward.

From somewhere in the belly of the temple there is an outraged howl, and the ground shudders.

Benedict suggests, "Run?"

Beatrice says, "Yes," and is.

Lucretia agrees, "Run."

Lucretia runs, traps clanking.

Benedict actually pauses to get more beetles, in his left hand, and then takes up the rear. Regardless of his recent shave with whatever happened, he does try shifting shadow.

Cyrus twitches in Beatrice's arms and tries to cover his hears with his hands. He moans loudly through clenched teeth.

Heulwen snatches a second trap as she runs--she's not running happily but she does manage to make some speed.

Beatrice, despite being encumbered, may be in the lead. She's making a beeline to get Cyrus the hell out.

Benedict stays at the back despite his turn of speed. He seems to be concentrating on more than the path ahead.

The shadows seem to run together; there's the bridge ahead, over the river. The dead goat-things are still there, save for the one which had been kicked into the river. There is a scream from the trees.

Privately, to Benedict, Beatrice will not be leaving without Benedict. May be in the front but is making DAMN sure you are still following.

Benedict looks exhausted for no apparent reason, but the trip here has been very short, and hardly uphill at all.

"If we can get to the other side of the bridge, we can chop the ropes!" Lucretia is all in favour of getting the heck away.

Heulwen turns to glance back at Benedict but does not complain about the shortness of the trip back to the bridge. She pauses as they will need to go slower now they have gotten to the bridge. "What if you need more bugs?" Heulwen is more in the manner of practical.

Lucretia tells Heulwen, "I'll learn how to FLY."

Beatrice points out, "His Highness could always come back to this precise place if absolutely necessary."

Benedict stumbles as they reach the bridge, and tries to hand over some of the traps that encumber him to Heulwen. "I can... remember... Move." He does not have a hand free right now.

"Fantastic," Heulwen says but with less enthusiasm than she generally manages when she uses that word. "Who is going to cross first?"

Beatrice is in front, and is crossing first, evidently. Cyrus and all.

Lucretia's answer lacks Beatrice's practicality, but she's a bit worried. She heads for the bridge, then flings herself forward headlong, ducking as a steel spear lances from the trees past her shoulder. From behind the group is the unearthly growl of more goat-women, charging. The spear lands in the water. "HURRY."

Cyrus shudders again. If his mouth were open, he would be screaming.

Benedict wriggles the straps over his shoulder, for the traps that Heulwen does not carry. He seems to think it incumbent on him to go last. "I can't lose the damned piping," he mutters. "It's rotating around the sound." Maybe he's going mad.

Heulwen hurries to cross the bridge, her gait is not as confident as her first trip across the bridge but she still evidences no fear of falling. "I don't hear any piping."

Lucretia picks herself up, charging for dear life and beetles too. She draws her dagger, preparing to begin sawing at the ropes.

Beatrice says, tensely, "Cyrus does." Not clear how she knows that, of course. Or if she really exactly does. She's watching Benedict tensely.

A wall of goat-women is charging for the bridge, coming from the trees with sharp feral cries of maddened blood lust. They do not seem in the mood to ask questions. Spears thrown do not cross the river; however, one does whiz past Benedict's head.

Heulwen leans down near Lucretia as if she were going to speed the task along by cutting the robes on her side of the bridge. Her knife is there in her hand as soon as she sits a strap down.

Benedict comes over the bridge at as much of a run as he can manage, while apparently ignoring the spears. He yells as he nears the other edge, "Stand clear, my right!" Evidently he has a target in mind.

Lucretia makes sure she's out of Benedict's way, looking worried still. There is a goat-woman right. Behind. Benedict.

Heulwen also makes sure she is out of Benedict's way but she offers a somewhat feral snarl toward the approaching Goat Woman.

Benedict must know he has a thing hot behind him, but his strike is down at a post of the bridge and only /then/ up and back as he whirls. The post is destroyed, but the goat-woman manages to parry his blade, and Benedict has... a single opponent to keep busy.

One corner of the bridge is now hanging unsuspended, the entire thing jumping crazily with the release of that tension on the ropes. The goat howls, attempting to bring her spear up towards Benedict's belly, her shining, scarred breasts bouncing.

Beatrice makes a noise. It is not feral, like Heulwen's. It is something far more primal and simple.

Encumbered by the traps, Benedict steps back, and then takes the top off the spear with his parry. He looks very shocked that he missed the first time - to the point of amazement.

Heulwen's knife is still in her hand and she's not far from the goat woman or Benedict. Still low to the ground, she tries to send the dagger into the foot of the goat woman.

Beatrice keeps Cyrus safe in her arms, fully confident Benedict will get it in two.

More goat-women are charging forward behind their sister, seeming intent on overwhelming Benedict - and those behind Benedict.

While he is at the top of the bridge, Benedict is unworried, and as Heulwen stabs at the thing's foot it stumbles, and he cuts it in half, then steps /on/ Heulwen as the quickest way to strike at the post she was by. As long as she plays ball, he'll have a firm footing.

Lucretia begins sawing industriously at the rope on the other side. "Jump clear!" she calls. "If we get this ..."

Cyrus clamps his hands over his ears so tightly that the backs of his hands turn white. He thrashes in Beatrices arms and he opens his eyes wide. They are so bloodshot they have become pink. He inhales deeply as if to prepare for a great shout.

Beatrice is sift to act, falling ot one knee and pulling her dagger out. CRACK on her cousin's head the butt of it goes, flashing silver. "Ah, Cyrus," she breathes, knocking him cold.

Heulwen may be a slender Rebman woman but her body braces in shock as she is stepped on by Benedict. A sound comes out that may be frustration but attempts to hold steady as he walks all over her.

Cyrus goes completely limp.

From his curiously warm and leather-clad vantage point, Benedict brings down his sword on the rope Lucretia has weakened, and through it into the second post. He has to be damned sure he's right, because Lucretia is still there, but he does it anyhow. He'll probably be able to stop his strike in time...

Beatrice kisses the lump on her cousin's head, but hoists him again, getting to her feet. She keeps his dead weight cradled in her arms. "Out of Here. Before he comes to."

The bridge post, knocked to hell the way of the first, collapses; and with it, the remaining tension on this side of the bridge. The goat women on the bridge are plunged down into the churning depths of the river, the water turning pink with blood. The river flashes a viscous black, and freezes in its motions; it jerks, a groaning sound heard, and then, there is a despairing wail from the other side of the river. The ground rumbles, and a cloud of dust rises from behind the tree line.

Lucretia looks wide-eyed and tries to discreetly count her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... "Let's run."

Beatrice is, encumbered by Cyrus. She won't have the lead for long.

Benedict steps off Heulwen, but does not have the spare hand to help her up. "Alright?" he asks her, as he steps away from the edge. He cannot even put his sword back in its sheath for the moment.

Heulwen grits her teeth together and nods briefly. It's clear that the last thing she wants to do at the moment is run, but she forces herself to her feet as she scrambles to catch the straps of the traps she was carrying. "Yes." is offered but seems to be a wildly inaccurate description of her current condition.

Benedict makes sure he is at the back once more, as if being there would help him herd people.

Heulwen mutters something to Benedict.

Everything seems quiet. The return of occasional birdsong, of humming wings of insects; the trees seem no more welcoming, but seem free of goat-women and their spears. The beach is reached; the tender is still there, the ship still there. The clouds have begun to roll in to cover the sky.

Benedict says, "Need we keep that ship? I..." He is close to reeling again. "Overtaxed."

Beatrice murmurs, "If you can shift us... you can shift us back to the ship. If not, it makes no difference. But the Coda is important to Chantris, and Cyrus."

Beatrice reminds, "We're running towards our army, as well."

"Let's get to the ship," Lucretia agrees. "I'm no expert, but I've got some sailing experience, and the crew will be able to help."

Heulwen keeps an eye on Benedict even as he is herding everyone else. Lucretia's stimulant and adrenaline seem to be keeping her on her feet at the moment.

Benedict pauses at the beach, to take stock once more, and then makes one last sprint down to the waterline.

Heulwen murmurs, "I can help. If the first mate can't order crew the ship on his own, he's not worth his salt."

Beatrice waits for someone to climb into the small boat ahead of her, so she can hand Cyrus over. It will be the only time she lets go of him until they're aboardship.

Benedict needs help with the traps, but seems glad to be able to shed them. He is still looking back.

Lucretia gets into the boat, moving to take Cyrus with a worried look. She motions for wounded people to get in the tender, propping Cyrus in as best she can.

Benedict does not seem to count himself as wounded. Damned idiot hero type.

Heulwen helps Benedict with the traps after getting rid of hers. Heulwen doesn't appear to think she's 'wounded' either but what does she know.

Lucretia tells Beatrice, "Push us off and climb in! I'll help row."

Beatrice climbs in. Her lips are pressed tight, and /now/ she is pale. She huddles down in the boat, holding Cyrus close.

Lucretia begins rowing towards the ship, keeping a nervous eye on the shore. The beach looks peaceful and serene; another unbroken stretch of coastline.

Benedict collapses as he gets into the boat, without much warning. He just fails to support his own bodyweight, and slips into the place he should be sitting in.

Beatrice gasps. A hand reaches for Benedict, too. She slides herself (and Cyrus) over to her prince.

Privately, to Beatrice, Benedict is hot as hell.

Heulwen asks Lucretia as she rows, "Do you think you'll have to come back?" as if now that they are making their way toward the ship it is suddenly an EPICLY FANTASTIC adventure despite her beaten, stepped on and wounded condition.

Beatrice murmurs to Lucretia, somewhere along the way, "He's feverish." She means Benedict.

On the journey, Benedict starts to babble in old languages about childish things. He seems obssessed with someone called 'Ogg', and 'the teeth', and then descends into nothing that can be understood.

Beatrice spends the journey sheet-white. It doesn't seem to be sea-sickness -- that would be unbearable for a Chantris, or even a Solaris-- but it's clear that even on top of the intense worry for her cousin and her prince, she is Not Enjoying the voyage one little bit.

Benedict takes about twelve hours to come round, and seems pensive and quiet after that.

Benedict does not remember anything he did from the point where he was ingested until the point where he woke on the boat.

Cyrus remembers all too much.