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//small gore warning paragraph 3
What the Pitt did not know was this was far from a simple visit to express gratitude for a deal long broken. Goldie was not stupid, and her suspicions that the Pitt was still harboring slaves were not uncalled for. What they also did not know was that Goldie had not come as alone as she appeared. Behind her trailed Crow, gradually spacing the distance between them until he went his own separate direction and disappeared into the familiar jungle his enemy called home. He was cloaked under a transparent guise, the only hints of his presence the crackle of twigs. On his back he carried a satchel of the supplies that he needed, several packs of matches and a weapon—a small risk to his stealth but nothing too flashy that he was given away upon sight.
Crow stepped perhaps a little too loudly, and a pair of whispers rose above the clamor of the jungle. The tabby slid his satchel off his back and drew his ornate dagger from its pouch. He could not risk being spotted, not now anyway; it was too soon into the plan for him to experience any trouble. The feline sunk to the ground and felt around for something to throw, then tossed a stick into the nearby bushes to which he elicited a response of surprise from the measly guards. Another stick was tossed, then another, each time drawing a more concerned interaction until they split their own separate ways to investigate separately. Perfect.
His paws grabbed out of the undergrowth at the flank of the smaller of the two, and he pulled her back into the cover, twisting her onto her back as they fell to the ground in a flurry, but it was over as quickly as it began. Before she could open her mouth to cry out to her partner, the blade was already removed from the clean cut across her throat, and he kicked her face into the dirt where she would watch her own blood leak into the soil. The second was jumped in a similar manner, except this time from behind after he gazed after where he saw his comrade disappear, and the dripping dagger entered at the base of his skull with enough force to render him stunned and helpless as he crumpled to the forest floor.
With one glance behind him and without bothering to clean his crimson-tinged blade, the feline continued deeper into the jungle and followed landmarks he recognized from his previous excursion until he would near the camp, then took a detour; the camp was not his exact target this time. There was a faint smoking in the bushes where he had been, scattered in small increments without pattern and just far enough away from civilization that when they were discovered, it would be too late to stop them—the Tanglewood general was committing arson in his wake, and it would not go unnoticed long by the citizens of the Pitt.
The last match would be tossed behind the Pitt's slowly growing welcoming party where Crow expended himself to remove the moisture from the plants surrounding him until they became shriveled and dead, perfect fire starting material. It was here that his guise would finally collapse, and his attenuated form was left in the open to meet eyes with Goldie and smirk at his job well done as a small flame began to grow.
"Yeah, an' it says, 'You fucked up, bitch!'" he spat, and a wispy black substance began to slowly ooze from between his teeth and down to the ground.
//small gore warning paragraph 3
What the Pitt did not know was this was far from a simple visit to express gratitude for a deal long broken. Goldie was not stupid, and her suspicions that the Pitt was still harboring slaves were not uncalled for. What they also did not know was that Goldie had not come as alone as she appeared. Behind her trailed Crow, gradually spacing the distance between them until he went his own separate direction and disappeared into the familiar jungle his enemy called home. He was cloaked under a transparent guise, the only hints of his presence the crackle of twigs. On his back he carried a satchel of the supplies that he needed, several packs of matches and a weapon—a small risk to his stealth but nothing too flashy that he was given away upon sight.
Crow stepped perhaps a little too loudly, and a pair of whispers rose above the clamor of the jungle. The tabby slid his satchel off his back and drew his ornate dagger from its pouch. He could not risk being spotted, not now anyway; it was too soon into the plan for him to experience any trouble. The feline sunk to the ground and felt around for something to throw, then tossed a stick into the nearby bushes to which he elicited a response of surprise from the measly guards. Another stick was tossed, then another, each time drawing a more concerned interaction until they split their own separate ways to investigate separately. Perfect.
His paws grabbed out of the undergrowth at the flank of the smaller of the two, and he pulled her back into the cover, twisting her onto her back as they fell to the ground in a flurry, but it was over as quickly as it began. Before she could open her mouth to cry out to her partner, the blade was already removed from the clean cut across her throat, and he kicked her face into the dirt where she would watch her own blood leak into the soil. The second was jumped in a similar manner, except this time from behind after he gazed after where he saw his comrade disappear, and the dripping dagger entered at the base of his skull with enough force to render him stunned and helpless as he crumpled to the forest floor.
With one glance behind him and without bothering to clean his crimson-tinged blade, the feline continued deeper into the jungle and followed landmarks he recognized from his previous excursion until he would near the camp, then took a detour; the camp was not his exact target this time. There was a faint smoking in the bushes where he had been, scattered in small increments without pattern and just far enough away from civilization that when they were discovered, it would be too late to stop them—the Tanglewood general was committing arson in his wake, and it would not go unnoticed long by the citizens of the Pitt.
The last match would be tossed behind the Pitt's slowly growing welcoming party where Crow expended himself to remove the moisture from the plants surrounding him until they became shriveled and dead, perfect fire starting material. It was here that his guise would finally collapse, and his attenuated form was left in the open to meet eyes with Goldie and smirk at his job well done as a small flame began to grow.
"Yeah, an' it says, 'You fucked up, bitch!'" he spat, and a wispy black substance began to slowly ooze from between his teeth and down to the ground.