It would be hard to remember that night, were it not such a vivid scene.

The stinking stench of unmitigated sweat and vomit permeating the air, mixed with the telltail smell of booze and water. Sea water had a distinct smell, but by the eleventh day, everything smelled of seawater. It was hard to tell if all the water seeping to the lower decks was rain or wave, but spirits were high. No pirate or wind had dared impede their journey until the last stretch before they reached Darkwater Dock. Here the seas were shallow, and the land was too wild for any sizeable corsair raiders. Their kind stayed on the islands and shipping lanes.

The Skirmisher had just passed the tail of the Peninsula, the gateway to the Black Delta. Through Elven waters into Corsair waters, they sailed at all speed. Only now were they home free, and they celebrated accordingly. The lower decks were getting wetter from the water above, but it was warm and full of drink and song. Fraternizing on the Skirmisher was looked down upon by the Captain, but he was above deck helping weather the storm and men and women went off in pairs what private pockets they could find to rut to their heart's content. Disobeying the Captain was bad luck, but then again sailors said many things were. Still, everyone had high hopes and knew they would be docking in a few scant days.

It all went bad in seconds.

The ship lifted. The lights swung on their hinges. A sudden sense of weightlessness and vertigo, and a lone, helpless cry from above rang out. The silence beyond it was deafening, until the ship's groaning returned like a roar. There was water and pressure, and blackness sank in as everything around the passengers below exploded, sending all into oblivion. Muffled sounds and terrible sucking of all things into the nether could be recalled, and the shadowy silhouette of some terrible finned monstrosity was the last thing to be remembered...

Now there was sand, and heat. Stuffy, scratchy throats and dry breath, and sunburn from a harsh, unforgiving ball of molten flames far above. Consciousness gradually returned with their senses, and it was merciless. Apart from the sunburns, aches and pains and an awful dryness wracked every body that lay on the beach. Kindling and bits of the ship's foundations lay near them like the ribs of a decayed whale. Bodies of dead sailors, including one oddly without its legs, lapped and swayed in the water as the tide came in.

The Captain, his body rough but with the possibility of life, lay along the beach just a few spans from the bodies.

To the left, rocks piled up blocked their path. A natural obstacle that cut into the landscape, blocking crashing waves every so often. Before them lay exotic ferns and trees covered in vines. A mass of foliage where a jungle lay, and just at the treeline stood a small statue where a strange figure had been carved. It looked like a cross between a frog and a bat, sitting atop a rock and baring its fangs as if at the castaways. To the right was endless, ubiquitous beach that stretched beyond the scope of sight, the waves washing against the land and crying out every few moments. Where they were, it was difficult to tell. But they were in the land they had sought. The Black Delta, a hot, unforgiving land of primal dangers.

But first they had to get up.

---

Jacqueline opened her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her cheek. She blinked a few times to steady her gaze. For a second, she did not know where she was. Once her vision came to pass she noticed she was laying on sand and could hear the water as it lapped on the beach. She began to get up but felt a twinge of pain on her left side. She fell back to the ground, letting the pain subside. She moved to her right side, glancing down to where the pain was, and noticed her clothing torn and a dark cut along her left thigh and up past her hip.

How did she....

And then she remembered.

It was supposed to be a trip. Simple. Or as simple as expected on a voyage over harsh waters. She had looked for the best possible ship to make the trip. Her sisters, her family, begged her not to go. "It's not worth it," they proclaimed, but she knew better. She had to go. The time among her Order was not long and if they had any hope of surviving and prospering, they needed somewhere fresh to start.

And here she was now laying on a beach, wounded and thirsty.

She moved herself up to a sitting position, or what cold best be described as one given the nature of her wounds. She looked around to see if anyone else on the ship was up and about like her. She noted that a few sailors were nearby, but she did not put much faith into them waking up. So what of the other members not a part of the crew? And the Captain?

It would not do her well to sit here and wait. She would need to tend to her wounds if she wanted to continue on. She moved herself to her feet, clenching her teeth as her wound opened up. But she was standing. She gripped her side, looking around for some tools or supplies that survived the crash.

There was a crash, wasn't there? Surely she didn't just wash up on the beach after a drunken night on the ship. Her mind was blurry and she fought for the memories to return. Alas, no luck. Maybe one of the others would stir awake and could let her know what happened. Until then, she would need to find something to help her injuries. And maybe the others, if they needed it. Then she could get to work on figuring out where she was and how to get to where she needed to be.

Kjetil's mind was the first to awaken as he slowly felt two sensations. One was annoying, was it pain that he has grown used to? Maybe and this annoying sensation, he could feel it on his back. The second sensation was an odd one, warmth he felt, and that one was the one that he wondered about the most. "What," he said softly as he opened his eyes and was greeted by the blinding sun. He put his right hand over his face so he could see, and the first thing he noticed was several cuts on his arm. Like one cut over an old scar, Kjetil looked carefully at his arm. "Is that... yeah, that is blood."

Then he looked at his other arm, and it was the same, cuts all over it but small ones. However, the amount meant that something had happened to him last night. "The ship," he said as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. There was laughter and dance, and everyone was in high spirits as they cleared the Peninsula and then... Kjetil remembers feeling a sense of weightlessness and then some odd but terrible sounds that he did not understand what could have caused them. That was it, the rest was fuzzy, and now he is in an unknown place and with who knows who else.

He slowly got halfway up into a sitting position and used his left arm to prop himself up. Now Kjetil had a better view of the bench, and what he saw did not help with the situation. Wreckage, bodies, and it just left him wondering what in the gods' name happened last night. They were home free, now they were wrecked on a bench, and who knows who else survived.

True Kjetil is made of sterner stuff and can handle wounds that would make others bedridden. The pain he feels is just annoying. Bearable but annoying. But there is still a chance that some others survived. Though from what bodies he could see, they did not look like they would be getting up any time soon, especially that one with no legs.

Either way, Kjetil had to try to find someone that was still alive. There is strength and safety in numbers. That and he needs someone to help clean his wounds, bandage them, and see how bad his back is. That is where the annoying sensation is coming from. The last thing he needs is to die of a infection after getting this far in life and surviving what happened to the ship. Such an end is not fitting for a warrior and not one he wishes to die by.

So after getting his bearings and getting up. Kjetil walked down the bench, looking for anything to use to bandage his wounds and for any sign that someone was alive. He can't be the only one that survived, he thought. Otherwise, he would be alone in an unknown land with no direction of where to go. Kjetil simply calmly sighed at the thought and continued on his search. There was bound to be something of use to him. Either makeshift bandages, people, or preferably both.

---

Something hot made itself felt on Lachlan's back, and as it did he experienced blurry memories of having felt that before, just a bit less intense. For the last two hours or so, the Caelic had been passing in and out of consciousness, generating a very fragmented heap of memories of which each had the sun's rays coming in at a bit of a different angle and intensity. This was no longer below decks, was it ? There was no such thing as sun below decks and the waves sounded very differently, too.

Lachlan battled the resistance his eyelids offered as they had been firmly shut for quite a while and finally managed to open them. Was that sand ? His mind instructed his fingers to move and the feeling coming in return confirmed his visual suspicion, but the arm between these two had become so numb that his hand felt more like a remote part of his body that yet was detached from it.

What he didn't see was a ship, not even that many remains of a ship. Great. So they had indeed crashed... or been crashed ? The overall situation felt a little too sunny, sandy and dry to be situated in the inside of a giant whale's stomach, so to his bewilderment, Lachlan could only suppose that he had indeed survived. Turning his aching head and seeing the unforgiving treeline along with the mysterious statue, the 'yet'-word certainly came to his mind.

The next stupidest thing to do coming to his mind was to turn onto his back, and moments before he had to shut his eyes again due to the blinding sun he could see a familiar figure. "Kje... Kjetil ?" he groaned. He managed to sit up and now take the first real look around: bodies. Whatever kind of predator had haunted them, it had been a very inefficient one. It wouldn't have left so much food behind otherwise.

How sarcastic of him!

"Oh... I see a captain over there." Lachlan muttered more to himself, but still loud enough so anybody in his vicinity would be able to hear it clearly. He shifted his weight onto his feet and stood up, feeling that not only his arms had become numb due to having been static for too long. Lachlan started walking at a snail's pace, but still unstable enough that he might topple over any time again even before reaching the other person.

"Filthy, worthless slave-thing!"
CRACK!
"How come you don't fight?"
CRACK!
"I will beat you until you obey!"
CRACK!

With each punctuating lash of the whip, Aldrich felt himself slipping further and further away from consciousness. His defiance fading with not so much as a sneer, but a whimper. The gutteral language of his Dwemerlock master remained impenetrably foreign to him, though he could scarcely hear it through his pain. However, the most peculiar thing was that the closer he came to passing out entirely, the pain faded and he felt instead a cool, sloshing sensation suffuse his body. His vision blurred, and he began to splutter, confused as the world began to grow increasingly distant and intangible...

...his eyes opened slowly, things coming into focus one sense at a time. First the stark luminescence of sunlight, then the intermingled sensations of warm air, cold water and gritty sand, then the sounds of waves breaking upon the shore and the breeze rustling leaves, followed by the smell of salt and lastly the acrid taste of salt and sandy grit. Each sensation coalesced at once in a nauseating shock that made him cough and heave as he sat up.
He scrambled for memory, to piece together where he was and just what the hell was going on.
Was on the ship...resting above decks...hate the below...too small, stifling...ship...crashed? Must have...

He laboriously got to his feet, feeling the stiffness of his joints and a sharp sting across his chest. Pressing his fingers to the spot they came away red. Peering down he saw that something had torn a ragged hole in his waterlogged jerkin. He unceremoniously tore the useless thing away, leaving him in only his tunic, breeches and boots. Glancing around he saw the telltale sights of a terrible ship-wreck. Bodies had washed up on the shore, bloated and cold and others stumbled around aimlessly on the shore. His sword and shield he now realised would have likely wound up somewhere on the bottom of the sea. He sighed, feeling the rising panic of being unarmed and unprotected. He fought down the anxiety and looked around to take better stock of the situation.

Immediately he noticed a few of the figures who had been part of the voyage, other travelers and vagabonds like himself. Jacqueline, a woman who reminded him in many ways of Erissia, his erstwhile mentor. Kjetil, the quiet Norgardian and Lachlan, who Aldrich struggled to get a read on during his time on the ship. He hadn't spoken much to any of them, opting to observe from a distance any strangers he met. Not to mention, the bitter look on his face at all times usually kept people at bay.
Aldrich raised his voice, addressing any who may respond.
"The Captain...has anyone seen the Captain?" If anyone among them could restore some semblance of order, it would be that salty sea dog.

The sand not shielded by their bodies was hot to the touch, but moving quickly or having the luxury of shoes helped. One had to be careful, for debris and flotsam still protruded out of the sand. Blood mingled with the water, and some of it had reached land, staining the beach. Strange birds flocked at the trees, feathers and beaks bearing colors that encompassed the entire rainbow. They watched and cawed at them like an audience at a praelian coliseum.

Captain Cole Burnside roused from his position, having heard voices. He looked and felt like hell, and he lifted himself just long enough to cough out a mouthful of sand before collapsing again. He groaned, but stayed still. His hat was missing, it lay by Jacqueline as she approached. Lachlan made it there first, however. His shadow above the Captain drew his attention, and Burnside blinked, looking up at him. It seems Aldrich's question had been answered, if non-verbally.

From across the way, another figure made their entrance. It was Holfort, one of the crewmen. Blood soaked his scalp, and his body held scratches and burns like the rest of the survivors. In his callused hands was a boarding pike that he used like a tall walking stick to support his weight. He bumped into Kjetil, who so far had been unlucky in finding anything to bandage himself with.

"The others are this way, we must get there. The Captain..." Holfort began, motioning for the Norgardian to follow.

Once everyone had congregated to the Captain, who now sat up and rubbed his head, he was able to address them, albeit slowly. So far it looked like these six had been the only survivors.

"Gods help me," The Captain cursed, his eyes moist. Not from crying, but the pain and exhaustion that took him. "That damned storm..."
Moving looked like it was a chore, but if they didn't go soon they would bake or be found by whatever beasts smelled the stench of carcasses cooking in the sun. Holfort asked if Captain Burnside was alright, but the Captain waved him off. "Don't worry about me. We should be...be two days sail to Darkwater. Damned we were so close! Maybe we could make it two days on foot if we cut through the jungle. If we follow the beach? I don't know. I don't...it's so hard to tell. Hells, we could be on an island, but I doubt it."

If one were to look across the beach and thoroughly search, a few items could be found:

• A broken boarding pike, half sized at close to 5 feet.
• A boarding axe embedded in a broken piece of hull.
• 2 water flasks. One filled with fresh water, the other filled with salt water.
• A chest. The Captain's chest. Locked and with no key.
• A rusted cutlass with no sheath.
• A carving knife in a knapsack.
• A map under some flotsam, ripped in half and faded.
• A bottle of rum.

Compared to Andredian soil or even just the soil of the Caelic isles he was most used to, the sand of this anonymous beach felt like lava. Not only was it scorchingly hot, but it also gave way in a manner perfectly suited to slow down things while making them more strenuous as well. Silently, Lachlan made a few small steps backward until his feet reached a spot that was regularly covered by the waves. Even more soft, but so nicely chill!

"Getting to Darkwater along this beach, even just assuming that there's no body of water between us and there ? Not with me! I vote for the jungle!"

Not that he did like that choice very much either as he could already imagine how the plantlife would turn the pure heat into a sweltering heat, but it would be less troublesome in other ways...

"We should try to stay close to the beach however, simply because if Darkwater is somewhere around this place, following the rough outline of the beach will guarantee us to find it." Having already navigated around some debris, the Caelic man was not hesitant to add: "It might also guarantee us to find more junk, some of which might be useful..."

Hadn't he just spotted something shiny glistening in the sun that was too large to be a grain of sand ? The red haired walked a few steps into said direction, pulling what turned out to be a carving knife out of the ditch. Some sort of leather bag seemed to be what it had fallen out of. Lacking any means to hide any items taken anyway, Lachlan just held it in his one hand while presenting the knapsack to the others.

[cllor=yellow]"If nobody else wants, I'll take this bag. Somebody should take the thing definitely unless we all want to walk around with our hands full! And we all should search this place thoroughly before leaving. If we made it here, a lot of other stuff might have made it, too."[/color]

Water would be nice... Lachlan started searching without stating specifically what else he was looking for while waiting for the others' reactions.

---

As Jacqueline limped across the beach, ignoring the dead bodies in her wake, she noticed movement. At first, she worried it was local beasts smelling the fresh kills and hoping for a decent meal, but the figures were human-shaped. That didn't mean they weren't dangerous and Jacqueline cursed the Captain for removing her weapons.

As her eyes settled, she noted that they were part of the passengers on board alongside her. She hadn't made conversation with them, but she recognized them nonetheless. She limped her way over, noting everyone looked worse for wear. As she got closer, another figure on the ground moved. She became on guard again, wondering if the dead were coming back to life until she saw it was the Captain.

The options were not great, but it bet sitting on the beach cooking in the sun and waiting for gods knew what. If they were going to make this trek on foot, she would have to gear up. She scoured the beach for something, anything really, to help her. She saw a blade on the ground and almost cried tears of joy until she noted the cutlass was rusty. It would do in a pinch, but she would have to either fix that or find another weapon. She also saw a bottle of rum. She picked it up before any of the greedy others got their mitts on it. She poured a fair amount on the wound, feeling the sting of alcohol hitting the broken flesh. It would do for now. She then took a hearty swig before offering the bottle up. Drink up! Who knows when we will get another chance." It was probably stupid of her to drink rum over water, but if she got drunk enough perhaps she wouldn't notice she died of dehydration.

She gazed at the jungle. "I say we go through the jungle. Grab any weapons we have. You never know what lurks there." She raised her cutlass, letting it glint off the sun. She assumed the others could handle themselves, but one never knew with men.

Kjetil was relieved to find that he was not alone on this beach and there were survivors. Only giving a simple nod to Holfort as he followed Holfort to the others. Where they found the Captain and some others. Are these all that survived? Kjetil thought and listened to what the Captain said.

So, either go into the jungle or stick to the coast. One was unknown, and the other also unknown, but in the hot sun and walking on the burning sand. He would rather take his chances with the jungle, but before then, he thought to try and find a weapon of some kind. He simply sighed. What he would give to have his axe and shield again. He would feel alot better with something he could defend himself with.

So without saying a word, the Norgardian departed the group and went to search for a weapon of some kind. After searching the bench, he did find something that brought him a warm smile. An axe, by the look of it, and it was embedded in a piece of the broken hull of the ship. Kjetil walked over and firmly grabbed it with both hands and pulled. After two attempts, he managed to free it from the hull. Then examining it to make sure it was up to par, and once he was satisfied. Kjetil started to make his way back to the group.

But, as he was starting to walk back, he noticed two water flasks. Realizing that they need some fresh water and who knows where the nearest river or lake or spring is. So Kjetil walked over, picked the two up, and tested if they had anything in them. Testing by taking a
small sip of them. The first one, to his joy, was fresh water, and as he went for the second. He quickly spat it out, "saltwater," he cursed. So he put the freshwater flask away on his person and emptied the saltwater one, even though it was filled with saltwater. If they can find a source of freshwater, then he can refill it and have two water flasks to share with the group.

After that, Kjetil returned to the group and held out the freshwater flask. "I found some water and try not to drink it all right now." Him patiently waiting to for someone to take it and spoke again. "I say we take our chances in the jungle. Sure we may find more stuff on the coast, but staying in the sun and walking the hot sand. That is not something we should not do in our state."

Now to see how the others feel about that, he is just happy to be armed again and with a weapon he is familiar with. Time to see where they will go, and they had to choose soon. For Kjetil does not want to be around when the wildlife shows up to eat what is left of the crew, and he knows full well how to defend himself. Hopefully, the others can do or at least be useful somehow.

Aldrich listened as the other spoke, offering up their suggestions. Their options were limited to the burning hot beach, or the sweaty humid jungle. Neither prospect held much appeal, but Aldrich was no stranger to harsh conditions. From the moment of waking to now, his sense of awareness had sharpened into focus. The deeply ingrained habits formed from a life of servitude and subjugation were thankfully not lost on him now. It was a bitter kind of gratitude, but one he was in position to balk at. Seeing now that the Captain was alive and - relative to the numerous dead - well, Aldrich began to scan the beach for anything at all he might use. His eyes settled on a snapped and splintered boarding pike. It was roughly about a foot shorter than himself, but upon picking the thing up he felt satisfied enough with its weight, and reassured by the solidity of it in his hands.
As he had stooped down to retrieve it, he noticed a fluttering in the breeze. Walking over to inspect, he found a rough piece of torn parchment, miraculously pinned beneath some detritus from the boat. He gently pried it out and looked it over. It appeared to be a map, though Aldrich could make neither heads or tails of it, a sad holdover of his stunted education. He scowled at the enigmatic document, but kept it all the same. Someone else was bound to be able to decipher it's secrets.

Turning back to the group, now all similarly armed, he offered his own findings.
"Not much to be had here, but I found this. Seems to be a map," he added somewhat sheepishly, "I don't know how to read it." He held it out for someone to take, as he gratefully accepted the water flask from Kjetil. Aldrich was well accustomed to rationing, and would not succumb to the temptation of slaking his thirst, despite how dry his mouth currently was.
"It seems as though the jungle is the popular option," Aldrich reasoned to them, "At the very least we should find some welcome shade, but perhaps we should try not to go too deep. If we can keep the coast in sight, or at least in earshot we may stand a better chance of finding our way."
Though, as he spoke his eyes landed on the peculiar carving at the mouth of the jungle. It's likeness' teeth bared in a ghastly snarl, as if to ward away any would-be interlopers.
Despite the stifling heat of the sun, Aldrich felt a chill descend his spine.

"It's good to know your spirits are high," Captain Burnside deadpanned, Holfort helping him up off the ground. Burnside coughed for a moment, and he gladly accepted some of the rationed water, though he made sure not to take more than two small sips to wet his throat. The Captain found a broken piece of kindling on the ground, and on second look it was likely the butt end of Aldrich's pike. He placed it into the ground and steadied himself, using it as a walking stick it seemed.

"Seems they're all wanting to go through. And I say I'd take that stance myself," Holfort said to the Captain earnestly. He had the look of an honest man, as far as sailors on a privateer ship could be. Simple and hard working, but undeniably resourceful when the time came. "You think you can handle that, sir?"

The Captain cleared his throat and looked at the sun, blinking. "Looks like we have no choice."

Burnside and Holfort began to trek toward's the treeline, passing the statue as they did so, only giving it a quick glance. The way the Captain looked at it, it was hard to tell if he knew what it was or not, but he said not a word. The birds above them called out with undulating cries, but otherwise there seemed to be no life close by. The ferns and brush tickled their legs as they took their first steps into the jungle, following the Captain. He seemed to know at least the general direction they needed to travel.

As they continued, the jungle became more animated. Monkeys and strange, squirrel-like animals swung and scampered across the branches of the forest canopy above them. The shade was welcome, but it was humid and somewhat enclosed, the air heavier than on the beach. Sweat came to their skin easily, and soon the bugs came. Big mosquitos and floating beetles and large centipedes crawling along the leafy, soft ground. But that was a mere annoyance.

An hour of walking later, an obstacle appeared in the form of a beast. Firstly, there was a low growl, like a stalling dwarven steam engine. Suddenly something large appeared. Just simply appeared. The stealth was impossible, and yet it seemingly did it without purpose, for the jaguar, and it was indeed a large jaguar, languidly strolled out of the brush and lazily glanced at the assembled group. It stopped six stride away, its eyes widening at the realization of the group of what it likely perceived as large apes. It's maw peeled back to reveal thick fangs, four inches in length. The beast must have weighed four times that of a man.

Above them, a monkey watched curiously, it's mouth in an 'O' shape.

Lachlan had dared to take a glance at the map, but had handed it over the next person that had happened to be in line, Jacqueline, not much afterwards for he couldn't really read what was written on it, either. Judging one's position merely based on the shape of things drawn onto a map felt pretty pointless if one did not have at least as much as a little hint.

Now the Caelic wished he'd still have that sort of humble problems... Simply for they felt so much more relaxed than being concerned about one's very life. That beast's fangs could probably pierce through any of their heart's with ease, it only was a matter of the angle of attack. His eyes slowly wandered towards his companions, then towards the tree with the monkey on it.

Whether he would be able to climb it ? He considered himself to be a fit man despite his superficial looks maybe. But what if the predator in front of them could so, too ? On the other hand it was probably unwise to question the wisdom of monkeys who apparently felt rather safe high up in the trees, greedily watching the scenery unfolding far below. Lachlan ultimately dropped the idea. None of them would make it up fast enough anyway should the jaguar feel provoked... or just far too hungry.

Lachlan's lower jaw slowly dropped like the ramp of a large cargo vessel, but the verbal payload left the others waiting for it, and when it finally came, it was only with a very low tone, almost whispered tone to it: "No rush! I'll go first, slowly."

The Caelic man scanned the ground in front and to the right of him, then proceeded along a path that guided him forwards and sideways to the right. It was almost a circle with the obvious aim not to close in onto the animal while still making some sort of progress. His eyes kept switching back and forth between the predator and the area in front of him so he could try to dodge any broken branches his not so subtle weight might crack.

Hopefully none of the others would decide to attack the beast without provocation, but he honestly wasn't so sure whether or not the sweltering heat might already have claimed some of his companions' sanity. Going in with just one or two of them actually having weapons would just be doomed from the start!

Of course, they had run into trouble, Kjetil thought as he stared grimly at their animal adversary. A lone jaguar that now stands in their way and, more importantly, wants them for a snack, or what else could it want? It must be desperate for food if it is willing to take on a group unless Kjetil is either underestimating the beast or it is stronger than it seems. Either way, a beast is a beast. It is dangerous and must be taken out if they want not to die and be a feast.

Still, Kjetil's instincts are screaming at him to attack and let his anger guide him to victory. But, with no armor and wanting to keep his oath to his dead wife. He is going to try something he has not ever done in a fight. Fight with his brains and not brute might. Something he is not quite sure he can do but now is the time to see if he can do that. Especially getting out unscathed and adding to the wounds that he has already.

Then the Caelic, Lachlan, whispered about no rushing, going first, and going slowly. Kjetil silently nodded to Lachlan and watched as he went slowly. Kjetil, with axe firmly in hand and copied Lachlan's actions. Only he moved to the left and tried to maintain eye contact with the jaguar as he slowly walked. Ready to defend himself if the beast decides on attacking him or the others. Making sure not to step on a fallen branch or stick and possibly provoke the beast.

Kjetil kept his anger in check the whole time, just waiting for the right time to unleash it and end this. He can only hope that his companions, or at least the ones with weapons, do not do anything stupid and get themselves killed. A shame really to survive the ship crashing only to be brought low by a lowly beast. Time to see what his fellow survivors will do, and they can take down this beast without someone dying. Kjetil will try to make sure of that.

---

Jacqueline let her arm fall to her side, the alcohol bottle still halfway full, since no one opted to drink. Fools, she thought. They will surely relish the chance to get blind drunk after they spend hours traveling. It seemed they were all in agreement that going through the jungle was the best option. She didn't much like the idea of walking with injuries, but beggars could not be choosers. Plus, she'd dealt with worse.

Jacqueline took the map that was handed to her. She didn't understand it, but any fool could understand basic directions. Go one way until you got to a thing and then you proceeded, taking breaks on occasion. And hydrating. Which one of the others had mentioned. Smart. At least she wasn't seemingly traveling with a bunch of idiots. Though that begged to be put to the test.

With very little weaponry and most looking worse for wear, they headed onward. It wasn't long until they were met with their first issue. The wildlife was dangerous on a good day, but now they sat face-to-face with a jaguar, and one who looked very hungry. And here they were, a full course.

No one moved and Jacqueline made note that none of the menfolk offered to do much. Hell, one offered to move slowly. As if the jaguar would be settled seeing it's prey move even more slowly. Enough for it to get its teeth in all of them. "It's kill or be killed out here. We have it outnumbered. I assume you all can handle yourselves in battle, so I would ready up. I doubt the beast is going to be satisfied letting a number of potential meals just walk away." With her words, Jacqueline followed, but kept her weapon at the ready. It would not do in a long battle, but she hoped it would do enough to at least get this one off of their backs.

Aldrich weighed Jacqueline's words carefully. He certainly did not want a fight that could be avoided, yet with a seemingly savage beast before them, the chance for reason was slim at best.
His mind flashed back to the vicious fighting pits of the Dwemerlocks, and the clawed, fanged beasts he was made to fight. Several of his bodies grisly scars had been courtesy of them. He could still taste the arterial blood in his mouth from the one he had slain with his teeth.

Suppressing a shiver, he said in a low voice to Jacqueline, "Agreed. Flank it on the other side. Both of you attack together and drive it towards me."
With slow, careful movements, Aldrich planted his feet and cradled the boarding pike firmly. He made a hissing sound, drawing the beasts attention to him, holding it's gaze. Once the others attacked, it would force the beast to run towards Aldrich. He would be ready to drive the tip of the pike through it's heart.