Informal Invitation - RPLOG
Participants
Date
19/10/477
Log
It is a warm, almost sweltering evening in the city of Sweetwater, with a full moon being reflected upon the water.
Location, the beach. Time, 9 PM. And right now, Fenris is all alone on the beach.
Fenris stands quietly on the sand at the edge of the water, looking out to sea. All finished with his excercises, he is just taking a little quiet time to enjoy the peaceful waves and the light of the full moon. His coat and weapons lie nearby on the sand while the liger stands shirtless and unshod in the moonlight, showing off the unusual heart patterns on his back, and the big, red heart shape on his chest and belly.
A low purr sets in the area, distinctly baritone in sound, and the sound of two of Fenris's weapons gently striking one another is soon heard as something swooshes through the air... Another *clink* soon after...
"Fenris... Longtail, I presume?" sounds in a smooth baritone behind the liger, where a lone black panther adresses him. Behind him, however, two cheetahs stand, crossbows primed upon Fenris, and another two small-clanned felines appear to be aiming a musket at him, each.
"Just Fenris," the liger says, turning just enough to look at the surprise gathering, "The Longtail thing is only for formal occasions, and I'm not invited to many of those." The heart-marked feline holds up his hands, showing that they are empty. "Something I can do for you?" he asks with an easy smile."
"Well then... It is my pleasure to inform you that Lady Longtail has invited you for a little... Chat," the cat rumbles, though the quartet of other felines do not appear to be lowering their weapons.
"And I must say, I insist you come along," he rumbles with a sly grin. "It would be most unfortunate if you declined."
"Lady Longtail?" Fenris asks in momentary confusion, "Flora hardly needs to-" He breaks off, understanding dawning. "We're not talking about Flora, are we?" he smirks. The liger lowers his hands, putting them in his pockets. "I don't suppose I could get dressed first?" he asks, still calm, "Looks like your boys there have my things."
"Your... Things will be taken care of. You won't be needing them. And no. There is no time to get dressed."
"And again, no... My sources tell me that the False Lady is currently out of town for a few weeks," he rumbles, grinning faintly. "Now, be a good boy, and come along... I don't know what the False Lady accepts... But you do not keep the true nobility waiting," he rumbles.
Seeing that he is ridiculously outnumbered, Fenris shrugs. "How could I turn down such a gracious invitation?" he asks nonchalantly, "Lead the way, Chuckles." How had they snuck up on him like that? A problem for another time. The liger quashes his inquisitiveness to avoid an unsightly outbreak of the Puzzler's mark, sauntering up to the panther. "After you," he says.
A soft rumble, a shake of the feline's head, before he gestures towards a small cart at the edge of the beach. "Go on. Up on top of it," he growls, unsheathing a short blade. "No funny business."
"Sure thing, Smiley," Fenris says, sauntering over to the cart. No reason to go exploding anyone yet. After all, so far it was only a rude invitation to meet the leader of a terrible shadow organization. What was there not to love about the situation. The liger hauls himself up into the cart and does his best to get comfortable and remember everything he could about his kidnappers and their route, though he was certain that they were not about to let him see where they were going.
No, indeed. They weren't. The moment Fenris steps past the black-furred feline, a burlap sack thrown over his head, and his arms are tied behind his back... It doesn't seem they're taking any chances with him, even as he's forcibly guided onto the cart. "Just a precaution... I'm sure you understand," the cat notes. "Now unfortunately, we can't have you memorize the way we're going... So. Knock 'im out, Christina," he growls, before a blunt object slams against the back of Fenris's head.
"No need for tha-" Fenris tries to cry out, but too little, too late. The last thought that crosses the liger's mind is, "Christina is a pretty name," then everything goes black.
