Throughout the meal, which was more than a pleasant surprise for Kray given the situation, there had been give and take, questions, answers, and general conversation about the state of affairs in the Borgh, and what was the next step, the best course of action to follow. Despite any differences or lack of trust that might exist among those present, everyone at the meal seemed to have at least one thing in common: the desire to find Sorcha Rhone.
After they found the girl... well, there might be a conflict of interest at that point. Kray was of the belief that they would cross that bridge when they had to. Until then, it was in everyone's interest to work together toward a common goal. And the work, as outlined by Rutcranna, was a well thought out plan. The knowledge she knew...
supposedly gained in captivity and her trials over the last few years... it was priceless. And she was, without a doubt, intelligent, resourceful, and forward thinking. A strategist. Her plan, from top to bottom, was about as good as they come, especially given the limited resources and personnel at the group's disposal.
Kray was settled comfortably in his chair, halfway through enjoying a post-dinner spliff, lost in his own thoughts, mind out in the swamp somewhere with Qiu and Talius. He closed his eyes and saw Qiu flying through the air.
Dead. Talius desperately trying to make it back to shore.
Dead. Guilt sidled up next to him for a moment, then he choked it out almost immediately.
There was nothing you could do, except die with them. Kray turned the thought over in his mind, then moved on to an undeniable truth. They had come out to Old Island five strong, and had already lost two. It was, to be sure, pathetically horrible start to the job, and he would be damned if they lost another in this hell-hole shit muck swamp. At the same time, he'd seen enough battle and war to know that no matter how much he wanted it, there was nothing that could guarantee the rest of them would make it out of the swamp alive.
At a bare minimum, he knew that they would need to redouble their efforts to work as a unit, stronger together, back to back. Kray looked at Ivor and Thorn.
If we don't... more of us will be gator food, or worse. He thought of the Hive conversion process Rutcranna had described, the one that turned men into slaves of Glaaki.
Contemplative, smoke curling about, adrift in a strange mix of vengeance and regret that was naturally at odds with his typically austere brand of professionalism, he suddenly heard the singular word:
Maeriks was standing there, maul in hand. Kray reflexively began to size him up, measuring and weighing the man, allowing a stream of smoke to escape from his mouth as he did so. It rose, climbing up his face, only to be easily drawn in through his nostrils. He answered Maeriks' single word statement.
Reave. "Plenty of that where we're going. Hope you kill as good as you cook."
Maerik's cook was first rate, and Kray was inclined to think his kill-work was as well. Of course, looks could be deceiving. However, based on what he saw, Kray hoped the big man was the kind who made short work of his foes, often called '
culling' in mercenary and soldiering circles: the process of making quick kills in an effort to move on to the next foe and repeat the process, ultimately removing the enemy from the battlefield and future strategic consideration via wholesale, orchestrated slaughter. The term had been coined a couple of centuries ago by Devil Hade's grandfather's grandfather, who also, oddly enough, bred pigs as a hobby. Rumor had it that he had also used the animals to dispose of 'human waste.' Pigs, especially when hungry, Kray had learned, will eat
anything. To this day, there were a few in House Mercon who bred small stocks of pigs.
Addressing the room, Kray tapped an ash off of his spliff.
"Well... unless there are any reasonable objections to Rutcranna's grand strategy," he looked at the witch with an appreciative and respectful nod,
"I say we get on with it. Time's wasting."
Rutcranna's strategy is sound. I say we follow her plan, avoiding conflict, low key and as stealth-like as possible, keeping an eye out for the slightest hint of betrayal. Hopefully part of her witcherious plan is keeping the gators from watching our moves. It's a swamp, so the damn camouflaged stealth ambush predator things are all over the place.
