Tenacinde Modareno Outskirts

[Jackie Cat]

Modareno is a town of boundaries, a liminal town, a place of in-betweens. It's a border town, of course, scarcely a dozen miles from the Commonwealth. It's also at once a coastal port and a mountain settlement, straddling a river that cuts down from the hills, bisects the districts (dividing rich and poor), and widens into a marshy delta before hitting the gulf. The climate is hot and humid most of the year, with mangroves to its south, but the night breezes, the sea spray, the mountain air in the mining district – all these make it bearable, as do the fine fabrics and textiles of the region. The local economy is founded largely on cotton, agave, and mareep wool, after all. That, and its productive silver mines in the hills. Modareno's citizens would have you believe it a city of fashion and prosperity, rapidly growing in wealth and influence. In truth, it has all too many problems incubating in its underbelly...

The town itself has a grand plaza in the centre, where the local Baron's administration is based – the buildings here are whitewashed adobe with terracotta roofs, and wrought-iron balconies draped nn tropical vines and climbing flowers. Downstream is the mill district, where the river flow powers wheels and looms – upstream is the mineworker barrio, and the canvas-topped mercado where goods and services are bought and sold. A large church to the regional Sword Saint stands on a small island that divides the river – its tower broadens into a rooftop garden that overlooks all of Modareno.

The culture here is vibrant, competitive, prideful, as all who live here work ambitiously to better their lot – but a note of tension underscores their striving. The town is patrolled at all times by epaulletted guardsmon, their officers on mountback, the troops armed with gunpowder arms and steel breastplates. Criminal elements abound in the province, from mere smugglers to dangerous revolutionaries. The Baron's 'mon and their many eyes are everywhere, searching out such dangerous individuals. Newcomers in town should expect to be searched, questioned, and presented with demands— have you seen this 'mon? (Wanted, dead or alive!) One might think the good Baron was paranoid about something, if it weren't obvious this was merely his civic duty...

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[Jackie Cat]

Hours after their departure from the canal dungeon, the group had trekked their way to the decrepit port village nearby, and charted a paddle steamer as far north as the captain would take them. From there, they had a straight shot to the thriving town of Modareno, and from there to the Commonwealth. It was still humid, there were more than the desired amount of subtropical bugs, and it was a tough journey, but soon, they'd be in civilisation again... albeit with precious few resources, a disunited party, and in an unfamiliar country.

Following a dusty, sun-baked brick path, they crested a thickly forested hill— and finally got their first clear view of Modareno. Church spire in the distance, and wind- and water-mills trailing along the southeast curve of the settlement. Heat-shimmer off the brick road made it dance like a mirage. An evening sea-mist curled and lapped at the edge of town.

"You walk like northeners," quipped a disembodied voice from somewhere off the trail.

 

[Shiny Phantump]

The sudden voice made Lillian take a step back and tilt up her head to try to spot whoever had called out to them from beneath her bangs. To no avail: She couldn’t perceive anyone in the direction she thought the sound was coming from.

“Um, I’m sorry?”

Was it bad to walk like a southerner? She wasn’t sure how southerners walked. Probably pampered, delicate, refined. She imagined it was more like strutting than walking. Clearly, her upbringing and her very nature itself flew contrary to the values of this town and it’s people. That was bad. That was probably bad.

“I didn’t mean to give offence. Do you want me to… walk differently?”

It had been a long day, and even if she hadn’t meant it, a small edge of impatience crept into the end of her last sentence.

 

[Phoenixsong]

They'd been out of the Ninth Circle of Mud for hours now and Blue's fur still wasn't totally dry. Freakin' humidity. "Damp" was a huge upgrade over "actively swimming", though, so he was just gonna have to tough it out it. Actual, not-destroyed buildings inhabited by actually-not-dead-people were finally in sight, and while he'd given up trying to get any sort of remotely satisfying explanation about their situation out of the others they had at least made it here without any more guns being drawn. Just a little bit longer and he could find someplace to—

The voice stopped him short and he whipped around, staring, nose already going a mile a minute trying to pinpoint where, what, who without him fully realizing. Oh, what now, for crying out loud? Part of his brain warned him to be careful, who knew what this chump wanted, maybe they were about to get mugged or something. That sounded about right given how stellar this day'd been so far.

But the other part of his brain wanted to dry off and then crash for twenty years five minutes ago, and unfortunately that part was being a lot more persuasive right now.

"Let's pretend we have enough context to feel appropriately insulted or whatever and move things along," he said, making very little effort to hide the annoyance in his own tone. They could hash out whatever "north" meant relative to Wherever The Hell This Was, Made-Up Planet later. Or never, he'd be cool with never, too. "Any other fascinating observations you're dyin' to share, or can we head into town and get some rest?"

 

[Jackie Cat]

The hidden speaker chuckled.

"Hey, cool your spurs, friends. I meant no offense. I can tell you've had a long day, 'uh?"

It was a soft voice, but smooth and confident. Androgynous, with a purr in it – and a pronounced Tenacine accent.

"Tho' you should know, if you are from El Norte, you might wanna think twice before you set paw in this here town. Just a piece of friendly advice for a band of road-weary strangers – who don't look like they want any more trouble than they've already had, am I right?"

Gladius cleared his throat and glanced about, trying to spot the unseen 'mon.

"What kind of trouble might we expect in town?" he asked, dully. He could probably take out any unruly 'mon in search of a bruising, but he didn't fancy his chances against an occupying military force, or several angry squads of cops. And the rest of the party would be, frankly, fucked in any serious fight, given the state they were in.

The secret speaker made a non-committal noise. "Eehhh, is maybe not so bad, y'know? Just, the Baron is looking for an excuse to make an example of some foreigners. Trouble at the border, unrest in the barrios, you know how these things go. You are, ah, probably not the specific fellows he is looking for, ah? All the same, if I were you, I'd be thinking about where else I can lay my head tonight – somewhere other than Modareno."

Gladius sniffed. "I'll take that into advisement. Who are you to be telling us all this, anyway?"

More laughter, a little showy, like it was a practiced piece of drama.

"Why, my friend, none other than the Young Sword, the masked outlaw, El Espino himself – The Thorn of the Black Rose!"

"And who's he when he's at home?" growled the Zoroark.

"Hah! I cannot disclose my secret identity, good sir. But some know me in these parts as a silent warrior of the night – a warrior for justice!"

A vigilante, then. The Wayfarers had their fair share of experience with vigilantism. By the sounds of it, there was cause for it, if the local aristocracy was meting out punishment on unwitting northeners just to quiet the populace.

 

[Phoenixsong]

...Uh-huh.

So pokémon were digging failed murder canals and had baronies governed by paranoid tyrants and needed a masked sword vigilante to save them. These were all things that made sense here. Why not.

"'Silent'. Right." Blue sat down. Too much effort to deal with... this and stand at the same time. He scratched his ear, trying to focus on how good it felt to shake the mosquitoes away and not on how bizarre it was that his leg could do that at all. "Well, Thorn of... Justice? Since we're so obviously not from the south, howsabout you tell us where around here we should go, and how we get there without having to schlep through the whole night?"

He still wasn't used to sorting out all the information his nose was beaming into his brain (or to the lingering eau du wet dog). Some kinda cat again, somewhere, but where, specifically...?

Why was he hiding, anyway? He was supposed to be a "masked" outlaw, and not like they'd know him from anyone. And he didn't sound like the sort who wanted to give his fancy little spiels from behind a rock or something. More of a ha-ha!, bask in my smoldering mysteriousness and admire my cape billowing in the sourceless breeze, now could you kindly point me in the direction of the nearest tree or perhaps blundering lackey I could slash my initials into! mysteriously! type of guy.

"It'd be way easier for us to properly express our undying gratitude for your wise warning if you, I dunno, came out and handed us a map or something."

 

[Shiny Phantump]

Thorn of the Black Rose? Lillian... actually quite liked that name. It sounded like it could've been the title of a book she'd read back home. Of course, no matter how he presented himself, there was no way to know whether he was actually some kind of local legend or just some guy trying to make his cool self-appointed title stick. It didn't really matter, though, because in either case it was best to be nice to him.

"That's a cool name," she earnestly offered.

There was a problem with his advice, though: Exhaustion had begun too take a hold on her. Her body was meant to be assisted by telepathy, which she didn't know how to use. She'd felt her small heart struggling to pump enough weaker hemocyanic blood to keep her muscles functioning. It had calmed down some now that they'd switched from physical labout to walking. She wasn't sure how far the next town over was, but the idea of having to commit to that walk worried her.

She looked up at Gladius, counting on him to be able to accurately discern what their best option was. He didn't seem cowed by the prospect of taking the night in this town, so she mirrored him.

"I wish you the best of luck with your efforts. We might have to roll the dice on this one, though..."

 

[Jackie Cat]

"'Silent'. Right."

El Espino chuckled again.

"Well, my friend, I suppose you can hear where I am right now, eh?"

What did that mean? That the Thorn was projecting his voice...?

"That's a cool name," she earnestly offered.

"Ah, that's more to my liking," purred the Thorn. "And what might all of your names be, fair travellers?"

Gladius coughed, and got the business over with on everyone's behalf. Gladius, Lillian, Blue, Guzma, Odette, Twig.

"Oh, so very exotic!" exclaimed El Espino.

"Well, Thorn of... Justice? Since we're so obviously not from the south, howsabout you tell us where around here we should go, and how we get there without having to schlep through the whole night? It'd be way easier for us to properly express our undying gratitude for your wise warning if you, I dunno, came out and handed us a map or something."

"I wish you the best of luck with your efforts. We might have to roll the dice on this one, though..."

"No need to be hasty, 'uh? What kind of good samaritan would I be if I didn't have shelter to offer? Why don't I come down there and discuss this where you can see me..."

An acrobatic shadow dropped from the canopy above, spun, and landed on its hind paws. This was the Thorn – so perfectly camouflaged against the leaf litter and undergrowth that it would take a moment for everyone's eyes to identify him as a Floragato. A cat in dark clothing that seemed to shift hue with his protean fur, with a thin sword at his hip and a wide-brimmed hat atop his masked head.

The feline grinned, and took a bow.

"I would be most happy to host your fine selves at my campsite, not far from here. I would hate to see you accosted by the Baron's clown-suited thugs."

 

[JFought]

He could never mistake one of his own. He knew the form of their interloper just from the trill of his purr. And when he dropped down in the exact spot he himself would have chosen, Twig's fur stood on end not because of his appearance, but his appearance.

Every detail was similar yet different. The floragato did not wear the same mask or the same dark clothing. His cloak had been traded for a hat; his sophisticated flair traded for roguish charm. Even the rose association, black instead of red, the difference almost symbolical. The Thorn was undeniably their own 'mon, and yet the phantom could not stop seeing himself in him. Is this a parody? An inspired imitation?

Or perhaps... an otherworldly counterpart?!

Twig forced himself to relax and sit straight so that he could consider the proposition. If he were to appear before himself in the same manner with the same offer, would he trust himself? Of course not, obviously I would have ulterior motives! A self-professed outlaw would not make themselves known to any stray band of travellers purely out of the goodness of their heart, the risks were too great. They had been marked by this copycat, though for what purpose, he could not yet determine. We quite visibly have nothing to steal, unless he fancies Odette's firearm. What potential could he see in us...?

He knew what he wanted to say, but filtering it through Twig's register proved to be unexpectedly difficult. "But, what would an outlaw want with us? We don't have anything, and... It's weird that you'd offer that to some random strangers." His tail lashed. He felt so clumsy all of sudden!