Mateus de Sa O'Rapoza watched the log cabin from across the water and made note of the number of windows it had and which direction they faced, the slant of the roof, the spacing of the side doors in conjunction with the front entrance, and a hundred other minute details that would quickly be lost once they started moving again. 

Crawl. Your name is Crawl. 

His inner voice, by far the loudest voice in his life, spoke to him. He ignored it.

And, it continued, you are going to poison Loch Arvanis. 

Again, firmer this time, he ignored it.

Roughly a dozen or so individuals were meandering around the lawn of the Lurker's Cabin. Crawl and the rest of the unit had rode out of camp early after breakfast. With the help of the mages and their careful route planning, they had not encountered any adversaries thus far. Now, they were well within the hundreds miles of wilderness that stretched across the northern coastline of Moroam. Crawl looked into the trees, an array of alien conifers, hemlocks, big-leaf maples, and great white oaks.  

He liked how green it was, and the abundance of nature. But one part of his psyche would constantly pine for the vast vistas and golden savannahs of the Horshian plain. Too many trees... and he felt like there could be someone lurking around every corner, every trunk. And, considering the enemy they faced, they might. But the individuals on the cabin's lawn wouldn't be those enemies.

He knew they would not be able to spot him at such a distance, so Crawl felt confident in bringing the spyglass back up to his eye and giving them another gaze. Some where picking at the grass idly, others were fletching arrows, or restringing bows, or taking pot-shots at targets assembled on another area of the lawn. 

Could be our camp. His loud inner voice said to him, Look, there's your army. There's your invasion force. That's what'd cripple the whole Crusade.

He knew he was sarcastically lying to himself even as he thought the words. 

And you are to poison Loch Arvanis.

Mateus de Sa O'Rapoza felt an antithetical spectral finger flick his ear. To him, it felt the same as the fingers of Promancer Dutra, a teacher from over two decades ago. He could almost hear the clicking tongue, see the shaking head, feel the indignation of men more wizened than him. 

The vial at his hip, the poison, felt like a lead glove. He knew, perhaps more so than anyone, barring the Sergeant, that it was a poison that would take effect immediately, and kill indiscriminately. There was no rhyme or reason to the existence of the poison, other than the instant and widespread loss of life. Naturally it was developed by a wizard. 

A long high-pitched whistle sang in tandem with the hundred other bird and insect songs sounding out around him, snapping his attention out of his own thoughts. It was quickly followed by one sharp short peep of a whistle. A signal. His scouts were about to return.

Offer popped out from the forested obscurity first. She was flattened against the back of her steed and her eyes appeared to be wild and wide. For a moment, a spike of dread went through Crawl. 

"Offer." His tone was deep and hushed, a volume that'd cut through a close space. "What is it? Did something happen to Vice?"

Offer wildly turned before answering him, looking over her shoulder. "Oh no, nononono--" 

"Offer." He repeated with a firmer tone, he brought his horse beside her's and reached out, turning her to him, "Calm down. What's wrong."

"She was right behind me," her eyes then shot open, like she had remembered something very important, "Contact! We had contact." 

That little girl, his voice rebounded off the interior's of his skull, her sister. Dead on your watch.

Crawl shoved it to the side, Offer had tears welling up in her eyes.\

"Okay. How many and where? Should we be moving?" Crawl was already pushing his legs into his horse to start it towards the main group. 

"Two, but there might be more. A quarter mile or so, we should move," her tone agreed with him, though she had to take a few gasping breaths to get it all out. Offer was a good scout, but she wasn't meant to be a scout. 

A few of the younger hemlocks shuffled. Crawl did not have time to think. His body moved on instinct.

Crawl's thickened right leg slammed against his horse's flank, driving it into a forward motion somewhere between a trot and gallop. If he'd been in Horsh, he'd be able to allow the beast to tear across the plains with wild abandon, but a heavily wooded forest couldn't provide such luxuries. Instead, the horse leapt forward before taking a few clumsy fast steps towards the wall of trees and plants. It was all Crawl needed. Using the momentum of the horse's leap, he whirled the 7-foot-long ashwood spear in a spinning motion from its clasp on his back. In the millisecond of time afforded to him, he saw the green cowl of a Lurker, and the position of arms drawing back an arrow.

In the same motion, Crawl roared a brief 'GrrAh!' and stabbed down, using the full strength of the horse's downward momentum to his advantage. It was all that was required. Crawl felt the jerk of resistance that came from his weapon finding true, and the heavy stillness that clung to the end of the spear. The Lurker was still hunched over in the brush.

Good thing she didn't see. His voice reasoned. Not always was it deprecating. It was a stupid thought regardless, they were soldiers at war. 

Offer yelped as a twig snapped and another patch of greenery shuffled. Looooooong-peep! Crawl was glad there'd been a signal, but cursed himself. He wouldn't have been able to get to that patch in time.

Vice rolled from the treeline. For a sickening moment Crawl's heart dropped seeing her front half coated in dark crimson blood, only for it to awkwardly leave his body as she stood up straight. 

"You did it sir!" Vice exclaimed. She then rushed forward and gave him a tight hug. It surprised Crawl that it forced so much air out of his lungs. "I didn't think I'd be able to warn everyone in time..." 

All just kids. Crawl smiled warmly to Vice. His hand was gentle, but he placed it on her shoulder and pushed her away, "You did it too. Where's your horse, scout?" 

Vice bit the inside of her cheek and furrowed her brow in worry, "He got shot when we were trying to leave. I played dead behind him... I don't think he's gonna make it. That one followed Offer," she indicated at the one Crawl had punched a hole through, "But the other ran back."

"That means we're going to have company here, and soon." Crawl began to click his tongue in the way he did when thinking of a plan of action.

"Ok. Vice, get on Offer's horse, when we rejoin the others pick one of the rockskippers or your sister and join up with them. You're light enough and they'll appreciate the extra set of eyes." He gave them both a whistle and began to trot his horse back in the direction of camp, 'walk and talk' it said. 

"Vice, did the one who ran off run counter-clockwise or clockwise around the loch?"

"Clockwise, sir." 

The long way. Which means he isn't grabbing the cabin; he's grabbing anyone who's already out here. 

"Ok. Speed and efficiency are the keys to the game now. I want both of you to escort the fighters once we're back. Don't worry about a signal anymore. Get in, get out."

The two girls seemed more than happy to agree to that particular plan. 

Those two almost died in order to tell you what you already know: the enemy's here.

"And..." Crawl cleared his throat, "Good job, that was a lot to put you both through. But I think you two just saved a lot more of our friends."

Crawl felt a mote of warmth bubble in his chest from seeing the two scouts take the compliment to heart. Above all else, he had to keep everyone happy.

They were rejoined with the main group only a minute later. To others, Crawl's volunteering to stand alone on a scouting trip was a mark of his bravery and leadership. To him, Crawl just wanted to get away from everyone and have some alone time. 

The entire unit had been supplied with an Aomian Warhorse. Crawl was a fan, the Aomian Warhorse had the unique ability to walk in perfect lock-step with other members of its species. When he was much younger, he had read in a book that this way to keep the number of members in their herd a secret to the ear's of dragons. Crawl was beginning to think that had been a scholarly euphemism for 'enemy armies.'

Crawl nodded at Offer and Vice to give Two-Toes the scouting report. While they did he rode his horse to his Ridge Fighters. Skip, Mortar, and Take viewed Crawl with the reverence that a primary schooler might give their principal. Thousands of miles south... and it may have been a bow. Here, however, Crawl wouldn't allow the formalities of their homeland to interfere with their duties. 

"Yep. It's going to be a fight." Crawl answered the question he knew they were all thinking, then reached into his back pouch. From it, he produced a hand-rolled cigarette and wasted no time in sparking it.

Their reactions once again brought him back a few years. He could see the giddy mixture of excitement, testosterone, adrenalin, and fear all-too-common in the soldiery. Thank the gods he had a cigarette, the rockskipper boys were too respectful not to interrupt his first few drags. It helped them form better questions too, but tended to have the side-effect of calling Crawl out on the details he had missed, which could be useful.

"What was it like, Sir?" Mortar, the largest of the group, asked. Crawl raised an eyebrow at him before following a pointed finger to the bloodied end of his spear. 

Forgot to fucking clean it. He would have gotten a citation for such an overlook back home. Mateus de Sa O'Rapoza would have gotten a citation. 

"Nothing to report. I took the poor tolo by surprise. They wear very light armor; crag turtles are tougher to crack." He caught himself by surprise at the venom of his words. He shook it away, he was also high on adrenaline-- even if he thought he was better than it. 

Crawl took another deep drag of the cigarette, "It's going to be up to you boys to keep those two safe though," he nodded his head at the scouts who were almost done giving their report, "they did their part, now you all are gonna show them our part." He meant for the sentence to sound like he was referring to something they owned. He felt the wave wash over him, the indication that he'd said the right words at the right time. It was an addictive feeling, to inspire others. 

Until you all crash. Said the voice. Until you're Crawl.

Until you poison Loch Arvanis. 

"'Right, gather up!" Two-Toes barked. 

"Might not have enough time for this so I'll keep it snappy. Mortar and Vice, Take and Vice, Skip and Clutch, & Proxy Crawl," Two-Toes attention turned to each, respectively. "Ye all are to ride to yer points, we're going to be splittin' here to confuse the enemy and not give 'em too big a group to pincushion. Clear?"

"Understood!" They all said in tandem.

"Me 'n' the mages will cloak yer movements as long as we can. There's no real need for an assassin yet, so Jam, yer with me too." 

"Ayym," Jam lazily purred. She was fiddling with her hands. 

Lurch, a mage who specialized in 'non-combat arcana' or NCA began to protest, citing the limitations of range and "effective spell-transference." Crawl wasn't sure if he was addressing Two-Toes or the entire unit, it could be hard to tell sometimes with Lurch.

Instead, with his cigarette now at the 2/3rd mark, Crawl leaned himself and brought his horse back two paces to get a better view of Jam. The assassin had one leg crossed over the other from the top of her mount, looking like the most lackadaisical rider Crawl had ever seen. It was what she was fumbling with that gave him pause.

He saw a fleck of pallid red-pink, it was the same color the tops of unripened strawberries took on and realized immediately what she was doing. It took his entire willpower not to erupt in the middle of the unit. 

The poison 'kit' which their unit had been provided was known in academic circles as 'Powdered Blisterstem Extract.' The name, while certainly indicating how the processed blisterstem plant was the primary ingredient, failed to mention the cocktail of hydrobromic acid, cyanide, ammonia, and anthrax lovingly added in pinches to the mix. The fact that the concoction somehow appeared within a peer-reviewed article in the Aomian academic circle was bewildering. He wondered how many biological weapons of mass destruction skirted past review boards; or if a single chemist in the ATSQC or Geneca even noticed or bothered to check the methods section of the poison's associated article. 

A poison, he now saw, being gingerly tapped and almost emptied into a dark gray pouch at Jam's side. 

The assassin's eyes came up. Crawl expected her to be surprised or carry a look of guilt when their eyes met. However, all he received was a smile from the assassin, and a little shake of the bag she'd just emptied the poison into.

She's challenging Crawl. The voice dangerously whispered, Testing to see if the Proxy will reprimand her. He ran through the scenario. He could make a scene and have the girl give up the poison; but they were being hunted right now and that'd take precious time away from everyone uninvolved. He couldn't confront her privately at the moment either. 

It wasn't enviable, but Crawl elected to pass a word onto Two-Toes before they broke apart. He didn't trust whatever idea Jam might have for the poison. Hell, he didn't trust Jam to begin with. She was hiding more than most of them, he could just feel it. Their eye contact didn't break.

Fine then, let two play at that game, girl. His voice said in a rare moment of reference. 

First, Crawl slowly raised his two fingers to his cigarette. It was near the butt, and the herbs had gone throat-singingly hot and acrid.

He extinguished the burning end on his tongue, then spat the cigarette to the ground. 

Jam looked like her sides were about to split, but Crawl figured she'd have that reaction. He'd watched men try their courtship intimidation tactics or fruitless efforts to impress her. Hell, maybe that's why she got on so well with Lurch. He knew that he wouldn't get her respect for putting out a cigarette on his tongue. It was the set-up though, the trick or feint that made the game worth playing. 

Crawl's other hand dipped into his Blisterstem poison. He made sure it was angled towards her. He saw her eyebrow raise and, in the same instant, tipped his head back and dropped a teaspoon's worth of toxin into his mouth, and swallowed. 

That's more like it, Mateus. 

He kept his expression still and featureless. It was extremely difficult, considering how, when he tilted his head back down, Jam genuinely looked unnerved. They turned their steeds away from each other at nearly the same time. 

He turned directly towards a dazzle-eyed Skip, who had apparently been secretly watching him. Crawl suddenly felt himself long for more alone time. 

"You really are incredible, Sir," Skip said in a dreamy tone of voice with about a million other things unsaid beneath it.

Crawl had just consumed enough Blisterstem poison to lay an entire herd of elephants flat. He wondered if it was an aspect of his psyche or their circumstance that made him serendipitously come up with a disarming response.

"Well, I did pass on breakfast after all," he chuckled. 

And I'm still going to poison Loch Arvanis. The voice chided.