05 The World is a Nightmare (Pt. 3)

Even disguised as Roy Valiant, navigating the woods was no easy feat. That may have been in part due to the burdensome bag slung unceremoniously over her shoulder that contained no small amount of useless dead weight. It could have also been a result of her emotional exhaustion from the taxing nature of the night's discoveries. Regardless, the fact of the matter was Figaro was struggling.

[You took a wrong turn.] Mirage pointed out dully. [Again. I believe that makes 13 this hour alone.]

"Oh hush," Figaro snorted. "I'm doing just fine. It's not my fault Bones makes his lair so difficult to find."

[It's really not that difficult.] Mirage denied with a derisive click of their tongue. [All you have to do is follow the river. He has an outpost near every major settlement, and a fair number near the more obscure ones as well.]

Figaro refused to respond to that. Even if Mirage had a point, it wasn't their place to act so snobbish about it. Still, Figaro corrected her course and set out to find and follow the river bank. No sense in making life any more difficult for herself than necessary.

On Aurora, water wasn't exactly difficult to find. Most of its surface was covered in water, and what land was present was broken up by extensive river systems, seas, lakes, and other impressive bodies of water. Naturally, fishing and fish farms were a common way of life and sustenance. It was still a half a day's journey out, but there was a prominent fishing settlement nearby, and undoubtedly Bones would have a nearby outpost. He was an Ottmer after all, their kind were practically born and bred to fish.

"What's that?" She wondered some time later as something caught her eye. An odd object was bobbing up and down in the river, and she could almost swear she could hear faint sobs coming from inside, though it was hard to be sure over the roar of the river.

Mirage didn't bother with a response, nor did Figaro wait for one before going to investigate. Swimming was not her forte, even if she chose to assume the form of an aquatic race, and there was also the dirt bag bundled up nice and tight in her sack to consider, so venturing into the river itself was off the table. Instead, she clambered up a nearby tree and swung across branches that extended over the bustling waterway, criss-crossed between each other like a natural net. Utilizing the convenient sixth, opposable toe--or did they call it a foot thumb?--of Roy's powerful Animabu frame, Figaro snatched the mouth of the bobbing barrel as the river carried it under her. It took some time and considerable effort, but while using her hands to maneuver through the branches, keeping hold of the barrel with her feet, and utilizing her teeth to keep the nasty tasting burlap sack in place over her shoulder, Figaro was eventually able to haul her load to shore.

[You realize, it probably would've saved you some trouble if you had put the bag in the barrel.] Mirage stated, but only after Figaro had managed to get everything onto the river bank.

[You couldn't have pointed that out sooner?!] Figaro thought furiously. Mirage neglected to respond, but that wasn't wholly unexpected. It was rare her soul tool was proactively helpful, instead preferring to let Figaro learn by making mistakes.

"Bard?" A soft voice caught her attention. "Bard is that you? This isn't funny! You know I can't swim!"

Curious, Figaro peeked into the barrel, only to find her self looking down at what looked like a very muddy, very miserable, and highly waterlogged young Animabu slave. It was hard to tell beneath all of the dirt, grime, and the stench of wet hair, but based on the pitch of the voice Figaro assumed it was female.

"What are you called young one?" Figaro questioned, using her best impersonation of Roy's deep, rumbling voice to catch the slave's attention. Boy did she get it.

"You... you... " The little slave cowered deeper into the bottom of the barrel as she gaped in open terror up at Figaro. "Not... Bard..."

[I feel like this should be obvious, but do you really think scaring the terrified little slave child is a good idea?] Mirage wondered.

"Hey, what are you crying about?" Figaro exclaimed louder than she intended in her exasperation over the situation. Naturally, the little slave started bawling and blubbering. Nothing that came out of its mouth was understandable.

[Bully.] Mirage accused. Figaro was at a loss for how to respond. For that matter, she was also at a complete loss at how to handle the situation.

Giving up, she reached in and grabbed the slave by the back of the worn brown potato bag it wore for clothes and hauled it out of the bucket. The sorry creature didn't struggle or resist. instead, it curled into a tight ball, knees pressed tightly to the chest, matted tail tucked tightly between the legs, and arms wrapped protectively over the back of the neck. The slave was alarmingly light, which made carrying it pretty easy.

With two captives on her hands, Figaro upped her pace. It would be difficult to defend both of any wild beasts turned up. When she finally spotted the tale-tell crimson flag bearing a black narkeaglar skull, Figaro nearly dropped to her knees with relief. She was even more delighted to find the familiar broad silhouette and unruly chestnut mane peppered grey from many years of experience that could only belong to the Ottmer known as Bones.

"Oh thank the divine dragon you're here!" Figaro exclaimed as the Ottmer turned at the sound of her approach.

[You're still in disguise, genius.] Mirage stated as Bones appraised her with some bewilderment. It didn't turn out to be much of a problem.

"Figaro?!" He blinked a few moments later. "you know what, we'll sort this out inside away from prying eyes and ears. Quickly! Quickly!"

Slapping her butt with his great rudder-like tail, he urgently ushered her into the den. Given that she still appeared like Roy acting the part of a monster in a campfire horror story, and she was lugging around a body-shaped bag and a half-drowned slave she really shouldn't have been surprised. The regent had eyes everywhere.

Bones bolted the door behind him once they were inside the burrow-like den, then proceeded to close curtains and blow out lamps. From there, he dragged Figaro behind the clerk's counter and all but booted her down a hidden trap door that lead deeper underground into a catacomb of tunnels that seemed more appropriate to Lagomian home building than an Ottmer den. Several dimensionally altered doorways later and even Figaro didn't have a prayer of finding her way back out on her own. He didn't stop until she had lost sense of direction at least three more times, then he finally guided her into what appeared to be a holding cell.

"Alright Figaro, what in Gaea's name is going on?!" He rounded on her the moment the door was closed and locked. "Why the fuck do you look like Roy on steroids experiencing one in a series of horribly bad hair days?! And what's with that... thing..."

Figaro was surprised at the unbridled disdain in the uncharacteristic sneer Bones wore as he regarded the slave girl who was still curled up in a tight ball while Figaro carried it around like a suitcase. He typically had a bleeding heart when it came to those in need. Furthermore, he was friends with Roy--to the degree of a brotherly bond--and even married to Roy's younger sister, Veronica, who were both pure, unadulterated Animabu. Figaro could not fathom what his problem with the poor slave child might be.

"It's a long story..." Figaro sighed. "The short version is I need information from the scum in the bag, I found the child in a bucket on the river, and I need your help sorting it all out because I am pretty sure they're both connected to a massacre that happened barely hours ago on a children's farm."

Bone's expression of disgust melted away, replaced by a sorrowful yet exhausted countenance. Not that Figaro could blame him. Tragedy, it seemed, was becoming common news those days.

"I see," He sighed. "Let's get things set up to deal with your... guest. We should probably find food for the.. uh... kid too. In the meantime, I want all of the details."

"Let's get to work then," Figaro replied with a wry smile. Relating all of the details would likely take hours. Bones was quite thorough with questions and information. He was the world's leading information broker after all.