[@Andronicus23] [center] [h3][color=13A082] The Trappers[/color] [/h3][/center] [center] [h3][color=DC143C] Chief Liam Carter-Spearshark [/color] [/h3][/center] At the mention of the word ‘Trapper’ the guards reflexively gripped their weapons tighter, despite Liam’s apparent polite demeanor, and faint murmurs filtered through the crowd. His mouth tightened slightly. Ah shit, what had Bilge done? It became obvious his instinct that something was rotten in Far Harbor was true. Quite literally. He wrinkled his nose as the smell wafted to him from the heaps of decaying fish. Some in his band with less composure audibly gagged and swore to God, or the Spirits. Interestingly, scattered amongst the refuse were almost pristine food containers with a weird symbol: A four-armed, three-legged man. He even spotted someone in the back of the crowd quietly munching away on some noodles, obviously reluctant to let the meal go to waste despite the alarm of his arrival. The incongruity of the Pre-Bomb looking food amidst the sad wretch of a harbor was too much to process right away. “Lower your weapons,” Came the call from the back. A woman strode forward, obviously the leader. She was dressed in a Harbor fisherman’s outfit upon which straps of scrap metal had been attached to form a makeshift armor and wore a brown tricorn hat upon her head. An old fishing net was draped about her left shoulder like a sidecape. She’d obviously come dressed for battle, but seemed eager for peaceful negotiation. “I’m Captain Avery, I speak for the Harborfolk. You’ll have to excuse our somewhat tense demeanor and show of weapons, we don’t get many visitors to Far Harbor and we’re always cautious of new faces. I’m sure you can understand. If you’re here to talk, I’m happy to acquiesce. Perhaps we can talk somewhere a bit more private, if you’d be willing to follow me.” She looked around at the guards before continuing, “I only ask that you and any who accompany you disarm before you do so. We’d appreciate a show of courtesy. You have my word and honor as Captain that you’ll be granted safe passage.” Liam grimaced and tightened his hand on the revolver at his waist, before letting go again, holding his hand distinctly away from the gun. “I understand,” he replied levelly, before continuing louder to the distinctly better equipped group of Trappers around him “But we keep our blades and hatchets.” [center] …… [/center] [i]Avery led the Chieftain towards her house situated on the docks. She welcomed him and any members of his entourage in and bid them to sit around a large table on the lower floor. She removed her hat and placed it on the table to the side before sitting down herself. “Before we begin, can I offer you anything? Something hot to drink? Perhaps a bit of food?” She then nodded to one of the Harborwatch who’d entered the house and was leaning up against the far wall, “Fetch them anything they want from the Last Plank. Tell Mitch that it’s on me.” Avery shifted uncomfortably in her seat before she continued and addressed their leader, Spearshank, “You said that you came here looking for your kin; fellow Trappers. I confess that we did not realize that the Trappers here were part of a larger group, although we did know that they came from beyond our shores. If you are here seeking them, then I’m afraid I have some unwelcome news. The Trappers who were on this island were driven mad by the fog, and lost to it. Either falling to the creatures that dwell in the deep fog or driven out by Acadia when they pacified this part of the Island.” She held up her hand, hoping to calm any immediate protest, “And before you become quick to anger or judgement. Know that your kin caused much harm to this island and its people. I know many of our Harborfolk, especially those obstinate few who tried to eke out a living in the wilderness, were lost to Trapper attacks and viciously murdered. So understand that we have lost friends and family as well, but even so I do not fault them completely for their actions: the fog is ultimately to blame for consuming them as it has so many others.” Avery paused and took a deep breath, “So with that said, I’m sure you have questions aplenty. I’ll do my best to answer them, provided we can all remain civil.”[/i] Liam sat stiffly in a faded red chair in Captain Avery’s house, sipping coffee from his battered, ancient thermos. After denying the offer of food and drink, he had listened calmly as Avery confirmed his worst fears. Now he sat quietly, drawing out a moment of suspense that played to his reputation of quiet intensity. The four members of his Kithcircle with him stood behind him, jaws clenched, wondering just how violent their Chief’s response would be. In truth, this oft-used tactic gave him time to seriously deliberate Captain Avery’s words. He did not doubt the truth of Captain Avery’s story. He had heard tales of mind sickness deepening from terrors beyond the natural. And it had been years, he had been prepared to learn the worst. Still, he had to strike a compromise and not make his trip worthless. Liam set down the thermos and stared back at Avery for one more moment before responding phlegmatically with a faint drawl “Hunts can go wrong. I understand that. Still, this… Fog. You take it for granted. We’ll want to see it ourselves.” He was playing with the tension in the room, hoping turn it in his favor with a disarmingly laid-back response. “I apologize for my kin’s actions,” he continued “Many of them were part of my clan, Clan Spear-Shark. They left ten years ago looking to hunt in Far Harbor,” he chuckled grimly. “Far Harbor is quite infamous in Maine, and I remember how excited they were to spear a laser eyed sea-beast or land angler.” He sipped from the thermos “We are at something of a draw on this. Had they not been driven mad by this ‘Fog,’ my kin could have been friends rather than enemies. They are not fully responsible, but the violence they inflicted on you calls for some kind of recompense.” He turned around in the seat to his Kithcircle. “Bring us some canned lobster and potatoes.” The fairly nondescript, brown-haired Kaleb nodded and left the house. “Thank you for your offer of food earlier, but it hardly seems fair to take from a fishing town with a fishing problem. Would you like some? It’s hard to tell your food situation,” he said turning back to Avery, a faint smile on his scarred lips “You seem be getting relieved from famine by some Pre-Bomb rations of some kind. Does it have something to do with this “Acadia” that provided the muscle to defeat my feral kindred? I’ll need to hear who they are while we eat.” “My Kithband, the Trappers of Clan Spearshark and a few others, are skilled hunters and fisherfolk all. We also have considerable rations with us. Maybe in exchange for a few caps and some of your guides showing us around the island to the mad Trappers’ remains and old campgrounds, we could help your food problem? Have any idea what’s causing it?”