Substandard Living

Karma had been skulking around the camp perimeters for a long while.  The beasts of her world were rather intelligent and houses were built by those who had the physical means to.  It didn't seem entirely out of place to her that there would be hatches in the middle of the forest - actually, it was rather common.  But even to her, the condition of such structures were pitiful.  They didn't even match the quality of the huts at her old, now-destroyed, tribe.  It wasn't unfamiliarity that kept the chupacabra a distance away.  She was a high ranking member of the evil army, the Mytholx, and she would be instantly suspect if the inhabitants knew of the infamously violent faction.  Without the ability to fly, Karma even feared that she could end up as an excellent prize for her faction's enemies.  The nasty blood-drinker was entirely without her subordinate fliers, so she was extremely cowardly.

As she made several wide patrols around, she decided that there were no threats.  The purple chupacabra stalked in toward the center of the camp.  Her green eyes darted to either side of her and slowly she rose her head.  The only ear on her head pricked up.  Had something bad happened to this tribe?  Karma sneered, annoyed by her lack of knowledge about the place.  Soon, she caught sight of the massive human that appeared to be digging through some storage units.  The scraggly creature came to a stop before changing her direction.  The cryptid had not decided if the human was friend or foe.  She did not recognize the creature entirely, but fawns, centaurs and cyclops' came to her mind.  Karma was sure the new species could pass for a cyclops, except with the addition of another eye.  Black-lined mouth curled down into a frown as she began to pace back and forth a short distance in front of the creates, looking almost like a starved coyote looking for something to pick off.

The chupacabra was not a happy camper.

Mr. Perkins had been startled by the sudden voice addressing him. He looked up and scowled as he saw the speaker, a creature unlike anything he'd ever seen. He lowered his ax, reconsidering smashing the crates opened as he listened to the strange creature. Grumbling under his breath about poor packaging techniques, he drove the ax into a nearby wooden post.

"And I suppose you're an expert on old fashioned weapons," he said, glowering at the crates. What he really wanted was a crowbar, or even a good claw hammer. But he hadn't seen any crates marked Tools. He eyed the creature warily, his eyes sweeping across its beak, and sharp talons. Not to mention its great size. After a moment, he decided to proceed on the assumption that if it wanted to kill him, it would have attacked him when his back was turned. He hefted a crate marked Medical Supplies on top of the stack of crates, then used his bare hands to pry it opened.

"Whoever packaged these bottles is an idiot. No padding, and barely anything to keep them from jostling each other," he groused, eying the glass bottles with a disgusted look. Then he glanced out of the corner of his eye at a strange purple creature prowling around nearby. "Can this day get anymore strange?"

Old-fashioned weapons? From the medieval era of Heraldry, an iron ax seemed hardly old-fashioned to the beast. However, the Griffin did remember that Ruber was also always looking for better and stronger weapons. Besides, an ax was awfully crude compared to a sword. It wouldn't have been that odd to see it as supposedly undeveloped in the short run. It was better than a cudgel, though.

He looked into the case of bottles as the man expounded his outrage. The mere sight of watching the ungainly person be capable of opening the box impressed the easily impressed Griffin. He clucked his tongue. "Least they could have used was straw. Otherwise, the whole place would have gone up in smoke," he agreed, though with hardly any practical knowledge of potion ware.

He turned his head to see the new creature that had joined them as well. As it, too, was opening a box, Griffin decide he should prove more useful than he had been. He approached the nearest box and began using the hook of his beak as a crowbar to pry the top off.

Her fangs had managed to chip off splinters of the wooden thing, making a hole that could easily be gripped.  The chupacabra jumped up onto the top of her box and clawed into the hole she'd created.  She yanked hard with her back legs.  The strength of the wood seemed beyond the capabilities of the not even 80 pound creature - at least when she couldn't fly it up and drop it.  As persistence would have it, the wood cracked close to her feet and broke off half of the top.  Karma got back to all four her feet and flicked a splinter from the top of the crate crossly.

"It's a sick competition, it is.  If I'm know anything about cruel ways to make enemies squirm, I know it is.  I had a feeling."

As the doglike cryptid went on, her bludgy green eyes caught sight of large human taking hold of a paper.  Lifting her skull upon her lengthy neck, she was instantly interested.  Few other beasts of her world took advantage of writing, either too stupid to or not interested.

"A parchment?"

Karma then looked down and kicked the broken off half of the top to the ground.  The chupacabra spread her wings so they rose over her body, displaying the eyeball symbol branded on her membranes.

"This cannot be a plot against my army - no one else was brought her but me.  Then what's the motivation?"

Mr. Perkins was silent for a while, carefully considering what the other two creatures were saying, and taking their provisions into account. It was indeed all starting to add up now. The obese banker drummed his fingertips on the lid of a crate as he did some quick calculations in his head, not much caring for the results. The odds of them getting out of this game were slim to nonexistent. Whoever had brought them all here possessed powers beyond his understanding.

"We're not the only ones out here. Even in Rome, there were always at least two sides to their staged conflicts," he stated, more to himself than the other two. His eyes narrowed as he regarded his 'allies', judging their potential strengths as best he could. The larger beast had large talons, a sharp beak, and a massive size. The smaller one likewise had sharp claws, and possessed some sharp fangs. And both had wings.

"These supplies will have to be carefully guarded. Our survival might very well depend on them. Now, I don't suppose either of you can fly?" he asked, placing his hands protectively on the stack of crates in front of him. If either best could indeed fly, then they could scout out this jungle, and see how far it spread.

The Griffin smirked. As though such a question was even necessary? It was almost an insult to the eagle-headed fiend, if he were one to be insulted. However, he would prove to this foolish mortal just what power he held.

It was true. Roaming through the jungle, he had little opportunity to really fly, the trees crowding him too much. Here, in this clearing, however, he had a much better stage to proclaim his aerial superiority. His wings outstretched to an impressive wingspan that would have shamed even some dragons. The feathered appendages began to work their magic as they flapped up and down.

The effect was immediately obvious as the air billowed out from beneath the wings in gales. The wind from the action even started to push a couple of the crates a few inches from pressure. It was going to be a magnificent take off. That is... except for one little thing.

After several minutes of his feverish flapping, the Griffin looked around in confusion. Even rising onto his back legs, he was getting no lift. It wasn't as though he was clinging to the ground with his claws or had gotten too heavy to fly. It was as though something was keeping his stuck. He couldn't feel it save for that he wasn't going up.

He shortly stopped and glanced at the other two. His beak was hanging open with an explanation he couldn't express because he didn't know what was happening. His ears and eyes lowered in disappointment, unsure of what to really say at that point.

Mr. Perkins scowled at the griffin's antics, squinting against the sudden rush of air and dust. Despite the impressive display, nothing happened. The large creature remained as attached to the ground as the big man himself. A glance at the smaller beast confirmed his suspicions even before she spoke. Well, that was...inconvenient. Extremely inconvenient. He pulled a small notebook and a pen out of his jacket, glad that whatever had stripped the two beasts of their powers of flight had left him these things. He made a quick list of the boxes, himself and the beasts, and their known assets. Weapons, shelter, food, and medicine.

"Well, so much for aerial reconnaissance," he grumbled angrily. He glared around at the surrounding huts and shacks, and at the jungle beyond. Who else was out there? How many of them were there? After a moment, he grabbed two axes from the weapon crate, and slid them into his belt. Then he turned to face the two odd beasts.

"Our odds of survival will be greater if we work together," he said, flipping the strange note over, and sketching a map on the back, starting with the village, and a simple compass rose. "Now, besides this settlement, do either of you know of any more landmarks?"

Without any eyes in the sky, they'd have to figure this out the hard way.