Red doesn't seem to be paying any attention to Martin, if only because he's following the sound of Beau's voice too.

"Oh, don't tell me he came here alone, that fucking dumbass-"

As Ozzy hustled off after the sound of Beau's voice - and whatever scuffle he's gotten himself into - through the grass, then the orchard, then the crops, and then through the scrubs and trees, the dead and dying plants bend and bow out of his way, creating a clear path to the edge of the Descoteaux property. This goes unnoticed by the big mage as he barrels along, focused instead on the sound of Beau's fight. The rest of the group follows close behind, benefiting from the mysteriously blazed trail and catching up with Ozzy juts before the wall of trees and scrub demarcating the end of Descoteaux land.

The source of Beau's consternation and cries is immediately apparent on the other side - a possum-man, currently laying on the ground with his head bashed open and brains smeared on the dirt. Beau stands over it, walking staff in his hands. The wooden rod drips with blood as Beau turns towards the group, wild-eyed, but relaxes when he sees who it is. "God-damn! Finally found y'all!" Beau shouts. "Came here to get y'all to stop a Descoteaux siege on one of our farms, and the whole damn place is swarming with the freaks!"

"I don't think it's actually them," Ozzy tries to explain, panting heavily from the charge. "It's like, mebbe, hell, I don't know what I'm thinkin'. It's like that... thing back there got its people... stolen or summat, and now they're loose. Hell with it, I reckon we go see and we'll know what needs a kickin' soon enough."

"We seem to have attracted them here, at least," Martin says. "I'm afraid I can't offer a better analysis than 'Shit be freaky' right now, so perhaps we should make haste to your farm and see what we can do there?" He turns around at the column of smoke rising from the burning manor. "I have the feeling we have done enough here, for now."

"Can't say I don't agree," Beau replies. "Time to git while the gitten's good."

----

It's a rather breathless run through paths and along rickety wooden pathways through the swamp (for some, more breathless than others, as Ozzy's lungs feel like they're attempting to burst through his rib cage). The network of paths seems nearly impenetrable to you outsiders, even Martin's new-found senses or Lucius' well-tuned sense of direction can't make heads or tails of it, and Red simply knows better - the paths change with time and tide, and it'd take him a week to just get his bearings again on which direction is which.

Still, after about 10 minutes, you all arrive at the outskirts of a small farming community - a dozen small houses surrounded by fields, all well lit by the bonfires and burning outstructures that the horde of attacking beastmen have set ablaze. They're being held at bay on the other side of what looks like a hastily erected barrier made of furniture and scrap, but like most hastily erected objects, it's not gonna stand for too much longer before the whole thing teeters over. The beastmen (and women) are heaving themselves at the barriers while the farmers inside battle them back, but it's not looking good for them. Looking further away, a few dozen beastpeople mill about in the fields surrounding it, providing a sort of security (albeit one that occasionally sees a badger-man snapping and hissing at a possum-woman or something similar). Irrigation canals criss-cross the field, including one that leads right up to the very thicket you're in. A hundred yards or so separate you from the edge of the perimeter, just long enough for a bow to reach.

"Gods above, things have gotten worse," Beau whispers, keeping a low profile as he peers through the thicket he's lead you all behind, bow in hand. "Hope you boys and girls have a plan, because there's too damn many of them to pick off by myself."

Anton grunts. "That's a lot of mooks." He turns to the others, running a hand absently on Kneecapper's pommel. "Anybody have a plan that doesn't involve just getting in there and bashing some heads?"

Ana sighs softly, slender fingers tapping along the pommel of her sword.

"Same as I did last time. Try talking, at least long enough to keep two crowds of scared, panicky peasants from killing each other." She looks at Beau a little apologetically. "No offense, but this feels more like a feud boiled over - albeit one with a good deal more fur - than anything we've seen recently."

"Ana," Red speaks soft and slow, "what makes you think either one's going to listen to anything, least of all reason, right now? He turns to look at her sharply, but his expression is...thoughtful. "If you want to stop them from fighting, you're going to need to scare the shit out of 'em with an fucking army. And since it'll take too long to scrape up enough people for that, we'd need to fake it. With one hell of an illusion."

Red glares back out over the field. "I might be able to whip something up, unless we got better plans."

"I am on Renard's side in this discussion," Martin weighs in. "In fact, I believe that I might be able to bolster your illusions with an infusion of life energy. The beastmen should sense them far more keenly that way, and be thusly more readily susceptible to the images we wish to project. Once disarray and confusion settles in, we can force our way through their lines and scatter them."

"Sure, but what are we gonna show that lot that'll make 'em stand up n' take notice?" Ozzy asks. "If there was some way we could figger out who was leadin' 'em..." Ozzy takes another look at the groups of beastmen, trying to discern any human intelligence or tactics at work where there might be none. "Look there, they got some sort o' security over there. Can any o' you lot pinpoint an alpha or a queen or summat?"

2d6.hi = 4; 1d8 = 1

Anton studies the mob of mooks as best as he can from more than a football field away. However, as best as he can make out, he doesn't see anyone doing anything obviously leader-y--giving orders, pointing or waving, being watched by other people. In fact, there seems more of an absence of anything like that. The crowd of beastmen swirls and ebbs seemingly at random, wandering around the perimeter aimlessly, hands clutching their heads, or throwing themselves repeatedly against the barricades. No one seems to be directing or leading anyone in any way. "I don't see one in particular," Anton grunts. "I don't see any sign there's one, either."

Red nods, a smirk unzipping on his face. "Then we treat 'em just like any other swamp creature out here. We throwing something overwhelming at it - big and loud and lots of teeth - and they should scamper, rather than stick around."

He turns towards Martin.

"I think I'll take you up on your offer, kid. Remember the beast in Ripperdan, got blown up by cannon?" Red has a predator's smile now. "We want about a half-size version of that. Just as loud, and smelling worse than Ozzy's feet."

Martin nods. "Paint the picture," he says. "I'll make it breathe."

"And I'll make it roar." Red's voice is almost dripping with glee.

(Red Magic: 2d8.hi = 2; 1d8 = 2)

Red focuses on the beast in his imagination - the sight of it, the smell, the sound and fury. The feel of the steps, the slight tremor of earth.
The smell comes first - musk and blood, hint of black bile. Then a roar shakes the fucking earth, makes branches quiver. Then the Beast crashes through the brush and branches, angry and growling.
Which is great, except that's not what Red was trying to _do_ with it, exactly. It was't supposed to lurch forward, but rear up. And it knocked over too many trees coming out, like a clumsy Beast would have, not one used to crawling through forest. Red hadn't ever had an illusion try to _fight_ him in a while, but he was having to use his juice not to make it appear, but keep it leashed and muzzled, and doing what it was told.

(Martin Magic: 1d10 = 3; 1d6 = 6; 1d8 = 2)

Martin's fur puffs up as he closes his eyes and tries to summon up the years of discipline and control he so casually discarded not long ago. He was taught to feel life, to find it and nurture it - but can his skills also settle the promissory note his big mouth wrote? There is no spark to kindle in the illusion, no substance but the few spots of resistance where Red can make the illusion real enough to topple trees and rip at the ground...the ground! Martin's stance shifts almost by itself as he sets bare feet onto the ground and roots himself in it, feeling out to the subtle energies beneath them all. There is life in these lands, and Martin gently coaxes some of it into the illusion - and then more and more, pumping energy into the image in a foolhardy attempt to match the real beast's vigor. A pretty good show - if he can keep it from blowing up before it serves its purpose.

It's hard not to notice the towering illusion - especially when its footsteps start shaking the ground. The beast-people react the way you'd expect crazed half-animals to react - those that notice it either turn and run screaming/howling/squealing away, try to dig a hole and hide in it, or charge it, eyes wild and arms swinging. The illusion roars and swats at the beast-people that approach, knocking them aside with ease. A good half of the beast-people marauding the farms scatter and run before the might of the monstrous illusion.

Ana replies simply. "I did not say how such a thing should be accomplished...just that it might be worth considering before stepping down a path that means cleaning my sword again today."

Fingers rub at her templess as Martin and Red bring the illusion to life, her eyes closed, doing a very good impression of someone with a splitting headache. "Also worth considering was perhaps what we were going to say before conjuring the illusionary abomination."

"Either way, we've got an opening and make no mistake," Ozzy says. "I'm movin' up to the barricades."

Red can feel the strings of his puppet snapping even as it thrashes through the beastmen, and decides it's best to dismiss the illusion before it notices the farmers. He sends a final pulse of energy into the spell, filling it up until it pops.

The Beast stops, and starts to howl up towards the heavens before it disappears with the crack of cannon fire and a cloud of...dirt? Red's confusion only lasts a moment.

"I'm with you, Ozzy. We need to put those fires out, before they burn alive."

"Good, I prefer action to light shows," Lucius says, and charges shoulder-first through the thicket.

The group barrels down the slope towards the village, with most of the beast-men too busy trying to run away to bother with them all that much. But as you approach the village, the panicked beast-men turned from running away to running towards the village, and are desperately scrambling in mad animal panic at the barricades. As the group approaches the horde, some of the outside ones peel off and charge towards you, screaming/howling/hooting/hissing as they swipe and snap at you, their eyes wide with fear - they're operating on pure instinct and terror, and probably don't even see you, just that this is a Dangerous Place and you are one more thing there to kill them.

"Let's find our way through this furball," Martin advises. Careful to keep his claws sheathed, he tries to wrestle away anyone coming at him, redirecting the panicked beastman to a clear route of escape from the fire.