The Sullied Blade slid through the waters of the River Moss. The Blade wasn't a large craft, just a flat-bottomed vessel with a roof over the rear part and a single short mast. Condigga sat at the tiller, because he didn't trust his other crewbeasts with it.
Condigga Morose was a ferret, and a fearsome one at that. He wore some dirty brown leggings, a belt with a cutlass tethered to it, and some paint all over his face and torso. The paint was bright red and a dark brown, meant to scare the victims of his raids.
For that was what Con was, a raider. He had traveled the waters of Mossflower all his life, barging into camps and stealing all that was there. Con had even killed beasts, though he didn't care to.
Today, the Sullied Blade was traveling to the coast. Condigga and his crew had just finished scuttling a waterhog houseboat and had heard about a tribe of nomad voles, squirrels, and mice coming into the area from one of the hedgehogs. The tribe was heard to have just arrived at the mouth of the River Moss, and were supposed to keep camp there for at least a few days.
A ferret stumbled out of the stern of the ship and asked Con if they were about to arrive. Captain Condigga hit the other ferret with the flat of his blade. The captain sat back down and watched as his the crewbeast scurried back to the rest of his comrades.
The Blade turned a bend in the river and allowed the ocean to be seen. Condigga roused his crew and made them push the boat to the left side of the river with some poles. They all got out and readied their weapons.
Some of the vermin had medium-sized yew bows with multi-colored arrows. Others had slings and rusty spears. Most of them had short swords or cutlasses. They all swung them about before slinking into the brush towards the west.
The vermin were relatively quiet while they stalked, compared to the loud drunkenness that dominated most of their personalities. Conner led them to the edge of the woods. There, in the sand dunes, were eight-score of goodbeasts, gathered about fires and inside of tents.
Con ordered four of his crew to go north. They would provide a diversion. He and four others would go straight into the camps and do the majority of the raiding. Within a minute Conner heard the sound of screams, and he commanded his party to charge.
They did. The raiders tore through the temporary paths, ripping up tents and throwing food into small satchels. A blood-thirsty stoat fired an arrow at a vole, killing it. Some of the other vermin followed suit, and several woodlanders died. Conner ignored the massacre. He was concentrating on the raid.
In the middle of the rendezvous the two parties of raiders met again. They continued to pillage and plunder, but their ransacking came to an end when they met a row of harvest mice archers. All around Conner his crewbeasts fell, slain by the tiny arrows of the mice. He rushed the mice and they broke ranks.
Some brave souls had grabbed up burning branches and chased Condigga. They were not experienced warriors and shied at a wave of his cutlass, but they routed the ferret to the sea. At the shore the archers appeared again. Conner scowled at them as he saw a shaft protrude out of his shoulder in the corner of his eye. More twig-sized arrows stung him, and soon his vision swam and he fell. The gulls picked what meat they could off of the fallen raider before his body was washed out to sea.