Fang & Claw Vers 1.5

[Zev The Dog]

I apologize for not posting any recent serials; been real busy with work and whatnot. I've decided to revise the serials, make them sound less idiosyncratic, whatever the hell that means.

Hope you like it (or hate it.)

[Zev The Dog]

SERIAL 1
Nughun 1448
Noj-Nòr Desert
Northern Ghardah

Wolf marauders of Lithos violently accosted the Cat Lands for 7 years; trails of wanton slaughter and despair left as cruel reminders of a bitter war. In hopes of minimalizing retribution, King Aryeh the IX has commanded his warriors to stand down and allocate aid to the stricken villages, thus honoring the Aerias Treaty of 1441.

In defiance of his father’s orders the brash Lion Prince Shurif and his Desert Rose warriors set out against the Lithos garrisons at Divad and Findulay.

 “To return the favor of blood spilt” Shurif said at their departure from La’avi, spitting upon the Treaty his father believed had given Ghardah a future.

A future of ornery obedience Shurif told his sister Motana during their days at the Academy. From a young age Shurif had despised his father’s collared obedience to Lithos.

Shurif sprinted over the great sand dunes, face set with grim determination. 2 days before he had left Prince Garret in command of the Rose back at Divad, preferring to hunt the garrison stragglers himself. Divad was a husk of its former self: a garrison 1200 strong burnt to the ground. The Wolves of the 15th Post-Expeditionary had not anticipated such a backlash, having deemed the Felines ‘downtrodden and beaten.’ There was no time for pleasant exchange, only screams

Shurif ensured their violent exploits would reach all Lithos within a fortnight; Bodies sent home to respective families, mutilated and bearing letters of future retribution against Lithos.

7 years before, after nearly 45 years of fruitless war (Known as the Moon War.) the Ghardans proposed a impasse sparing their nation from absolute extinction. At Aerias, Aryeh signed a treaty of non-aggression; in exchange for martial restraint against ‘brigands without allegiance nor home’ Lithos would grant Ghardah independence, funding for reconstruction and minimal suzerain interference.

The treaty benefited only Lithos, but Aryeh was grateful for the scraps from Emperor Anhülme’s table. Aryeh’s next 7 years of vacillation ensured Lithos always held a shadowed sword over Ghardah’s neck.

Shurif knew the consequences of his insubordination; He had taken a solemn oath, before kin and peer, to obey the King and to follow his orders unequivocally. Warriors of the Desert Rose had taken identical oaths yet here they were in gross defiance of what they all held sacred. Still against all reason Shurif had departed from Ghardah to exact vengeance upon the Northern Wolves.

He slowed his pace. Before him a sheer edge overlooking the fields of Manitoru, where he’d trained as a cub alongside his elder brother Hatoal now buried under stone at Finne, victim of brigand slaughter.

Shurif leapt down landing on all fours, a cloud of fine sand pillowing around him. He unhurriedly rose, sniffing for scent of his prey. The horrors he would visit upon this straggler. Being hunted was enough to make even the most battle-hardened quiver. He could taste the sweat, the very fear, of his quarry.

Above him, the sheer drop peppered with jagged rock looked almost daunting. That gave Shurif cause for joy: his prey hadn‘t perished in the descent.

The wind had picked up with the Sun’s climax, whipping furiously, blowing his blood red mane fro and to. Shurif began to make his way between rock and bush, deceptive scents and the maddening heat seeking to hinder his vendetta.

He came upon a small pool of blackened blood. Shurif smiled, licking his lips. “Give yourself up now cub.” He spoke turning his head towards the rocky enclave, spotting his adversary huddled between two large sediments. The wolf was panting loudly, his armor discarded, covered head to tail in blood and dying of thirst. Shurif noticed his right leg was broken, possibly from the sheer drop. So much for a half-decent duel he thought.

Shurif‘s arms tensed and shook with anticipation, moving slowly towards his prey “Did you blindly leap in hopes you could escape me, dog? A shame your leg is shattered...” The Wolf hissed, cursing under his breath. Shurif was not intimidated by this mawkish display. He had seen Divad burn to the ground, and the blood, how it flowed like water. This contemptible hiss didn’t phase him in the slightest.

“We can go about things pleasantly…I’ll let you beg my mercies ‘fore I snap your neck.” He motioned with his gargantuan fists, each digit tipped with dagger sharp claws.

Shurif detested the use of weapons; The Mother Sun had blessed felines with claws and fang, keen and unbreakable. None of his Rose warriors carried weapons or donned armor. Steel was weak, malleable. The Rose believed such things limited a warrior‘s true potential.

The wolf knew he had no chance “My conscience is clear Lion Prince; I did not break my leg to beg your graces.” He spoke and rose on his good leg, growling with pain. Shurif could see right through this wolf’s glib attempt at being brave.

 “Yea, the slaying of children has cleared your odious head?” Shurif clenched his fists, popping the knuckles as he lazily closed in. “ I‘m going to enjoy tearing you apart, dog of Lithos.”

“You think I fear you, son of Aryeh the Meek? Come at me and know I shall be the one who takes your life.” The wolf lifted the chipped sword with great effort.

Shurif sighed, standing twenty hands from the wolf; he smiled “May I know your name, servant of the Queen Usurper?” Resentment for the Moon Queen Hidna was grounds for execution in Lithos but in Gharda, it was a standard salutation in dealing with dog scum.

The wolf steadied himself “I am called Fhraga, son of Sinvuila Matron of my late Father Knimü, Master Patron of Cthol.” Shurif yawned, wolves were always so formal and attached ceremony to everything, included their convoluted ancestry! Murderers with manners, now that was abrasive!

“Do not worry, Fhraga son of Sinvuila. You’re going home in pieces to your bitch mother.”

Shurif lunged forward with a hushed snarl, grabbing the wolf sword arm, breaking it with little effort. The Wolf yipped, as Shurif’s fang’s closed around his neck, mashing bone and flesh. Shurif drank the hot blood. With a violent twist, he snapped Fhraga’s neck.
 
The wretch uttered a whine, arms falling to his side.. Shurif gave another violent tug for good measure. He’d seen men dealt crippling blows still manage to curse his name.
 
“Cursed dog.” He muttered, throwing the wolves’ body to the rocks below. Shurif watched with grim satisfaction as the corpse came undone amongst granite blades.

[Zev The Dog]

SERIAL 2
Frigate Gallant
Independent Republic of Dea
Port Dea

“Aye, y’all have personal business? It be with misgivings I ask why, but that not be me place to do so cause you didn’t ask.” O’dare said, emptying the charred herb from his pipe. Badinage buckled a bootstrap, slipping a small dagger in the inner legging. “Aye I do, O’dare. While I’m gone, send Tako and Eni ashore to barter goods. See that Hama and Delgado stay at berth with the Moss and Gallant, and keep Locke aboard the Oren, I trust his eyes not his sobriety…“

Badinage hesitated and whistled “Yuka needs to see a doctor; I feel ill looking at him.” O’dare cackled, uttering a hefty cough. The otter keeled over, hands on his ankles.

“…And put away that damn pipe, like a whimpering pup suckling a lion’s teat! Your wife would be enthralled if you dropped dead. One less crazy sea otter to coddle, and another widow for me to woo.” The otter snorted with bemused interest, his tail thumping the quarter floor.

“I’m off. If I’m not back by morn…Find Usyf.” O’dare nodded, stuffing his pipe with fresh herb. Badinage walked out of the captain’s quarters and surveyed the dreary port. A heavy mist hung over the Wharf but it did not deter business or the reckless. Perfect…?

“Commodore! Commodore!” a young hedgehog called after Badinage, hat in hand.

Badinage smiled, taking the hat from the boy, “Relax Rory, no need to call me ‘Commodore’ especially a’nere Dea…” Rory paused for a moment, puzzled “I understand…Oh! The manifest Com…Sir!” with an gawky peep, the hedgehog rushed aboard.

Badinage breathed deeply and made way past the dock, towards the wharf. Just last week his mariners had commandeered another frigate, the Crystal Eye, and like any ship it required a crew, supplies and repair, considering the damage it incurred at Watulah.

Many would reckon piracy a thirsty job; Badinage had more important things on the mind than drink. There was a fleet to build and some important correspondence.

True, it was safer to be recognized in Dea, a port under Usyf‘s watchful eye but a substantial reputation did not exempt him from ending up headless. Whilst in Watulah he noticed posters calling for his piecemeal body, and good friends are hard to find when your life is forfeit 9000 gold sotes. Badinage could feel himself hard pressed to resist such a bounty! Buy myself another ship with that!

The marten strolled towards the wharf, ardently noticing the abundant presence of coyotes garbed in white clothing and armed with long killing swords and spears. Jildaen mercenaries, courtesy of Usyf. These dog sellswords were reliable so long you could pay. You owned their strength, not their loyalty. Only problem was; they had gross habits of breaking contracts, if someone held a deeper purse.

 The rounded dome of the wharf was lit by a crude chandelier, highlighting the creaking makeshift floor.. Many grizzled fishercats and sailors stood about weaving stories, lies and embellishments of sea beasts or a particular swordfish that devoured neigh all crew. Badinage’s nostrils went into catatonic shock; the stench of fish offal was abundant; it wasn’t enough living aboard a ship with less than hygienic sailors but this made him envy O’dare’s company.

Badinage immediately made his way over to the Wharf Master, an old rabbit wearing cracked monocles. The gentle rabbit wrote furiously, as one pursued by the licking flames of hell.  All around him were massive ledgers, stacked to the ceiling, myriad bottles of ink and a fine assortment of quill pens.

Badinage looked about, searching the Wharf for anyone staring too long in his direction. With his eyes to the western entrance, he placed 10 gold agama on the table; a modest fee to keep both ship and name unmarked in the Master’s books. The elderly rabbit mumbled, scribbling some random title in his massive ledger. Badinage quickly took leave exiting the western doorway and entering the bustling city of Dea.

Badinage still felt the lingering bite of winter today. His winter coat having molted in the throes of late winter. He was glad to be rid of it, but now second thoughts gripped him. He pulled his jacket up and adjusted his scabbard.

 The aroma of food and fresh sea fare was abundant, awaking his sense of smell and stomach; A kind contrast from the rotten fish stench of the Wharf. Badinage licked his lips; he hadn’t eaten in three days, not by lack of provisions, but the siege on Watulah. The marten often found himself skipping meals or eating too much.

 Market day, already his men were bartering goods and supplies for the fleet. Clandestineness and good pay insured business remained anonymous. Questions asked and questions answered led to an executioner’s block.

 Dea brought back old memories of home: the black cobbled stones, the modest brick housing and hectic hubbub of market reminded him of V‘rahasa. Shaking the thought he continued down the road. Better to bury those memories than to dig them up. Badinage rationalized he could remember the past when the Empress lay dead.

“I see you’ve returned.” Came a whispered voice.

Without losing a breath, Badinage quickly tucked into the darkened alley coming face to face with a dark eyed vixen, hair red like mulled cider hanging low round her curvaceous form. Her fur was a bright red, laced with black around her ventral neck. Those eyes, how they melted Badinage’s heart and weakened his sea legs.

“Not even a master dilettante could fool you.” Delilah withdrew, mewling cheerfully, “Tell me.” She caressed Badinage’s windswept fur; salted and in need of cleaning.

“What?” He took her hand gently, lest he crush them with rough mariner paws.

“Of your taking the Crystal. The anglers from Watulah and Dvejozi brought word 2 days ago.” Badinage felt his lungs tighten. His fleet was the fastest in the entire Cloud Sea and he possessed the most accurate rudder, granting him clout in navigating the perilous Dea Islands. Not even the Lithos Navy had such information to their disposal.

But more importantly: How did mere fishercats reach Dea before him? Badinage’s fleet was split, enabling him to sail the seas unhindered.

Delilah smiled, “Some people think you’re a hero and revolutionary. Usyf must be hard-pressed when some unnamed marten from Lithos does battle with the Wolf Corsairs.”

Corsairs? These wolves carried no commission granting them powers to commit piracy… They were acting on direct orders from the navy, Badinage chuckled with feigned disinterest, he didn’t come looking for Delilah to discuss corsairs and Usyf, the roguish skunk mercenary who’d secured Dea’s freedom from Lithos Imperialism.

Badinage had his suspicions, but he could trust this working vixen, who acted as his spy in Dea keeping tabs on the small but petulant sect of Lithos sympathizers. What she knew, they certainly knew too. Her services were second to none, but her love was his alone.

“Hero? That is why I cannot give my name at the Wharf; my ships fly under merchant flags and carry forged papers of passage from Taldes.” He shook his head as if terribly dismayed, “…and the petty officer still calls me Commodore, like we‘re the merry old navy!” He spoke in a high pitched Taldean accent

A fortnight before, the former petty officer had sought to mutiny.  Mutinies proved naught when you held the loyalty of the crew. Still, it taught him a very real lesson: leverage meant nothing to a ‘revolutionary.’ They were a unda a dozen in Dea and people would rally behind another so long as the pay was good.

Delilah embraced Badinage, wrapping her thin arms around his back, squeezing tightly. “Why don’t you let me accompany you? I would be more at ease being at your side.” She looked into the marten’s azure eyes.

Badinage shook his head “Taking a vixen aboard is considered bad luck… O’dare would catch consumption from your perfume.” He knew such salt dog tales were ludicrous but with a entire fleet of superstitious sailors to keep in line, he had little choice. Badinage drew close to kiss Delilah, he was tired of revolutions and ships…

“Commodore Badinage! You forgot your fli-!” Badinage sighed loudly, cutting Rory short as he took the firearm begrudgingly.

“Thanks Rory. Do not forget; we are not here to make ourselves known…and there is no need to call me Commodore. Badinage is just fine.”

“Y-yes Commodore…Badinage!“ Rory fled as one chased by ghosts. He was reliable, neigh unmatched in vivacious spirit and encyclopedic knowledge but shy of wit, as most youths were.

Delilah laughed quietly, kissing Badinage’s chin. “They’re getting younger and younger, love.”

Badinage shrugged his shoulders, running fingers through Delilah’s silky hair, much like his mother‘s; as a little kit he had played with it when she held him.

Too young he thought,  a cloud of despair falling over his face. He’d seen recruit ensign Nauls blown to pieces at Dvejozi, only 19 years old. The siege on Watulah only proved worse: 25 dead, all of them younger than Badinage. The night before he’d sat and tried composing a letter to Naul’s mother; how could he tell  Madame Cynthia, her only son had died, standing aimlessly aboard the Gallant when cannon fire took his life. What of the 25 sailors? Badinage was no stranger to death, but he felt it was nothing more than a cruel joke to see the young perish.

Fighting my battle, crossing swords with my enemies…

Delilah had struck a sensitive chord, seeing Badinage begin to drift in a inner world of despair. “Come my dear little marten…” she whispered, nipping his earlobe “You’ve been gone far too long.”

[Zev The Dog]

SERIAL 3

Orest Garrison, Grand Lithos Empire
3rd of Bveuli, 1448

My dearest Sarai

A fortnight has passed since I beheld your beauty and tonight I feel especially lonely, lost without your laughter and the warm comfort of the hearth. The rain brings me comfort and the smell of fresh dirt lifts my spirits. I remember our courtship when your father dubbed me simpleton; a measly wolf with dirt ‘neath his claws and a mind better stuck under a field. Do give him my kindest regards and take care in omitting my jest.

My feet are sore but my tail stands high. Many miles it is from the capital to Orest*. In every village we pay visit many answer the call to arms; those who failed entry with the conscriptions and voluntary soldiers. I confess I’d rather they’d stay close to home and assist their mothers than throw their lives before hardened felines.

 The maidens toss flowers and the elders prostrate themselves, singing songs of moon to numb the pain in our feet and hearts. Banners of the Empress they fly and the children run behind us, crying ‘Aleun welf manas qualru Luna!*’ It is a humbling sight, to see the young and old show their pride.

All of Lithos is in uproar over Master Shurif’s attack on Findulay and the destruction of Divad at the claws of his Desert Rose marauders. Though it tests my loyalty, I feel little sympathy for those brigands who irked the claws of the Brash. The blood of innocent peasants does not mix with years of denial and plausible disproof, even against a country as powerful as Lithos. Nevertheless, my blade and fangs serve the Empress and our homeland. An enemy of our Queen is an enemy of the Empire, and it shall be the greatest honor to die in her Name.

Your brother Hrumugan and I talk often, he being transferred from Socer to my command. He wrings those thin hands and talks of Olaia often, much to everyone‘s chagrin. I will say, not very many troops are wed to such a beauty. His obsessive dedication will run down many a foe, or trip him.

 His skill with the brush is admirable. Last I saw him, he was painting Olaia’s portrait. I shall indulge his vice and ask him to paint your likeness when we return.

How fare the twins? If I had but a moment more I would have held them both. Their eyes are like the Leawindel* high in the sky. How they whine and mewl! You will tell me when they learn their first words, and song of moon.

Give my utmost regards to Sir Olsen and his son Lieutenant Sagi. Congratulate the young wolf on his promotion to the Royal Guard. He has been given a rare honor to protect the Moon Queen’s brother Duryea.

 If by my return our daughter Hildaewi is engaged to that rapscallion Nemo, I shall mangle his neck and write an endowment for his audacity! Hildaewi looked lovely in her spring dress and it nearly brought me to tears. Her spry vivaciousness enhances her beauty. (Omit this section; I don’t need Nemo exacting my mettles.)

Does our eldest still wish to join me at the frontlines? Perhaps when Io is maybe a hand taller I’ll consider making him Flag Bearer. If he continues terrorizing the twins with sticks, a lick across the ears will straighten him out. When he cries show him no sympathy, for a true soldier knows his enemy and does not harm the spotless.

Encourage him to harass Nemo, that imp deserves all the pain and vexation he gives me.

I must conclude this letter for the mid-hour of morn draws close and it is my honor to stand quarter guard. In haste this shall reach you for war has yet to strip necessity of our messengers.

Your rose I still hold close though long it has wilted. It gives me cause to smile.

My love to the children
I remain eternally ye ‘welf eternis’
Amito Agrisini, CPT Royale Kubon 529th Infantry, 3rd Battalion Hiin Brigade.
Orest Garrison, Grand Lithos Empire.

*Aleun welf manas qualru Luna: in the old tongue of the Elev ‘By the light of moon the wolf stands victor!’
*Song of Moon: Howling.
*Leawindel: ancient Elev tongue referring to the twin north stars.
*Orest: largest garrison of Lithos, it is far to the south along the Lithos/Ghardah border, a days march from Divad.

[/i]

[Zev The Dog]

SERIAL 4
Seai
Suzerain of Surza

“Ah… The Silence has been missing…two months and all you bring me nothing? Tell me Hatu.” The shadowed cat had spoken his scout’s true name, a mark of shame to be called by name.

 “Do I pay you enough or do you find testing my patience comical?”

“n-No, Master Last.” Hatu replied, his beady eyes wandering, frightened to lock eyes.

“I give you two full moons to find The Silence and you come to me with sh** in your mouth.” Oni yawned lazily stretched in his chair, playing puerily with a small crooked dagger. Cajoling puppets like Hatu grew tiresome and Oni wished he were taking pleasure in the hot springs at Cartlegywn.

No such luck. He stared down at the porcupine, erect like a alder before the axe‘s bite. Where had Guile found this dung head, stiff with disrespect and apathy? Oni motioned Hatu to kneel.

Hatu went to a knee “Forgive my incompetence, Master Last!” He spoke, touching knuckles to the floor.

Oni chuckled “All incompetence’s aside, what other news do you bring me of The Silence?”

“My scouts tell me he was last seen in Glendeven where-”

The Bengal yawned brusquely, twirling the dagger on his index finger “-Where he carved out The Trouble’s heart and bled twelve of my best scouts.” Hatu choked with surprise.

“What gives me reason for concern, Hatu, is why I know this. You are a pathfinder, but you move like old folks copulate. I‘d swear 300 agama my dead father could run circles around you.”

Hatu said nothing, looking to the ground. He remembered Chilhunbo had been sent on a similar mission and returned empty handed. He was never seen again. Would he too, become just another missing soldier? Condemned to die by his own ineptitude and failure to please?

“Hmmmm? Can you explain to me why I know more about the situation than you do? Expedience is what separates us from the common sellsword, Hatu…Or at least separates them from you.” What a serious bore this was! It’d be easier to order this scum to disembowel himself but that’d leave a mess on the floor.

“Forgive my information‘s tardiness, M-master. It was my m-mistake in stalling…” Hatu closed his eyes, believing he would die with words of pretext on his lips.

Oni perked an eyebrow “Ah, your m-mistake?” he threw the dagger, planting it square between the thug’s ribcage. Hatu squeaked with fatal surprise, clawing at the hilt. The dagger vanished in a wisp of white smoke. Hatu sneezed and lowered his head, breathing heavily.

 “You know me to be reasonable but my mercy is a shallow well Hatu. I don‘t forgive the same mistake twice. You have THIS opportunity to redeem this m-mistake.” Another knife landed between Hatu’s legs, too far to do any damage but too close for comfort. The porcupine squeaked and fell on his rear having wet himself.

“… Should you come up empty handed, save me the effort of cutting your throat!” Oni hissed, striking flint and lighting his pipe. Oni drew deep from the pipe, the exotic herbs quickly lightened his burdened mind.
 
He turned his attention back to Hatu as the stench began to permeate the room. “Get out of my sight.” The porcupine rose and hurriedly left. He had forgotten to close the door.

Oni held his breath; Guile was slacking and it reflected in her recruits. Oni needed veterans and Guile gave him mewling kits. He was condemned to sit in Seai, a one-horse town overflowing with peasants and idiot cow drivers reprimanding ‘battle hardened’ soldiers of fortune. Oni sensed it was something analogous to a wet nurse tending brat children. He passed the pipe finger to finger with pensive concentration.

He’d come along way since Surza; a young orphan wandering the slums of Jildaea, begging for stale bread and fish, running from bigger children and slave laborers. He’d taken to thievery when he was tall enough to climb through windows and soon discovered he had a knack for making himself disappear. Some said he possessed dark blood, whatever that meant. He could manipulate the very threads of illusion, and utilized those powers to the fullest. A close encounter with a ugly weasel ensured his future with the White Eye.

Was it really that simple? You threaten someone influential enough and they all begin kissing your arse? 13 winters passed, and it soon became apparent all his arrogance would catch up with him.

I have no use for your petulance, Master “Kistune.” Know your place or you shall find a brick wall and no escape.

The little weasel had quipped with oiled derision, hands behind her back like a precocious school child reciting her alphabet. She had spoken his true name amongst the cabal, thoroughly shaming him. If her disgusting little bodyguard Vice and those accursed brothers Broken and Dancer weren’t present Oni’d gladly remove her head. Then he’d be The Fate and not The Last *pseudonyms are based upon a member’s characteristics and strengths.*

 The Bengal Cat snarled, running a graceful hand through his silky ruff, heart pacey with the stigma of embarrassment. Before peer and subordinate she had humbled him. The strongest the White Eye elite he was, reduced to hunting deserters and playing crèche with recruits.

It was only a matter of time before Guile would cease those childish belittlements, and Oni would command the respect and distinction he deserved. With Guile under his boot, the White Eye would rise again to its former glory, perhaps remove that stuck up royal bitch Empress Hidna, or garrote a few miserly nobles when they couldn’t cough up royalties. Exciting!

Oni exhaled, closing his hand around the ceramic pipe and crushing it. Ember flakes and shards of porcelain crumbling to dust and ash in his clutched fist. He sprinkled the ashes upon the table and hummed; Hatu had not taken the stiletto.

“Ah…another m-mistake.” Oni spoke softly, wiping his paws together.

He really needed that drink, perhaps a visit to the gardens would do nicely. The subtle joys of life couldn’t be denied lest you wish to test madness.

“Shadow, see to it Hatu accidentally disembowels himself tonight…you shall bring me Kelev, alive preferably. If you must kill him, bring me his livelihood and head.”

“As you command.”  The voice spoke, emanating from the darkness.
Does a bird wait till the worm fattens?

[Zev The Dog]

Serial 4
Garrison Zhevli
Central Ghardah

“Your father’s want of peaceful negotiation is a superfluous dream at best, Princess Motana.” Indalo spoke, the cheetah balancing from one foot to another. His fur was mellifluous, shining with ginger sheen in the Ghardan sun’s glare. Those unfamiliar with Indalo’s energy would surmise he was impetuous or weak bladdered. “King Aryeh commands the throne, but Shurif commands our foreign policy with sheer disregard.” Indalo adjusted his silk jerkin, panting.

Princess Motana rose to her full height, towering an entire 2 hands over Indalo. Like her late mother Ilya, Motana bore obsidian black fur of the Tar’nj Pride. Tallest of all lionesses was she and chagrin to many suitors.

Brother takes unnecessary risks She thought, looking out across the courtyard, the portico stone smoothen from centuries of cutting sand. Motana drank from a metal cup, lapping the chilled water. Indalo sneezed, his frail body seeming to shake.

“Curse this heat and sand!” He wailed. 7 summers in service to Ghardah, Indalo had never bothered to acclimate. “I left my beloved Daphne so I could honorably roast to death in this forsaken sand pit…” He pantomimed death, placing his thin hands upon his chest and uttering the most unconvincing death rattle.

Motana eyed Indalo, splashing him with water. “If you’ve got time to be upset over trivial heat, you have time to impress me with your skills, ‘Princess’ Indalo.” The cheetah jumped up quickly brushing away the wetness, mewing with frustration.

“You know my coat doesn’t hold water! I spent an entire hour cleaning it, curse the sand and water!” Indalo’s last words were deafened by the roar of Shurif’s approach. Through Zhevli’s massive portcullis the Rose marched, singing in cadence ancient war heralds.

We left our homes, our lands untouched, ours mother’s wombs
To cut a path, drink victory, find peace in unmarked tombs

The proud prince returns Motana thought. Since youth, Shurif and his trademark disobedience had always tested their father.

With a terminating roar the Rose came to halt, forming into respective companies.

Shurif stood before his warriors, finally breathing easily. The hunt was over, and he was looking forward to a hot meal and bath. He could see Motana and her pampered little toady, looking him down like a guilty cub caught taking sweets without permission. No matter he thought, calling his warriors to attention. He was a grown lion, master of his own pride; the Desert Rose. Handpicked warriors from all Ghardah. The elite few they were, not even the King’s Guard could match them for strength and skill.

“My warriors!” He thundered, raising blood stained paws high. “The souls of enemies we have devoured, and our return marked by joy and grandeur! None can stand in our way so long as courage and honor burns hot in our veins… They will sing of your deeds tonight!” Shurif’s words were met with growls and hisses of approval; Garret appeared unimpressed. He was son to King Mishuru of Markhollow and these words of inspiration meant nothing to him in this dreaded heat. “Everyone is honored by your service in Ghardah, though to be quite frank, none here envy you.” His father had wrote. The Snow leopards suffer only three things, and the sun isn’t one of them.

 Garret looked in Motana’s direction. Motana felt a pinch of discomfort in his chest. If only she knew, what Garret was more interested was

“Water!” he spoke, marching towards Motana, who couldn’t help but feel light-hearted. Something about his reservations and awkwardness coupled with his feral power made him attractive. Few had ever held Motana’s attention as Garret did, and he didn’t appear the slightest bit interested.

Without acknowledging either her or Indalo, the leopard lifted the barrel of iced water, dumping its entire contents over his head. He chuckled with content and shook. Indalo sneezed, trying to dodge the array of water drops “Ackpth!” he spit, holding his hands up in vain.

“Anyone ever tell you how handsome you look soaking wet?” Motana spoke, stepping away from the growing puddle of water. The leopard turned to her, his face a blank expression of confusion “What?” He shook again, thoroughly drenching Indalo. The cheetah wailed, removing his jerkin and desperately toweling himself.

Motana chuckled, “You look terrible, Garret.” The leopard smiled, realizing the Princess was wooing him. Since his transfer 2 years ago, Motana had done nothing but flatter and make jokes at Garret’s expense. Though they shared a common ancestry, the snow leopards of Markhollow were alien in their customs and behavior. Some would call them socially inept but their awkwardness stemmed from a culture that valued emotional restraint and discipline.

Motana admired the snow leopards; so calculating and precise unlike the hot tempered lions...

“My dear sister has come all the way from La’avi to welcome her brother and the mighty Rose, Lord Garret!” Shurif spoke, arms extended as he came close. Garret did not respond, merely nodding. He knew the ensuing conversation was none of his business.

Shurif approached Motana; he was covered in dry blood, certainly not his own “Sister Motana! Are you here to sing praise of your brother’s return or  drag me home?” Shurif spoke, his patronizing rabble obvious for all to hear.

Motana stood at attention as a soldier speaking before a superior officer “Prince Shurif, I come bearing word from the King of Ghardah.”

“Excellent! What word of our Father?”

“For breaking the truce of Aerias and gross disobedience to the Crown, your presence at La‘avi is humbly requested by our King.” Motana chose her words carefully.

Shurif snarled, stomping his foot “King? Whilst he sits in fear and writes poetry his people suffer. If anything, our Father is the king of indecision.”

“He is your King, Shurif. It is time you forsook your childish vendettas and-” Shurif sprang forward, and threw the wooden table between him and Motana aside. Indalo stood in front of Motana, hands on his katars.

“Peace Deputy.” Indalo looked at Shurif with disgust and took his position at Motana’s side. Garret wasn’t the least surprised.

 “Who the hell are you to judge me?! You were not at Tevet-Mon or Aviva. When we arrived, we saw children dismembered, homes ravaged, the stench of carrion and death! Several of my warriors had lost family in these towns. How would you console them?”

Motana said nothing.

 “I fight for the future of Ghardah and you have nerve to call it a childish vendetta?” Shurif stomped his foot again.

Motana stood her ground, “Makes no difference to me what you saw, or what you feel. We serve the King, not our emotions. And this dishonor you’ve done the King; your insubordination has not gone unnoticed.”

“You serve without thought and your fidelity has condoned Lithos‘ actions! You‘re no better than those measly fleabag wolves! You‘d wait till their breath was upon your face and still you would wait for our jail crow father to give you leniency!” Indalo reached for his katars, but Motana motioned him to hold.

Garret knew rightfully well to remain silent. His strength and martial competence would not temper the bickering between these siblings. Best to let Shurif scream till he collapsed he thought, removing the water from his ears.

“My loyalty gives me the foresight to know when to strike, Shurif. Father requests you return to La‘avi on the morn and explain why you broke the Truce that has kept these lands unmolested for 7 years.”

The Lion Prince sneered “Unmolested? Wolf brigands harass our border lands to the North, the laughing dogs of the south continue with their wicked traditions and hunt the innocent out of sheer petulance. Our enemies think us weak. What exactly has this truce brought us but silence and humiliation? We are a free country, so long as we give our children to the dogs.”

 “It is not your place to question the Truce. The few must suffer so the myriad can live in peace, Brother. Such is the price we pay to ensure Ghardah’s future.” Motana would not be deterred by Shurif‘s want of mindless retribution, she answered to a higher call than vengeance.

Shurif could not believe what he was hearing; his sister was of genteel mind, but these words of restraint stunk of madness. “Idiocy has gripped your very mind Sister. If standing by as entire prides are slaughtered is what you equate loyalty and honor with,  the Desert Rose shan‘t abide it!” Shurif turned his back to Motana.
 
“Tell our esteemed father, if he has want of my presence, he shall find me on the battlefield, defending his kingdom!” Shurif departed, Garret tailing close behind.

Indalo chirped, “Shall the Guard detain him on the morn?”

Motana sighed “No.” Indalo gasped in surprise, staring wide eyed at his commander. “You’d let your brother go in spite of your Father‘s wishes?”

“He is no criminal, and his return was meekly requested, not necessitated by our King.”

Indalo turned to Motana, massaging his wrists “Your Brother commands the loyalty of 1200 elite soldiers, and holds sway with the Assembly and the War Minister. While he doesn’t hold executive power yet, he is a celebrity they‘d rally behind as heir apparent to your Father. His free reign will surely garner him support, whilst your Father becomes more and more of a pariah. We must take him into custody immediately!”

Motana shook her head, arms crossed “Would detaining him make his cause any less concrete with the Assembly, or the nation? His imprisonment would only make him a martyr. Father knows this, and it is exactly what the Assembly wants; an excuse to dethrone our King for imprisoning his own son. They would claim madness had taken Aryeh whilst his son was busy defending the nation from invaders. That kind of publicity would indict Father, and he would abdicate the throne. Shurif is a tool, though I doubt he sees it that way.”

Indalo frowned “Do you envy him?” He couldn’t fathom Motana’s reasoning: Does she despise Shurif’s audacity, or idolize it? And surely, Motana knew better than to travel to Zhelvi if she had anticipated Shurif’s refusal.

Motana nodded, “Yes, to some extent I do... Shurif does what we all dream, but loathe to do. He is not hindered by blind obedience or the finer subtleties of principle. He is a warrior first and foremost…” Motana muttered those last words to herself.

“Prepare our things Deputy. We return on the morn to La’avi.”

Indalo gasped with frustration, throwing his hands up in defeat “Y-you mean to tell me, I dirtied my clothes, wasted countless hours cleaning my fur…just to let him go?!”

Motana laughed “You should quit your griping, people might mistake you for the Princess of Ghardah!”

[Zev The Dog]

Serial 6

Candle light…

He felt secure in it’s flame; a shield of safety. It was his north star, his rudder by which he sailed the dark abyss.

This flame was all he needed. So long as it burned strong, nothing could stop his venture. The fears that held his heart in waking were locked behind iron bastions in this world of uncertainty.

She was here too, the only woman he’d ever felt for. She would smile and he’d cry tears of joy.

Smoke… The dissipation and closure to his world. The flash of a wolf’s face…blood falling like rain upon Vra’hasa.

The Great Butcher, fell upon them all.

Badinage woke, breathing slowly. He looked to the window, heavy condensation gripped the pane. Delicately he rose from the bed, careful not to wake Delilah, the gentle pitter patter of her breath barely audible. He stared at her for what felt like hours. She was his first love, his one and only trusted friend. Many had betrayed him but she remained faithful.

My angel he thought as he quickly dressed. For many nights they’d done nothing but make love; such was their want after being apart so long. When he was with her, his mind felt cleansed; all his worries and concerns were washed away in a flood of love and ecstasy.

She is the candle in my dreams, my safeguard.

Badinage quietly let himself out of the room, closing the door and hastily leaving the inn. The streets were empty, void of fishmongers and market-goers. The lanterns were without wick and flame, having burnt the better part of the night away. How he wished they were sill lit…

The mist was thick and hung low limiting visibility. The emptiness seemed to fill his heart, as thoughts of Delilah left.

By Mother Sola, am I so powerless without her? Badinage felt the soreness in his leg return, the amnesia of her smile had ebbed away.

In 10 minutes he came to the outskirts of town. Through the fog Badinage spotted a short stout fellow, black fur with white cracked stripes running down his back, a lit lantern in one hand; a symbol they were secure and in protective custody.
 
With him were two Jildaen mercenaries; their large hungry eyes searching him. Each dressed in hooded robes and silken masks revealing only their eyelids, armed to the teeth with long wicked swords and forked spears. They looked so alien in these damper surroundings, like exotic herbage found amongst potatoes.

Poisonous…

The skunk Usyf grinned a toothy smile “Long time, Badinage.” His voice sounded like grating gravel, not in the best of health. He’d gained quite a bit of weight and he was missing yet another finger from his left hand. He’d been playing rogue’s poker.

Badinage blinked at the two coyotes. He felt nothing but contempt for sell swords. All they valued was money, and anyone could change their allegiances.

“You’re in good company these days, Usyf.”

“Something the matter? Don’t like my boys?” Badinage nodded.

Usyf thumbed at his thugs “C‘mon boys, get lost.” With deep grunts of disapproval, the Jildaen coyotes disappeared into the billowing mist.

Usyf licked his scarred nose “How are things?”

“Not so good…word of my attacks have been leaked to Dea.”

The skunk pulled a piece of stale bread from his coat pocket and chewed on it “And that’s bad? If anything, it’ll bring more strapping young men to your cause and flood your coffers.” He rolled the bread in his hand “strong, willing and fearless men.”

Badinage tried not to laugh at the irony “As willing as Erada? The dog you so generously recommended nearly killed me a fortnight ago.”

Usyf chewed, unable to stare Badinage in the eyes “He came to me with excellent references, lad. Not my problem you made him first mate” He burped.

“I believe it was you who insisted upon his immediate promotion. You spoke highly of his skills… skilled he was; enough to fool you and me…If not for O‘dare, I‘d be at the bottom of the Cloud Sea with a nice grotto in my skull for fish to nibble at.” Badinage put weathered sea paws on his belt, thumbing the brass buckle.

“A blessing O’dare had your back.” He started picking his teeth with a long curled finger.

“One can’t always rely on blessings, Usyf. Especially when they come in the guise of good intention.”

The skunk sighed and dropped the bread “I reckon you just spit it out, boy. I‘m hard of hearing these days, and all your tone inflection is lost on me.”

Badinage stopped thumbing his buckle, his eyes concreted on Usyf “You know right well what you’ve done. You think me daft from weeks at sea? I saw right through your plan the minute Erada turned against me.”

For the first time, Usyf locked eyes with Badinage “Just spit it out pup. I’m tired of being jerked around.”

“You sold me to the dogs. How else could word of my assault reach Dea so quickly? My rudders are neigh unmatched in these waters. And if the dogs couldn’t do your dirty work, your little assassin might.” His eyes narrowed, his left hand reached for the pistol.

Usyf smiled, scratching his nose. A sharp whistle pierced the drab silence. Badinage felt strong hands grapple him. The Jildaen mercs had him pinned and were shackling him.

Usyf raised his hands in contempt “You read me like a cheap dirty novel, Badinage.” The marten felt his belt undone, stripped of his pistol and knife.

 “I’m sorry… I didn’t want it to end like this. I have a city to run and I‘m don’t have any skill in running an honest one…you understand of course.” Usyf kicked away an absent stone.

Badinage hissed, resisting with all his might against the giant coyotes “You betrayed me and my crew…You gave the Night Bird fleet to Lithos you-” Usyf held his hand up, silencing his young friend.

“Not Lithos... And it wasn‘t just I who turned you in. When you‘re busy collecting your thoughts, perhaps give thought that someone much closer betrayed you Badinage.”

Badinage spat in Usyf’s face. The shorter of the coyotes kneed him in the back. He fell on his hands, the very wind knocked out of his lungs.

Usyf didn’t bother wiping the spittle away; he’d earned it. He’d spent his entire life a rogue and being spat upon was a lot more honorable than a knife in the back.

Badinage‘s fate would be no different than the latter. Usyf rationalized he’d forget about it before the week was out. The Eye had their price, and Usyf was prepared to pay it. He rarely thought twice about mistakes, much less about making money.

He knelt in front of Badinage “You never did respect me, Brennon. I can sympathize, I wouldn’t respect me either... You‘ll have to forgive me this indiscretion…” Badinage surged against his restraints, nose to nose with the old skunk.

“I‘ll kill you for this, Usyf…” He gnashed with red teeth, throat thick with bile

Usyf gasped in feigned fright and tickled the commodore’s chin “I’ve no doubt of it boy…”

[Zev The Dog]

Serial 7
Garrison Orest
Kano Field
Lithos/Ghardah Border
11th of Bveuli 1448

“I am so damn bored! How long do these chumps plan on waitin’?” Ecìl cried locking fingers together and letting loose a loud yawn. He felt the ache from the tip of his ears down to his large flat feet.

Cerik threw a stone at Elic’s backside “Do you complain merely to hear yourself talk? For the love of Sola shut yer carrot trap.” Cerk lay sprawled on the knoll watching the clouds roll south. As far as he was concerned, the less time spent fighting, the better. He was being paid the same coin to eat, sleep and lance enemies of Lithos.

Cerk had seen to it both sides had bided for the Broken Shield’s services as was mercenary protocol. With some chagrin the bidding ended in Lithos favor. He preferred warring for Taldes and her allies but Lithos had deep pockets and Cerk would see to it his fingers had plucked every coin possible. Apologies were for the meek and hesitant he rationalized.

The company was resting on a large knoll of dirt and crab grass, passing the time waiting on their employers word. They were one of several hundred mercenary companies camped across Kano Field, the land blanketed like small shrubbery seen from a distance. The Broken Shield as they were known, numbered only 10 members. Some called them fodder and some called them elites. Didn’t matter a wolf’s tit to Cerk and his men.

 Ecìl sat down legs crossed, a heavy frown upon his whiskery face. The rabbit despised waiting: it was torture. He balanced a arrow in the palm of his hand.

“We done nothing but stare at one another for three days. I’m tired of your ugly face Chief…your’s as well, Scarlett.” He flipped the arrow from tip to haft, over and over.

Scarlett didn’t respond to Ecìl‘s sour whinge. Her bruin eyes looked north to the Lithos Army encamped. She could see Kel and Wea returning, the latter obviously out of breath and panting. The poor panther wasn’t suited for exertive running or war, just the aftereffects it brought. She often thought it amusing how clerics served the waylaid and injured; Wea wouldn’t discriminate in whom she tended.

Kel was another story: She thrived on war in a way that made Ecìl look tame. The wolverine had fooled them all when she was first recruited, giving Eternimus good tit for tat and Ecìl a sound thrashing. She was a wolverine and it seemed only fit people would have their preconceptions.

“hah…hah…They said…wait…” Wea gasped, the large tome nearly tumbling out of her hands. Kel hissed her disapproval, saying no more.

Ecìl laughed, digging his feet into the soft grass “We’re back where we started…SITTING ON OUR ARSES!” He yelled towards the Wolf camp.

Maru huffed, chewing on his thumb contently “If you have time to kvetch…” This old mouse knew how to silence the impudent brat. He’d taken Ecìl under his mentorship hoping the rabbit’d make an excellent archer. In that respect he did…but that mouth…it took a miracle to shut him up.

Seconds passed…

The rabbit sighed, terribly vexed “ARGH! Why am I here, waiting for a war that’s never gonna happen? I didn’t sign on to sit and wait!”

Maru rubbed his forehead, he’d been plagued with migraines since Ecìl first showed up on his doorstep. “Patience is a virtue all mercenaries value, Ecìl. Were would you be now without some damned patience…”

“Feathering a few cats and sending some Ghardan pelts home!” He said triumphantly eyeing Eternimus, standing silent vigil. The Tiger rested his broad muscled arms on a equally vast battle-axe nicked from years of use. He looked more like a laughing dog from the south than majestic tiger with his long unkempt hair and fierce maw.

“Shame we’s in the same gig Ecìl. Me little Anna’s been asking for a rabbit foot.” The giant tiger spoke, his voice slow and reverberating like distant thunder.

Ecìl laughed weakly baring his incisors in bad humor “heh heh… You’re a regular comedian Eternimus. You‘re just as impatient as I. You love this sh** more than anyone…” No one seemed to pay attention to Ecìl's nonsense, the tiger especially.

Eternimus didn’t answer instead turning his gaze back to the south. He’d be fighting many cousins perhaps a few comrades from his days in the Rose. Surely the Brash Prince would make his grand appearance.

The tiger had no qualms spilling Shurif’s blood. They’d had a less than amicable friendship during their service together. He almost felt a sense of relief being provided with the opportunity.

This didn’t mean Eternimus savored war and bloodshed, he was a merchant of war and here he peddled his services. There were other jobs but none came to him so easily. So long as there were kingdoms, differences of opinion or toffee-nosed nobles with moats up their arses, there’d be work.

It was rather simple: some people just got on his nerves…

It was cruel comedy; the life of a mercenary. One day to fight side by side with those you call friend only to cross blade and claw with them at the most inopportune time. Eternimus had laid many ‘friends’ to eternal rest but he did not regret it. His enemies were bound by their duties and so was he. Whenever doubt entered his large heart he would think of his wife and their kittens. They needed food, a home and provider. If making more money to provide his family with a comfortable home and hearth meant not choosing his comrades, Eternimus considered it a bargain.

Eternimus noticed an entire brigade of armored cats…they weren’t the Rose, most certainly warriors coerced by Shurif into battle. He’d heard of the massacre at Divad and Findulay.

“The lead screw Zasz has offered us double to lead the charge…” Raul the red-headed coyote spoke, coin in hand; the only motivation he wanted. He had no one to care nor anyone who’d mourn his passing. So much the better he told himself.

He was true Jildaen: ambitious, alert and constantly digging up opportunities to line his pocket with coin. His father’d be proud if Raul hadn’t slain him in combat years before.

“Family business can be ugly.” Raul’s mother’d told him when Father came home missing half his face. The son paid his proper respects and was nicknamed Asheres Paz, Patron-Eater.

Cerk spat a piece of grass “Don’t let us stop you, O mighty money-grubber…” Raul laughed under his breath, scratching at the large cjel burnt into his chest. Like many coyotes from Surza he’d received a ceremonial branding forever marking him Jildaen.  It itched occasionally.

His loyalty was to the coin but if Chief Cerk said no, such was greed‘s will.

Ecil couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so long without speaking “Hey Chief. Doesn’t this war bother ya the slightest?”

Cerk yawned loudly, so happy he wasn’t fighting and humoring a more than obnoxious archer “How so?”

“I mean…they’re cats…you’re a cat…yet you, Wea and that lugworm Eternimus don’t seem to mind.” A loaded question but Ecìl was young and considered by all a idiot if not for his skills with the bow. He’d ask if ear wax tasted like pomegranate.

“It’s simple. Eternimus’s got a village of kittens to feed, Wea won’t think twice who she patches up…and I’m not a cat.” He responded looking at fingernails cracked with dirt under the nails.

Ecìl’s ear perked, genuinely curious “huh?”

“Binturong.” He said matter-of-factly. Not exactly a cat but close enough to fool the average Arnevis village idiot.

Ecìl sneezed with frustration “A bintu-what? Sounds like one of those disasters Wea cooks up.”

Wea blinked and her eyes watered up. She was very sensitive about her culinary skills “Is…is it that bad, Ecìl?” She said weakly, tomb in hand. She adjusted her spectacles as the inevitable flood of tears welled in her eyes.

“I’d rather eat a pile of wolf dung.”

Maru slapped Ecìl across the back of the head, the thwock made Raul cringe “you‘ll get your chance tonight, gink. Don’t worry Wea…pay Ecìl no-” He was interrupted by a shrilling howl.

The lingering howl was met by thousands more, filling the valley with a cacophony of wails, yips and barks. The barks were returned by roars and hisses across the vast field. The wolves began marching.

Ecìl quickly forgot the pain in his head, watching with glee as the Lithos wolves surged forward unanimous in their cadence. They were chanting harsh songs in a language he didn’t understand. Every step shook the earth. Pebble and loose dirt trembling under Raul’s feet but he was unmoved.

 Were it night, Cerk might have felt a chill at this formal call to slaughter. It was the harbinger of death for many, perhaps his own. He’d taken to making his peace before every battle. He reached for his will and examined it. He’d hinted over the years someone in the clan was heir. Tongues wagged and rumors abounded but only he knew who’d take the cake. Perhaps it was to humor himself: Can’t wag your tail forever.

“Look alive mates. We’re in business.” He folded the paper, shoving it in a pocket and hoisting his ranseur over a carefree shoulder.

 Eternimus stirred from his vigil and Raul licked jittery fingers. Scarlett twirled her spear, plunging the trident into the dirt symbolizing the ancient Bruin custom of cleansing one‘s weapons and soul before battle. Giving herself back to dust should she or her weapon be undone.

Kel was already gone, running towards the Ghardan line without thought. This would be the wolverine’s first skirmish, Scarlett hoped it wouldn’t be her last but in such a business, you try not to get too amiable. A pure ideal of course…

Eternimus breathed deeply, rushing forward to meet his former comrades head on, Raul close behind him.

“I..I’ll  wait till...” Wea spoke, hugging the tomb in her plump arms. Scarlett smiled “You wait till this foolishness is all over Wea.” Scarlett hugged the tiny panther as an adult embraces a tiny infant.

None would surmise how gentle Scarlett was, bedecked in bronze-plated armor and standing nearly 28 hands high. She’d tried being aloof in her duties as deputy commander to the Broken but it was for naught; so many young’uns coming and going, many finding a place under Amusa’s unforgiving dirt. Her maternal instincts often overrode any duty she felt.

She was a mother and all her thoughts were towards home. Taldes…entire oceans of tall spruce and hearty maple trees, entire valleys overflowing with sweet berry and water so cold it chilled your very soul.

She kissed the amulet upon her chest, reminding herself one day she’d go home and hold her cubs again. They would be four springs old now: Ubam, Artham and Kayam.

Mother is coming home.

Ecìl smirked, grabbing his bow and following Maru into the wood line littered with wide-spreading willow and alder. They would be responsible for sniping officers and ‘problematic’ cats.

Maru nocked his ivory-wood bow “If you must be impatient and die, do so when I‘m not looking.” He sighed.

“I won’t let you down!” The rabbit quipped, bow at the ready. He already had his first target in sight…

[Zev The Dog]

NOTICE:

I've decided to revise F&C after lots of thinking *or the lack thereof* I'm unimpressed with the storyline, and shall completely rewrite it

It may be some time before I post again

Sorry for the inconvenience

[Eternimus]

There's no inconvenience. I have written poetry, songs, stories and scripts. If you want to make a story good, you spend as much time as you need. Otherwise you basically rip off your audience. Take your time man. Stories are better when you do. My suggestion is don't post until you finish it, and you are satisfied with the results. Your story will be better for it.