Open Vulpinsula & Surroundings The Bilge In The Bucket A long slow journey into the bottom of a tankard

[Zigatha Bladetale]

"Oo's that beast o'ver 'ere? An why do 'ey git a booth to themselfs!" Scragface pointedly asked the bar tender he had grabbed as they walked by, thumbing over to the darkest dingiest corner of the bar.

"Oh, em?" Nodding over to the figure slumping in the equally dark and dingy corner of the booth. "She's a regular"

Scragface spat on the ground letting go of the bartender. "I'mma regular why don' I git a boofs to meself?"

The bartender started to scuttle away to serve more drinks not stopping to address Scragface. They did managed to shout back "ye been 'Ere thirty five seasons have you? Well be 'ere that long an ye can earn a booth"

Scragface spat again and muttered to himself "I barely seen a beast even live ta be 'irty 'ive..." He shrugged as he looked back into his tankard. Empty, curse that barkeep! He hadn't refilled his drink!

Meanwhile back over in the dark dingey corner, if one were to look closely they would see a figure wrapped in the dark blue of an old overcloak with the hood drawn up over their head. If one then had extremely good vision they would see that the beast underneath was a pine marten, one with a snaggletooth. And if one possessed the eyes of a falcon one could see that beneath a tired brow were one grey eye and one blue eye.

Zigatha, or Zig to her friends.....did she have any friends nowadays? There was that one bartender.......maybe 5 seasons ago who tried to befriend you? Didn't he end up getting stuck trying to break up a bar fight? See this is why you don't have friends anymore...... Zigatha Bladetale stared blearily out of her mismatched eyes at the large ugly stoat that seemed to want to get her attention. Maybe we should teach them a lesson in respecting their elders....She thought as one paw slid down to her rapier; the only token left of her adopted father. But first I'll finish this drink. She thought, grabbing onto her grimy tankard with the other paw and tipping it back onto her mouth. Placing it back onto the table she quietly burbed to herself and shifted in her overcloak. The front opening a little to reveal the gold and yellow embroidery of the jacket underneath.

Yeah, she'll teach that laggabout a lesson.....right after this next drink.

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo stumbled into the Bilge. He was never trying to avoid this place, but it usually had so much going for it, he just couldn't work there easily. Especially as his work required at least a modicum of secrecy. Something impossible to be found in this place... But it was also the place in the whole Bully Harbour. Most hearsay come from here. Plenty of important characters or events had roots in this very tavern. It was, in a way, legendary.

Ivo was too young of course to know the ones that were most associated with The Bilge, but he still heard of them, in a way hoping he would at some day be considered as important to the history as them all. For now, he was doing well, pulling the strings by dealing information and gathering all sorts of secrets worth of blackmail or trading for. working from the shadows was just as important as working in the full light, something that his tiny reach into Misanthropy made him acutely aware of.

Thus now he was here just to hear what the beasts were talking about, fishing for any useful or interesting information. That is why he overheard the conversation between some beasts, talking about a regular beast who was here for much longer than Ivo was alive even. A potential vault of knowledge. A Jackpot even! Quickly spotting them, Ivo had to consider a few things however. What act should he take, was his outfit of well-off city clerk inconspicuous enough to not garner attention and so on and so forth. It wasn't worth risking too much now, he promised Marianna to see her tomorrow morning to help her evaluate a smuggler and job aside, he really did want to see his beloved vixen again.

After preparing, he exited from the crowd, now visibly walking to this specific table the pine marten was occupying. Ivo was glad for his great sight, the coat was really in a way, but the muzzle was one of the kind really. Coming closer he simply gave his best smile and asked with respectful, yet confident tone. "Is 'at place taken? Care if I join ya?" He pointed with his snout at the free spot on the other side of the table, holding his sketchbook firmly, but overall keeping relaxed pose, one with leisurely swaying tail, loose shoulders and lazy ears.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

The door creaked on its hinges as Grubbage Searoot shuffled into the tavern, tugging his overcoat tighter though the air inside was already thick with heat and sour ale. His fez tilted precariously as he gave the place a once-over, milky eye glimmering like a bruised marble in the lamplight. The familiar din made his ears twitch, but he pressed forward anyway, tail dragging like a mop.

“Well, look what the tide dragged in,” the bartender called, half amusement, half scorn. “Searoot! Been a spell, eh? Barrel-aged, same as always?”

Grubbage’s whiskers twitched. “Aye. Barrel-aged whiskey. An’ if it tastes like it’s been sittin’ in a dockside mop bucket, I’ll be wantin’ my coin back.” His words came out in a low growl, but the bartender only smirked and reached for a bottle.

The fat rat wedged himself onto a stool with a grunt, smoothing his crooked tie more out of habit than pride. His paw drummed impatiently against the bar until the glass slid in front of him. He sniffed it once, lips curling. Strong enough. For now.

From across the room, a loud snort broke through the murk. Scragface, slouched over his tankard, squinted at the sight. “Oi! Now how’s that fair, eh? Old Searoot stumbles in once every blue moon, an’ the barkeep greets him like a long-lost cousin. Even serves him the good stuff without askin’! What makes him so special, huh?”

Grubbage turned his head slowly, one good eye narrowing as he lifted the glass. He took a slow sip, let the whiskey burn down his throat, and set the drink down with deliberate care.

Then he chuckled. It was a low, greasy sound that almost sounded forced and unnatural. “Careful, stoat. Beasts who yap like that are usually itchin’ for their muzzle to be inverted and their tail to hit the street first. You want a demonstration… or you want to keep yer teeth?”

For a moment, the tavern’s usual drone seemed to pause. Dice clattered into silence on a nearby table. A chair scraped against the floor. Even the bartender stopped mid-polish, rag frozen in paw, as if weighing whether he’d have to break up another fight before closing time.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

Zigatha looked up from her still empty tankard. She stared blearily at the beast, who had quite suddenly appeared in her field of vision.

"Is 'at place taken? Care if I join ya?" Said the Fox with a truly astonishing amount of even redder hair in a ruff from scalp to neck.

"Of course" she half burped half spoke. "Though, a story is going to cost you one drink minimum and summin worth the value of the story you want to 'ear" Zigatha pulled down her hood revealing her head to the stranger. "An I git to say whats it worth gotcha?"

Before the Fox could answer the bar went dead silent. Zigatha craned her neck around the fox to see what the trigger was. She had seen full on bar brawls where customers did not even deign to notice. She saw that some beast in......was that a fez? Were those in style now? How long had she been in this bar? Questions like those flitted in and out of her peripheral consciousness. At the forefront she thought; Now there's a beast who stands up for their elders! I hope he knocks that silly laggabouts teeth in!.

Only time would tell if her wish would come true.

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo was ready to accept the bargain, but the bar went silent and he knew it was not a good idea to speak now. Yet to sit down, he looked at the fat rat who entered the place. Ivo knew him, he always did remember beasts easily. It was Grubbage, a pawnshop owner from that evening he met Aramaeus. They were not too happy for sure and some stoat was causing ruckus.

Now, Ivo wanted that promised story badly. Deciding to make a use of his silver tongue, he knew that there was no use of rationale here. He moved to where Grubbage sat and patted him on a shoulder. "Heya Grub! Long time no see. Yer a regular here I see an' hear? Ye wanna join me atta corner? Am paying fer rounds." Casualness was the way to go, and it already made for multiple beasts around to return to their activities. Some were still on edge, including the stoat, but Ivo positioned himself to make his brooch visible. And no beast in slups was stupid enough to bother someone who was with them Great Maws. Not unless they wanted to suffer from brutish enforcers.

Not that Ivo was a part of that group still, he had however the privilege of still parading around as one of them. The others didn't need to know that should somebeast hurt Ivo, it would be Tazzis that would remove them from existence.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

Scragface’s ears flattened as the silence pressed in. He shifted in his seat, lifting his tankard as if it might shield him. “A-aye, well… no call fer gettin’ rough, eh? Jus’ sayin’ what everybeast’s thinkin’.” He forced a laugh that rang hollow, eyes flicking nervously around the tavern. “Ain’t worth losin’ teeth over, s’all.”

Grubbage’s chuckle soured into a wheeze as he leaned heavier on the bar, whiskey paw steady, eye fixed square on him. “Stoats always bark louder than they bite. Bark too long in my direction, an’ I’ll make sure y’leave this place suckin’ supper through a straw.”

The words hung, thick as pipe smoke, and a few nearby beasts let out low snickers. Dice resumed rolling, mugs clinked again, but the hush hadn’t fully lifted. Scragface’s jaw worked, caught between fury and doubt, while from the corner Zigatha’s mismatched eyes glimmered with a sort of bleary approval.

That’s when a paw clapped down on his shoulder.

Grubbage turned with a grunt, good eye narrowing at the familiar red-furred face. “Tch. You again.” He wheezed a sigh that rasped like old bellows. “Never a quiet drink, is it?”

Ivo’s grin didn’t waver, the offer hanging easy in the smoke. Grubbage let his gaze dart once more toward Scragface before he finally snorted, scooping up his glass.

“Bah. Not worth crackin’ me paw bones over.” He slid off the stool with surprising heft for a beast so lazy-looking, shuffling over toward the fox.

On his way past, Grubbage gave the stoat a deliberate shoulder, a little punctuation mark of warning left behind for the stoat, as he waddled his way toward the corner booth tiredly.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

Zigatha sighed to herself. If there wasn't going to be a beating then a thorough tongue lashing would have to do. She nodded in gratitude towards the befezzed Rat.

She didn't wait for the two beasts to join her before she waved down one of the tavern hands.

"The usual, 'an wotever the other two 'avin The fancy fox is buy'in".

The two beasts took their seats opposite of Zigatha. A more curious pair had not crossed paths with Zig in what seemed like ages. Maybe they would ask for a good story. Though the Fox probably wanted to hear a tale of romance and frippery with the way he was dressed.... he had a brooch? He had made sure it was visible to the Scragface... it must have some importance. Maybe she would ask for that information as payment....

The Rat...Grub was it? On the other hand, had only joined after the Fox invited him. Were they friends? Probably not, the Fox's smile was a little too wide and showing a few to many teeth and the Rat's manner a little too casual.

The Rat looked like a beast who only had ears for carousing bar tales or backroom dealings.... Of course all the good stories happened to be the hardest to tell for Zigatha. The weight of past sins suddenly felt heavy on her shoulders. She gave her head a shake to clear out the cobwebs that had collected after yet another morning of heavy drinking.

" ' ell wot will it be for yer? Wot kind of story you want to 'ear? I've been sitting in this booth for thirty five years and I have seen, done, 'an 'am probably criminally liable for 'an entire fleets worth o'stories. 'An remember, you pay for the worth of the story once its done. 'An I git to tell you what its worth. And 'ell if you disagree.... But I'm hoping two fine young strapping beasts such as yer'self wouldn't go and cheat a old Fogey out of the small pleasures in life, right?" She made an expression similar to one your grandma would make if you didn't complient her latest batch of cookies. The expression faded as fast as it had appeared. "O, an most importantly I'll be needing to wet my whistle a fair amount. So keep the drinks coming".

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo, while still on his way to the table, gestured too at the tavern hand. "Scotch, gin an' dash of ground black pepper with sum lemon." He wasn't at a fancy place, but they surely had all those things. And with the fact he would just buy one of those, his wallet wouldn't hurt too much. Information was worthy the price anyways.

Sitting by the table, Ivo did notice one thing quickly. The marten gaze was sharp and attentive. Despite the age, Ivo steeled himself knowing that the beast in front of them was way more than they looked like at the first glance. Her words did further confirm it. Ivo know the game she was playing, he did exactly the same thing after all, except he traded in secrets and information, not stories. This was a peculiar find, but one that potentially would give Ivo a lot. After all, he knew the deal, knew how to negotiate and knew how to value to intel. Positioning himself as one of his own clients was not too difficult for the reddest fox around.

"Ain't ya worry 'bout that. I said am payin' I'll keep up. But just like ya warn us, me want ye t' know that am young, not stupid. Information's valuable, I know t' worth of it and I ain't gonna let ye scam me." A warning, but given in friendly, respectful tone. Just to ensure that both sides know they are on equal footing here. With that Ivo leisurely opened his sketchbook on a fresh page and pulled out his pencil, starting to sketch the place he was at. "If ya may, I wanna hear a story 'bout tha late Mayor. Anithias Freedom. Or anytin' related to 'em." The request was casual, not showing his true interest in that matter.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

Zigatha chuckled at the young fox's statement. Perhaps he did have more than that ruff of red hair between his ears. Well if it was that kind of story he wanted, well who was Zigatha to deny her paying audience? After all information flowed both ways and Ivo was turning out to be an interesting character.

Taking a long swig of her now full tankard she wiped a paw across her lips, her snaggletooth glinting as grog dripped down it. "Then let me tell you a tale, a tale of romance, betrayal, and tragedy." She gave a smirk drawn even more exaggerated by her tooth. "So let us start our tale with two lovers, a clandestine meeting and hope for a sunny future." Zig than dove into the story, painting a picture of the beautiful couple seeking solice in each other from a world of expectations. The couples need to be secretive and clandestinely meeting where the world had no eyes.....except for one pair....Then the climax of a brothers betrayal a falling out and the destruction of the couples future prospects. "The young and formally smitten beast fell into the dark pit most beasts struggle to climb out of; despair. After losing his station, his fortune, and the love of his life, he spent his remaining coin on drink and games of chance. Until one night the beast could not take his burdens any further than the bottom of the sea while holding a large rock....But whose to blame for this tale of tragedy? Was it the poor in love beast looking for an escape or was it perhaps the brother? Why would he have done such a calus act of betrayal? I'll leave you to judge..."

Taking another long swig emptying her tankard for the third time that story she shook her empty tankard at the Fox. "Well was that the kinda story yet was lookin' for?"

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

Grubbage had listened to the exchange between the fox and pine marten, and through her tale, wheezing faintly between sips of his whiskey. By the time Zigatha waved her empty tankard for the third time, his ears flicked back and he let out a rasping chuckle.

"Romance, betrayal, an’ a swim with a rock?" he muttered, leaning against the backrest with a groan of creaking wood. "Hmph. Half the harbor’s done the same. Worth a pint, no more."

His paw slid into his coat, coins clinking before he set one down on the table with a deliberate tap. He raised a claw toward the barkeep without taking his eye off Zigatha.

"Brandy," he called. "Oldest ye got. Not that swill ye pour fer the sailors."

The bartender’s brows twitched, but he nodded and moved to fetch it. Grubbage leaned forward then, crooked tie sagging as his grin spread greasy and mean.

"Let’s see if dat gets us a better return," he said.

The words hung with pointed weight. It was a two-pronged challenge, one eye narrowing on Ivo to see if his coin truly bought the choicest tales, the other testing whether Zigatha’s boast of value matched the liquor she was draining.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

Zigatha shot the rat a smile with too many teeth.

"Iffin ya don't like my stories I'm sure ye can find some penny dreadfuls that will suite ye just fine. I don't need to go explainin the value of me stories to sum beast with no cunning." She spat on the floor for emphasis, mood souring. She waved away the brandy the tavern hand placed in front of her and ordered another round of grog. "Brown liquor is disagreeable to my temper" she said leaning back into her booth. "Now that's one story fer ye, let me tell you one of fer free. Seein you d'innit like the first one. Don' worry it'll be shortun, then we kin git back ta our business."

Zigatha cleared her throat and spat again on the floor. "Once upon a time there were a beast, no need fer names, will jist call 'em the Key. Now the Key was a fortunate and dangerous beast. They had power, money, property, and most of all respect. They truly loved their job and found a purpose they had been missing fer along time. They were charged with the protection of summin very, very precious. summin that was worth all the gilders in the Imperium and they had the skills and the follow thru to warrent such trust. Now one day the Key was out dealing with sum other problems only a dangerous beast like the Key could handle. The kind where yer paws git dirty...ye know wot I mean? Well that day ended up being one dead end after another, an when the Key returned to their home they found that the precious thing had not just been destroyed but spectacularly, publicly so. Sum beast had gotten around the protections the Key had put in place while they were gone. and the end result was humiliation, a dishonorable discharge, the loss of friends and family. Every'ting they 'ad built up in their life gone, inna instance".

Zigatha stopped for a moment, the annoyance that fueled her story ebbed away as she was speaking and what was left was nothing. An emptyness. Her eyes became unfocused and it was almost automatic what she said next. "Wot do ya think 'appended to the Key after that? Some road to redemption opened up befor em? Some pretty and neat thing 'appens to save the day? Well those are things that jist 'appen in stories...No the Key ended up where all good beasts go when the rug is pulled out from under 'em; rock bottom. They begain to drink, and never stopped drinking, funding their self destruction by dancing jigs 'an entertainin other drunken beasts as they tried to forget their mis'rible existence. Sum say ye kin still 'ere em ordering drink after drink in this very pub....

She shook her head again and the dull look that had come over her was replaced with the usual gleam her mismatched eyes were accustomed to. "But wot do ya think a beast like that would be capable of still? They still 'ad their skills, an their weapons, everything that made 'em a dangerous beast biffore were still there, wot do ya think a beast like that would do to the beast that disrespected 'em again hmm? Wot's one more beast in the harbor going fer a "walk" into the sea with a "rock". eh?" She emptied her tankard once more and stared pointedly at the Rat. "Wot do ye think a dangerous beast wit nuttin left ta lose would be capable of?"

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo was about to thank for a story that, while didn't bring him much revelations, was for sure good to know. Especially as this was a story about what could be his future father and mother-in-law. It was worth knowing the beasts, even if they were dead. It did already make him see the connections between Marianna and her parents. Deeds and personality were really speaking more of who is of whose blood more than any other mean. That worried Ivo for that would put into Marianna same capacity. He still trusted her though. At this point he was too far gone into their relationship...

Grubbage.

The rat didn't know why Ivo asked for that story. But his words were disrespectful not just of the story but of the beast telling them herself. Sure, Ivo would do the same if he could see the hoax or stalling, but this now was just fussy act.

But the Marten shared the sentiment and understood well what was it all about. Granted she did not have to share the next story, that seemed a bit too much... until Ivo realised she explained herself. Who she was and what she could do. It was less of a story and more of a warning, delivered in an introduction nonetheless.

Ivo listened carefully, sipping his drink of choice. He decided that next time he should ask for a bit of that paste made from chilli peppers. That should add to the taste for sure. Amidst that he did not fail to notice the empty pain of existence of the beast in front of him. Familiar gaze he knew among those that felt like their life devolved into nothing, nearly giving up on it.

So when she was finished, he smoothly answered her question. "Anythin' and nothin'. Such beast'll do lots when irred, but ain't gonna act beyond frames t' preserve 'at last bit of stability." He threw a look at Grubbage.

With a charmingly warm smile, Ivo continued. "Well, me thinks both yer stories were great. They told me what I needed t' know an' sum more. Truly worth tha grog i've paid for. Now, Yer wanna me tell ya a story, or can I hear one more? Am still intrested in hearin' 'bout more but I ain't seekin' t; be unfair." He finished at the same time as he continued his sketch, now adding details that were there not before. Nor were they real.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

Grubbage went still as her words settled over him. For once, no greasy chuckle came creeping out of his throat. His paw lingered on the coin he’d set down, claws tapping at the wood. When the tavern hand returned with the brandy he’d ordered for Zigatha, he dragged the glass toward himself instead.

The paw that lifted it trembled. He masked it poorly, taking a long swallow that burned all the way down.

His entire life was strung up in that cramped little pawn shop by the docks. It might not have been the bounty Zigatha once held, but it was his. Every dented helmet, every rusted trinket, every tarnished heirloom stacked in the dust was a piece of him. He feared losing it enough that he rarely strayed far, even paid his dues to the Furotazzis to keep the place safe. And now, with whispers of the Imperium buying up whole streets to expand the warehouse district, even that security felt like it was crumbling. Grubbage Searoot was already walking the line of ruin, one shaky step at a time.

So when Zigatha’s words cut across the table, they found purchase.

"Now that’s better…" he rasped, voice low and rough. "Yer good on ye word, lass. A beast kin do terrible things wit’ nothin’ left ta lose."

He shifted his gaze then, first to Zigatha with a flicker of wary respect, then to Ivo, pinning the fox with his good eye.

"Me shop is me life," he said plainly. "T’ain’t much, but it’s mine. Every board, every trinket, every deal I’ve struck... it’s all I got. If it were t’ be taken from me…"

He trailed off, words sinking into the hush between them. The brandy glass quivered against the table as he set it down, still half full, but heavy with unspoken truth.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

Zig nodded towards Ivo "Aye, I knew ye were a clever beast the moment I laid eyes on ya" she said, picking up her tankard for the first time since before her second tale. "Anna I do wanna 'ear a story, if its a good one it may be even close to a fair trade" She gave Ivo a wink with her blue eye.

She turned to look Grubbage in the eyes, eyes that we nor so disimilar to her own. "Then ye understand the story, though its Marm to you, I ain't been a lass in thirty five years.....". She knew that behind all that early bluster was a beast pushed to an edge like her. News of rising rents and troubled times made it to her table often. She had also heard of the name Grubbage Searoot, the owner of a particular pawnshop where one could find particular items. Putting two and two together told Zigatha a story of the Rat in front of her. One of shared pain. "Aye, I wanna 'ear that story now. But 'e gits to pick what kind, anna you regale us Fox." she nodded towards Grubbage. "Thats my payment, we'll call it even." She gave the rat a wink with her grey eye.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

Grubbage’s whiskers twitched at the correction. "Marm, then," he muttered, giving her a stiff little nod.

His paw swirled the brandy slow, the amber catching the lamplight as his good eye slid toward the fox.

"A story, eh?" He rasped, voice rough but steady. "Then make it one o’ survival. Not the kind where a beast comes out rich, or noble, or kissed by fate. The kind where the tide’s against ‘em, where they’re beat down an’ near broke… but they scrape by anyhow."

He took a sip, setting the glass down with a faint clink.

"Let’s hear how a beast picks ‘emselves up when the ground’s already been pulled out from under ‘em."

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo had to consider his options now. He was an information broker, not a storyteller. Yes, he knew a lot and about a lot, but it didn't translate exactly into the best stories. One thing was certain, he would not speak his own. If Grubbage wanted a story of survival, he would get one, but not Ivo's. That one was only known by one beast aside from Ivo and it was not meant to change at least until he had kits.

He flipped the page of his sketchbook, taking a mental image of the scene and etching it into his short-term memory so he can finish that one later today. He wouldn't want to misplace that memory in his giant long-term archive that spanned his brain, not when it was tied to his love.

Now, with a new canvas, came the decision to support his storytelling by drawing. That was something he was good at and could wordlessly add a lot... the issue still was what story should be said. Ivo finally had settled on rephrasing information on one of the beasts he kept tabs on.

"Well... then. Ya want a story of survival? I can get ye one. It ain't gonna be long, but it strikes me as one ye wanna hear."

Ivo started sketching a mansion. One that no longer existed, for it was razed. He did saw it in full glory long time ago, and that was the picture he was trying to portray. "Ya could ask, what would 'em nobleborns know of survival? There's one that fer sure could answer ya. One that was born rich. With influential family, connections. One that was an heir to long line of traditions, plenty of workshops. One that apparently was talented, lucky to have a sharp mind."

Ivo sketched a fox kit head over the mansion. He knew how this beast looked like, but he was not going to make finding them easier, so his sketch was very vague.

"The revolutions came, the family sent 'er kits somewhere safe, while 'emselves they got killed off, with 'er riches taken an' land scourged. If ya're t' ask if said family deserved it, I'll leave you to decide. But fer t' kit who's only fault was to be born? It wasn't just. They're sent to t' very bottom. One that lots of us know an' struggle with. Poverty."

Quickly he added another sketch one of ruined mansion. "Left without family an' money, title, honours an' whatnot, said kit struggled fer life. Alone. Worse 'an that, they got stuck in their own head. It's said they became 's cold 's ice, still as a rock an' remained sharp as a dagger. They reforged 'emselves into a weapon to cut through t' daily struggle, losing 'emselves in t' process. They fought well fer each day, not lettin' t' stop, keepin' 'emselves always occupied with struggle. After all, shouldda they taken a break, they would crumble."

With that he added the new fox head. One void of emotions, you could argue it belonged to a corpse.

"So fought they did with'all they had. Gettin' 'emselves in a lengthy process fer land an' recognision of their title back. They did return 'ere to Bully Harbour, only ta find ruins of their home an' legacy. He wasn't given a mercy to even know where his parents' bones lied. An' with that they've snapped. Even t' toughest blade does so after bein' used too much, with all 'em scars that accumulate an' build up. He couldda be seen walking streets. T' mad beast, wearin' rags an' lookin' unkept, livin' in pain an' insanity. Yet somethin' changed. Now that beast seems reborn and can be seen workin' within t' city, usin' their noble privilege again while minglin' with common beasts, livin' a life they've lost fer a long time, yet not showin' the usual contempt 'em nobles have. Why issat one may ask? I do not know. It wasn't money, fer they still live among the ruins. One thing is certain. I was told they are still fightin', that they're sharper than ever... but they ain't an animated corpse, not anymore."

Ivo finished his story with a sombre look. If someone had a good grasp on the city, they could connect the dots to figure out who that was. It wasn't Ivo, but he for one dearly sympathised with that one marble fox. Ivo himself was used as a tool, aleit not at his own paw, and he too fought for himself each day ever since he was left alone.

 

[Zigatha Bladetale]

As the story ended Zigatha gave the fox a curt nod. "Ahh the energy of youth, it's worth an even trade." She tucked the story away in her own vault. Who knows when the elements would be worth retelling. She leaned back into the booth, not realizing she had leaned forward during the tale. It apparently had grabbed her more than she knew at first. "Ye a decent story teller, you may even 'ave a career innit sumday. Now if ye kin forgive an elder beast fer needing ta rest their throat, it's about time fer me next drink. Filly dear, would you see these two gentle beasts out?" She looked towards a dark corner across from her booth. A pitch black ferret melted out of the shadows and pulled down the scarf covering up the lighter fur of her throat and muzzle. They moved over to the table and nodded at the two beasts looking them up and down.

"Oy, ye 'eard the Madam, storytime is over. Ye don't 'ave to go home, but ye can't stay here" the Ferret stopped a claw on the table.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

Grubbage stood slow, his chair groaning as he shoved it back. He gave Zigatha a stiff little nod, crooked tie bobbing with the motion. "Marm," he rasped simply. No more, no less.

The ferret’s claw on the table drew his good eye, and he swallowed what was left of his brandy in one hard gulp. Enough theater for one night. His shop and its shadows were waiting, safer than any tale.

He shuffled a step, then paused long enough to glance at the fox. His paw hovered, then extended, rough and heavy.

"If ye fancy a walk, Ivo, I’ll not stop ye. Elseways, safe night t’ ye."

With that, he turned toward the door, tail dragging like a mop across the tavern floor.

 

[Ivo Suresight]

Ivo took a long look at the ferret and their claw before standing up with a sigh.

"See, ya could've jus' tell us t' go. Coercion only works an' makes sense when ya know who yer tryin' to scare."

After taking a second to memorize both beasts to the last strand of fur, Ivo chuckled however and moved to leave he table.

"But I ain't stupid 'nough to take a fight on other's turf. Thank ye fer ya story, am sure we'll get t' talk sumday."

That marten was going to be a pawful if left unchecked now. The fox knew that and knew it will be worth it to plan ahead maybe. For now however, it was for the best to leave.

"I'll join ye Grub, I may have a business with ya." Ivo said and followed the rat, much more confidently than him. "Mind if we stroll on t' way t' yers?" He asked while giving them a discreet sign that most of the beasts dealing with the underworld matters knew. Importance. A wordless way to convey that this wasn't as casual as it seemed.

 

[Grubbage Searoot]

(OOC - Apologies for the quality of my last post. I was feverish and not in a proper head space)

Grubbage paused, swaying a touch as the brandy settled heavy in his gut. He turned back, fez tipped and whiskers twitching.

"Er… sorry t’ ye both," he wheezed, rubbing at his muzzle. "I don’ indulge very often, an’ that last one was meant fer ye, Marm." He gave Zigatha a stiff little nod before turning to the fox.

"Aye, I might need a helpin’ paw, methinks. ’Taint as young as I used ter be." His chuckle rattled low in his chest before tapering off.

He leaned heavier on his cane as his good eye fixed on Ivo. "Ye spun yer story well, fox. Refreshin’ t’ hear ‘bout grit an’ the drive t’ keep pushin’. Sounds like 'is plunge still twisted 'is head, but das t’ be expected. Sanity’s a hard thing t’ keep dese days…"

With that, he adjusted his coat and shuffled toward the door, slow and heavy, waiting to see if Ivo would fall in step beside him.