Private Vulpinsula & Surroundings Family in Exile

[Emilia T. Brudenell]

Those who had ousted the pair of stoats that once held the Imperium in the palms of their paws would have been treated to a sight that might have shocked them in its innocence, if they'd been there at the foot of that lone and pretty manor house on Tully Shore.
Emilia T. Brudenell, the Lady-in-exile, wore an old straw sunhat, a flowery sundress, and garden gloves tucked under her arm, as she attempted something many a mother the world over could relate to.
"Oh, come now, Willy." she cooed. "That's right. Join your mama outside, now. You can take your tea while you help me weed the garden."
"But I don't wanna weed the garden!"
"You're going to, young sir. You're going to keep me company."
"But whyyy!"
"Because your sister needs space, and because I said so."
The nine year old whined like a prisoner on the way to the gallows.
Hm, maybe not, Emilia winced. What a depressing analogy.
The nine year old whined like a nine year old does.
Willard Jr. was stubborn like his namesake, and every bit a miniature of him, from his moodiness to the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, from his fur shade to the very shape of the black tip on his tail.
They even both looked quite handsome in a waistcoat, and Willard, Jr. wore a cute wee striped green and black one as his mother sighed, gave him his mug with the protective cover to keep his paws from burning, and led him out the door and into the salty air and sunlight of the early morning.
Gulls cried overhead, reminding Emilia of the Missertrosse gulls as she and her son walked down the soft stone path and into the grass, where ladybirds winged and beetles marched, and a bed of red marigolds, red as the deepest crimson, awaited weeding and pruning.
As Willard Jr. sat in the grass and sipped grumpily from his mug, Emilia pulled on her gloves and got down on her knees, finding some dandelions and digging deep into the black earth to wrench them by the roots.
"Hey mama," Will piped after a time. "Tell me about Bully."
It had been a favorite subject of his since his sister and her daughter, Nuori Anais, had first requested to be allowed to return there.
Emilia sighed, and gazed up at the clear blue sky, allowing the golden sunlight to warm her nosetip and cheekfur, soothe her eyes.
"Well," she said, trying to sift through the memories and find what was suitable for a young one. "It's always very busy there, in Bully Harbor, which is short for Bouillabaisse Harbor."
"Booyah-base?" The kit laughed uproariously. "Why'd they name it that?"
She smiled, and returned to tearing out the weeds, piling them next to her. "Because there's lots of very silly beasts there."
The kit paused in his giggles, and she could sense he was hesitating over something. Then he said "Mama, why don't we... live there?"
Her smile faded a bit, and then she turned to look at him and warmed her smile again. "Because it isn't a safe place. It's full of rude and dangerous beasts, and your father and I want to keep us all here, where we won't be bothered by anyone. Where you can swim and play and continue to grow into a proper gentlestoat without fearing anything, and likewise for your rebellious sister. Come, nibble a dandelion, it's tasty and good for your heart."
Dutifully and every bit a strange kit, Willard crawled over on all fours and ate one of the dandelions out of the pile before sitting back on his haunches and laughing, the stalk dangling from his mouth.
Emilia laughed too. "Oh, you're a proper court jester!" And as she ate her own dandelion, she pet the kit fondly over the ears. "Your papa and I love you, Willy, you know that?"
"Yes, mama."
The front door creaked, and seventeen-year-old Nuori Anais stood in the threshold, eying her mother uncomfortably with one of Emilia's books under her arm. The Beginner's Guide to Bully Harbor, judging by the cover.
Emilia looked up, and their eyes briefly met. "Oh! Nuori," she said. "Come join-"
The teenager bowed her head and hurried off down another path, and away from her and Willy.
A sadness swept over Emilia for a moment, and then she knelt and gave Willy a kiss on the head, and held his cheek in one of her dirty gardening gloves.
They looked into each other's eyes, and hers began to dampen.
"Yes, mama?" the kit asked.
"I am... so glad you're here with me." Emilia said. "I... wouldn't want it any other way, my little ray of sunshine. You deserve to live a good, long, happy life free from pain and misery, and you'll find that here. I promise you that."

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

A bit away from the happy stoatess and her son, behind a sand dune covered with shore grass, a more grim pair awaited. A rat with a large war crossbow and an otter with a looking glass lay prone in it, quietly discussing which of the two targets they should take down first. They had infiltrated the area some ways away by means of a small rowboat, trekked quite a bit across the sand dunes meticulously covering their tracks by use of broad leaves, and were now in position to strike. The only question was who.

“Cheese,” the otter whispered, looking a bit more uncertain than the rat, “do we really have to take out the kit and the wife? Wouldn’t it be better to take out Willard?”

“Nay Blood. Contract said to not kill him. Have to make em suffer and feel paranoia first. The beasts behind it said he bankrupted them and they had to suffer for decades, they want him to feel the same. Death be too kind for em.”

The otter shook his head. “Damn shame...beasts can’t let bygones be bygones.”

“Aye, not in this Imperium, now, who do ye think should go first, kit or mother?”

The otter uncomfortably thought for a moment, shook his head, and replied.

“Mayhap the mother. The kit, young as he is, might not realize his mum’s dead and not coming back before we can reload. If we get the kit first, the mum’ll know. And something...something seems wrong about that, more to me.”

Cheese nodded. “Aye, I see thy reasoning. Okay, we just gotta adjust this a little bit more, account for the wind, Blood, tell me what direction is the flag waving in.”

The otter focused down the looking glass, looking at the flag that blew strongly east.

“East, I think, Cheese. Just gotta adjust it a little.”

“Aye, alright, I be taking the shot in just a moment. Just a little more to the left...”

-THWANG- -CRACK-

Blood continued to look down his looking glass, expecting the crossbow bolt to penetrate the mother at any moment. One second. Two. Three. Four...nothing happened. The stoatess was still doing her gardening.

Putting down his looking instrument, Blood began to speak.

“Oi Cheese, what went wrong? Don't tell me that crack was the crossbow breaking. Something with the-”

To his horror, Cheese’s head, such as remained of it, was caved in, along with the crossbow being smashed. And a tall fox with a red plumed helmet, clad in partial plate except for his leggings and boots and wearing a knee-length red cloak, stood above him with a poleaxe, the axe portion dripping with blood.

“No wait, I-”

-THWACK-

***Some time later***

As the happy stoatmaid and her son finished up their gardening, a familiar presence showed up, a large fox with his red plumed helmet in what appeared to be freshly cleaned armor and clothing, basket-hilted broadsword on his belt but with both paws holding a ceramic plate filled with something that smelled sweet and freshly baked. Alwyn, recently promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to be head of the Brudenell’s “protective detail” as his first command six months ago, had arrived with sweet cinnamon rolls, a family favorite and something that he enjoyed as well.

“Lady Brudenell, Willy, look what I got the cooks to whip for us!”

Putting the plate down on one of the outside tables, he waited for the two stoats to dig in before taking one for himself. Glancing off in the distance for just a brief, almost imperceptible moment towards a particular sand dune when neither the lady or her kit were watching, he could see a few red plumes just barely above the shore grass, seemingly dragging a few contained within off far away from the close-knit little family of the retired Lord-Protector. Best their happiness not be disturbed for now worrying about such things.

@Emilia T. Brudenell @Willard Brudenell​

 

[Emilia T. Brudenell]

""Oh! Alwyn," Emilia said, standing and brushing the dirt from her dress.

"Cin'mon rolls!" Willard Jr. charged for the pastries, seizing one in a small paw and sinking his teeth into the sugary confection with all the gusto of a wildland predator.

"Willy," Emilia chided gently. "What are you meant to say when someone brings treats?"

The little one paused long enough in between voracious bites to shout "Thank youu!"
Crumbs sprayed in all directions.

His mother sighed and shifted her eyes to the tall fox. It was strange how much he resembled his father, the fox who had taken from and given so much to the Brudenells.
Talinn was one of the reasons she and Willard weren't where they belonged, leading the homeland that needed them.
He was also, however, no matter how much she was loathe to admit it, a big reason why she and her husband were here caring for their kits and not... well. Hanging from gibbets, perhaps.
To think she owed her life to "Talinn the Traitor."
Life really did have a cruel sense of irony that rivaled any of the hundreds of stories she could find in her library.
Emilia was thankful, at least, that though Alwyn looked quite a bit like a younger, happier Talinn Ryalor... as far as she could tell, he did not possess his father's dark side. In fact, she rather liked the young fox.
Certainly, the Empress could have assigned a worse commander for their guard detail.

"How are you this fine morning, Alwyn?" she asked, deigning to save whatever may remain of the cinnamon rolls for her afternoon tea. She pushed the spectacles back up her nose and returning to kneeling at the flowerbed to continue her war against the dandelions, ripping out one particularly stubborn clump with a grunt.
From out the corner of her big brown eyes, Emilia watched as Alwyn glanced briefly away into the distance, and she wondered if the new home of the Brudenells was really as safe as she'd hoped.

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn smiled at the young Willy, genuinely happy to see the little soft, cute gentlestoat enjoying his treats. They reminded him of the Empress’s kits, young enough to not have a care in the world, still innocent, still unblemished. In much the same way that Emilia thought in her head, Alwyn reflected on the irony. The son of the fox who betrayed this stoat’s father was now delegated to protect his very own kits, his wife, and himself, at the cost of his own life if necessary. The peace that had come over the Imperium since the coronation of the Empress was maintained by very strange alliances and deals to keep it all together. Still, that was far preferable to the blood that had been spilled to bring it about, which had cost him and his own family dearly, for reasons that even now the Empress, his father, and his mother refused to tell him about in even the most vague way.

Granduncle, what did you discover that made you draw your sword that fateful day? Why did my father strike you down? Why did he submit our House to what amounted to terms of surrender when victory was right in his paw? Why does the Empress treat me so kindly and trust me with her kits, when I should have just been a political hostage? Why do I only get silence when I ask these questions?

Alwyn was snapped back to reality with Emilia’s question, giving her a nod, and thinking carefully about how to phrase his reply. The stoatess was whip-smart, indeed, a match or perhaps even exceeding her husband in intelligence. He had to tell the truth, but also avoid causing her stress or anxiety. He pondered it for a moment before he replied, giving her a gentle smile.

“Just the usual, my Lady. Patrolling the perimeter and the like, training the beasts, warning beasts who get too close that this is private property, keeping abreast with the news, doing what repairs to the manor we can when we have the extra time, and other various guard duties*. Nothing much out of the ordinary**. Although, I did receive an interesting report…” He pulled out a scroll, with the broken blue seal of House Ryalor on it, then handing it over to her “...it seems my father is going on some kind of trip to Urk soon, although I am not told why. Odd, I thought there was nothing there but cannibal shrews and some sparse vegetation, but you are more learned than me, my Lady. Do you perhaps know why?”

*Entirely truthful. This included dealing with any potential spies or assassins, including torturing them for information about who hired them. Alwyn, though, left such to the “specialists” as it were, the local Misanthropy attache. He had learned, very quickly in his service, to not peer too deeply into “how the sausage was made” as it were there.

**This, too, was also strictly truthful. Much like his own family, assassination attempts were fairly common on the Brudenells through a variety of techniques and attempted infiltrations. The sheer amount of dead assassins had been a real problem when they still had to dig at least six feet down in the shifting sands to bury them, until advice from his mother to buy copious amounts of lyme had solved that little problem.

@Aiken Brudenell @Emilia T. Brudenell

 

[Willard Brudenell]

It had become something of a routine.

In the morning, the stoat would set a kettle to boil, for tea or coughee, whatever struck his or his wife’s fancy that given week. It was the sort of thing a house servant would normally do, but Willard appreciated the task. It brought him out of bed with a purpose, and after a time the whistling took him out of his office if he’d wound up in there, before the mire of letters and ledgers became too thick to sink into.

There were always letters – if not to be read, than to be sent.

He liked to be kept busy. There were times, he knew, when it became too much for Emilia. He remembered, longingly, the days before the storm, not long after they’d first met. Sure, there had been stresses then. Conspiracy, intrigue, catastrophe. It had been the world on his shoulders, never more than a couple of hours away his task. But it had all seemed so doable then.

Breakfast was the cooks’ affair. They’d long ago learned not to trust the retired Minister of War with meal preparation, and it was too much guesswork for his taste anyhow. Today it had been deviled eggs with a sort of greenery drizzled in oil with seasoning. It’d been pleasant enough – he finished the eggs and most of the salad before getting lost in an angry letter from a wayward widower, a beast whose wife had ran the first few paces out of a trench near Marquistry Cape and then never had to run again.

The stoat drew up his pen.

“Dear Mr. Manzano

I feel sure that you would like to know the degree to which this country appreciates the sacrifice-”

No. The wrong tone. Not an assumption to be made.

“I know well the pain with which you must be-”

Did he?

Willard sat back in his chair, raising his cup of – black tea, it was today – to his lips, only to find it empty. How much of the day had he spent already?

He rose from his seat with a sigh, leaving his desk to stretch his legs. The letter wasn’t going anywhere. Perhaps he would check on his wife and children, to see how they were doing. Get his mind out of the past and back into the future.

The great room and library out from his study was empty, lined as it was with the volumes of text he’d read to try and get to know his homeland, so as to nurse its many ills. So many years later, he figured the effort a failure. Many beasts were dead, so often by the silent stroke of his pen or polite, reserved assent to plots known only to the shadowy beasts who’d carried them out. In the later years, more yet, again by written and sometimes spoken orders – a few times by shouted ones, once or twice over the din of battle.

The dining room was empty also. A smell wafted from the kitchen – the cooks had been busy recently.

He knew himself to be supremely lucky. To have come so far, yes, and then survived it all crashing down.

Perhaps Aiken had been right. His firstborn son liked to bandy that he’d been too soft, too trusting. Maybe it’d been true, to a degree. Of course, he hadn’t had to sign death warrants, to have beasts killed in the night after a mere risk analysis, delivered to his desk in triplicate by a committee of bespectacled young analysts thinking more carefully about where to go out for drinks that evening.

He was gone now, ran off to the harbor to pursue fantasy. He’d be back. Willard was sure of that.

The stoat walked leisurely out through to the garden. Emilia and Junior were still here, of course. His worries melted some as he set his eyes upon his wife, his loyal companion all these years. Sometimes he wondered if he’d truly lived before meeting her. This was the kind, but passionate creature who took him from his isolation. Someone who believed, yes, in him and the cause, but also something more, something deeper. They’d made a life together, and a family, but if he had led the Imperium in its stead, through chaos and confusion, it was Emilia Scrivens who had led him through his days, always a bright light in a dark and lonely room.

And besides showing him the world, and life as it should be lived, she’d given him such beautiful children. He smiled seeing Junior munching down a cinnamon roll, eyes alight with that special delight with the world that seemed to vanish with age. Maybe his case would be different. He had a chance to live in safety out here, away from the scourges of the world, from cloak and dagger and hammer and mail. He’d have a happier childhood than Aiken or Nouri ever had the chance to have. He’d be sure of it.

There was another beast too. Willard frowned, though only slightly.

Alwyn was hardly new to him. He’d been assigned to his detail for months now, and they’d even had the time to chat from time to time. Nice enough lad. The beast couldn’t help his parentage. Of course, neither could Willard help the past. He’d written a letter complaining of the assignment not a month after the young Ryalor had arrived at his home, though in good spirit he’d decided not to send it. Insults didn’t become such until the subject acknowledged them.

“Urk, you say?”

The stoat walked up to join his son at the table, smiling at Junior as he took a roll from the plate. He made a bit of a show of eating it properly for his young son’s benefit, the sort of small gingerly bites that ensured food often went cold on the Brudenell table, and perhaps kept the aging stoat thin and healthy more than anything else.

Small bites also made it easier to keep up part of a conversation. It’d taken alcohol and then Emilia’s love to bring out that side of him, but he’d stuck with it with all the passion of a convert.

“Hmmph, the beast knows how to choose his vacation spots, wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant?”

He looked up to the guard for a moment before returning his eyes to Emilia. Willard had always been an easy beast to read. Luckily for all, he didn’t feel so strongly about the young fox as to willingly egg him on, radiating a certain curiosity more than anything else.

 

[Emilia T. Brudenell]

Emilia's lips drew into a frown as the fox held the scroll out to her. She didn't take it, leaving it extended and hanging there as she continued to weed. It was clear she didn't approve of the young lieutenant bringing up his father, especially given her already fragile emotional state that morning.
Dealing with Nuori was hard enough. She didn't feel like discussing Talinn Ryalor.
"I'm afraid my knowledge on the subject is not much greater than yours." she said, not looking at him.
When Willard walked out of the house to join them, Will Jr. beamed at his father as he came out, half-way through another roll and getting his paws and face mussed and sticky. "G'mornin', papa!"
The ceramic plate of glazed pastries had been placed on a short outdoor table.
As Willard sat down, his son moved to the seat next to him and watched his intentionally slow eating. After a little while, he leaned over and placed a tiny paw on Willard's shoulder.
"Best hurry, pop, b'fore I eat it!"
Emilia chuckled at this. "Willy, don't eat your father's pastry. And save one for me too."
The stoatess, too, beamed when Willard joined them, a warm smile that wrinkled her snout and the edges of her brown eyes.
Emilia couldn't have been happier with anybeast. Together, they worked. They complimented each other, completed each other in a way few relationships did.
Together, she and Willard could take on the whole of the Imperium. And did. And when they couldn't anymore, they made it out from a place few got out of alive.
Thank the Fates they survived. Thank the Fates they'd been given another chance...
"How are you doing, darling?"
She wanted to kiss him, but also didn't want to get up again before she'd finished weeding the marigolds, so instead, she craned her head a little toward her husband and lifted her muzzle, a silent sign of desire. "Come here, whenever you're done eating."

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn internally winced at Emilia’s not-so-subtle rebuke as he retracted the letter and put it back in his pocket, and his ears flattened just a tad in embarrassment. Stupid of me, to bring up business and my father, to disturb her sense of peace and tranquility here with her family, I had thought it to be a good conversation starter, but...he wanted to sigh. He had the martial skills and perception to be a great bodyguard, he knew, but he could always work more on being more deft with noblebeasts. He had gotten a pass from his own family and in Amarone due to the Empress’s gentle graciousness and teaching, but now he had to learn the hard way. If only Alexei had lived longer to teach him more…

Of course, he still had to respond to Willard to be polite, while killing the subject as soon as possible.

“Ah, that he does, Mr. Brudenell.” He replied curtly and courteously, giving him a little bow as he did so, and then allowed the stoat to focus on his family. A pang began in his heart as he watched the three stoats interact. When had his own family been like this? His mother and father showing affection to each other? All the kits together with them playfully? Over a decade and a half now, he suspected. They had gotten the power they had wanted...but was it worth the price?

The door creaked open behind him, and Alwyn quickly turned to see the tawny ferret Galway, his corporal, who gave him a respectful nod and saluted, which Alwyn returned, before a small piece of paper, written in the Empress’s Grand Cipher, was handed to him. He read it, instinctively decoding it in his mind. The Otter was being questioned as to who had hired him and his rat companion. More importantly, though, when they had done their patrols over the past couple of months they had noticed some oddities, which, individually, were not concerning, but taken together had Alwyn have Galway look into it. Bit by bit, a suspicious amount of female garments and long-lasting victuals had gone missing, and, upon review of the Brudenell’s family treasury, a small, but noteable increase, in total monthly withdrawals had been found. They had inspected the ledgers, but everything had added up and balanced out and Willard’s signature was correct, it just seemed that the prices of eggs and a few other items had gone up. Except when Galway had sent a few of the guardsbeasts to the local market to pick up the groceries for the family, none of the prices had changed.

Continuing to read further, his eyebrows furrowing, the report continued stating they had kept a close watch on all the servants in light of these events, but there had been no unusual activity from any of them, and they had been well-vetted both by the Brudenells and the Guard themselves. There had been no (successful) infiltrators as far as they could make out either. That only left the family unaccounted for…

Glancing back at the Willard and Emilia, who seemed quite lovey-dovey and seemed to be going in for a kiss, he averted his eyes and looked back at the paper. Aiken had been gone before he was posted here, Willy was too young to do any of this, Willard and Emilia were watched extra carefully for numerous reasons and he could not think of any vices they had that were hidden nor any schemes that could be carried out with such a comparatively small value of total goods and gilders. That left...Nuori...who had been engaged in something of a tense, passive feud with her mother. He had thought it typical teenage rebellion, but that, and then the constant discussions of Bully Harbor that seemed to happen every day now…it clicked.

She’s planning to run off to it, isn’t she? ‘Gates. While we have enough of a complement here to stop that normally, if she were to do it while there was a more coordinated or larger assault then the one we put a stop to today, or were otherwise distracted...we just have twelve guardsbeasts, including me, for a twenty-four hour shift. Six at any given time. My beasts are good, but we are still beasts at the end of the day.

Alwyn sighed, shook his head at Galway, and then muttered to him.

“I think I know what the problem is, stay here and watch the family.”

Galway raised his eyebrows, but nodded, and Alwyn turned to enter the house, looking for the young stoatess with dreams of freedom.

@Aiken Brudenell @Emilia T. Brudenell

 

[Willard Brudenell]

Willard smiled down at his son, the spitting image of himself from decades prior. Well, he had more cheek than he remembered having, but that was good.

“What’s this? Trying to take my pastry? Why, you haven’t even finished the one you’re eating!”

Voice full of mock scorn, the older stoat ruffled the kit’s headfur, taking another bite of his sweet roll to show it wasn’t open to redistribution, eventually finishing it off with a final lick of his paw.

“You should listen to your mother. Too many sweets spoils the appetite.”

Emilia.

Willard got up to meet his wife, down among the flowers in their garden, trusting his youngest child would honor his parent’s wishes and not make off with the remaining sweets. She had asked how he felt, and the words came with little thought behind them.

“Oh, just fine, love.”

He thought, sometimes, that he could answer the question in the same way every day, no matter how it’d started. So long as it ended with her still by his side, the stoat had a place to be on this earth. No matter the struggles of the day, there was hope for tomorrow. For a beast with as much blood under the bridge as he had, Willard was lucky to have already found his salvation.

“The usual letters - something for the memoirs. You know how it goes. And how have you been fairing, my dear?”

The stoat leaned in to kiss his mate, not minding the presence of their guards or young Willard Jr. behind him. Every time he drew close to her, he could feel a warmth in his chest, a fire still burning from his youth, since those first days together in Bully Harbour.

“Alwyn hasn’t been bothering you about sordid government affairs now, has he?”

 

[Emilia T. Brudenell]

@Alwyn Ryalor
A mole servant polishing silver in the hall sent the lieutenant in a better direction, having known the young Nuori to prefer the small but handsome guesthouse when it wasn't in use.
The stoatess and her chosen headquarters ranked of teenage angst, and smelled faintly of old leatherbound books and a hint of fine wine, bread and cheese also, which she was known to take from the kitchen as a snack.
Nuori Anais Brudenell sat at a desk within, her tail curled around her chair, her feet propped upon the table, and dark eyes narrowed moodily as she read through The Beginner's Guide to Bully Harbor.
Upon the desk next to a half-empty bottle of light wine and a platter of torn baguette and fine sharp cheese sat another introductory book, Guide for New Imperium Citizens, alongside a copy of Emperor: A History Abridged, paid for by the Circle Square Societie for the Promotione and Expositione of Shroudes.

 

[Emilia T. Brudenell]

@Willard Brudenell
The stoatkit giggled uproariously and repeated a naughty word he'd heard before as he went for another sweet. "Pahahaha, papa, you rotter!"
Emilia clucked her tongue, but had no time to properly reprove before Willard knelt beside her, and her concerns momentarily melted away.
"Mm," she said, as their lips met. She slipped off one of her gloves, and ran a slender paw down the stoat's cheek, down his neck, to stop gently at his chest, before the kiss broke.
Emilia giggled like a schoolgirl, and played with her husband's shirt collar. "Oh, Will..." she murmured in a purr, and licked her lips of the taste of pastry. "You taste so sweet."
And then in a more even tone, one that was polite but clearly frustrated, the stoatess said "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't mean to bother me with such things..." she glanced briefly away to look for the fox, found him absent with Galway in his place, and looked back to her husband. She sighed and stroked his cheek, and spoke quietly. "The boy brought up his father of all people, as if I'd enjoy hearing about that cretin... and Nuori wants to leave for Bully Harbor, just like Aiken. We had a row about it in the parlor. I... don't know what to do with her anymore. The danger for her there..."
She shook her head, her brow furrowed and her voice low and anxious "If she, or Aiken, were... harmed... and we couldn't be there to help them... I..."