Manage Wisely The Last Stake (Old VI Thread)

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(Shortish thread that didn't get chance to go far alas, but introduces Colonel Khan (Tanya Keltoi's father) to the Golden Hide. Starring: Colonel Khan, Julia Freedom with little Falun, Tanya Ryalor (now Keltoi), Jeshal the Ironclaw, Kerri Quilane, and Kiptooth Rowanheart)



MANAGE WISELY THE LAST STAKE

First post Dismembre 22, Yr. 1729


Julia Freedom/Colonel Khan/Falun Freedom
It was a brisk autumn morning in Bully Harbour. The day was still cool, the mist hanging in the air like a thin blanket draped across the treetops. The morning sun still hovered behind the forest, casting an orange glow through the branches. Bully Harbour would not yet be waking, the ships still laying quietly in the harbour and the shops unopened. Even the songbirds were just beginning to peek their tiny, feathered heads out of their nests, blinking in the first rays of the morning sun.

Still, even before these birds, there was activity. On the road winding along the edge of the old trees and skirting a long meadow, pawsteps announced the presence of vermin, sending the few early birds scurrying for shelter. Not that it was necessary – the only beasts on the road were a small family of foxes: a mother, prettily dressed in a green dress and bonnet that accentuated her red locks, and her young todd, grudgingly holding his mother's paw and scuffing his footpaws on the dirt road. It was apparent to anybeast that the todd had something of a rebellious streak; he clearly did not want to be on this trip with his mother and was making his resentment known.

The road through the woods seemed long, much longer than any street in Bully Harbour. The young todd dragged his footpaws, scuffing up puffs of dust on the road. His footpaw, too busy stalling to keep up with the mother's brisk stride, scuffed on the road, nearly tripping the todd. This earned the youngster a brief scolding from his mother before they pressed on, this time the todd walking as well.

The morning sun crept from behind its curtain of trees, painting a solitary ray of orange light across the countryside as the great light in the sky peeked out its magnificent eye from its slumber grounds. The magnificent gaze fell on where the road met the forest to reveal, nestled in the crook of the forest curve, a large thatch cottage, its rustic exterior obscured by a few planted oaks growing in a shaded lawn. The flower beds held nothing but weeds this time of year, though they might easily have flourished in summertime. Despite this, the house seemed alive; smoke rose briskly from the chimney, signifying its master had risen long before the dawn. The chopping of an axe on wood could be heard from the small adjoined shed tacked onto the building's left flank.

The family of two approached the open doors cautiously, stopping some distance away. They could not see into the darkness of the shed; whoever was inside had apparently felt a lantern unnecessary. The female cautiously leaned to glance inside, her bonnet glowing faintly in the dawning light. "Colonel Khan?" she called questioningly. The axe thumped loudly, as if startled, before a long stream of curses began to echo from inside the shed, metal clanging as the beast stumbled around inside. The femme cupped her paws protectively over her son's ears, trying to shield him from the list of words he was not entitled to hear and would almost undoubtedly use if given the chance. The kit wiggled out almost immediately, listening with perked ears and eager expression to every grunted profanity.

The red vixen pulled back somewhat instinctively as a large auburn fox in an aged undershirt stormed from the shed, his scarred face possessed with barely restrained rage. "Wha' in 'ellgates-" he growled furiously before stopping abruptly as he saw whom he was addressing. He coughed slightly, his scowl only slightly lightening as he attempted to behave politely toward the vixen. "Wha' issit?" he demanded, his words contorted into a permanent growl by the scar running across the front of his snout. His lip muscles seemed to have difficulty moving, giving him the sound of a beast speaking through a cigar.

The femme did not immediately answer. She was gazing at the bloodied rag the fox was pressing to his left hand, the red of which was swiftly overtaking the white. "You're injured," she said sharply. The todd merely shrugged in reply. "Let me look at that," the vixen demanded, releasing her child's paw and moving forward. The large, military-built fox pulled back the injured paw defensively. The vixen stopped, looking at him with mixed stubbornness and annoyance. "If you don't let me attend to it, it could become infected," she insisted.

The fox removed the rag swiftly, holding his left paw before his face. Critically he examined the middle pawfinger, which had lost its tip at the joint. Blood seeped in a strong flow from the severing point. Nothing in his gaze suggested he was remotely concerned with the loss of his fingertip; instead he seemed to treat the wound as a curiosity. Dismissively he put the paw back in the pawkerchief. "It'll 'eal," he growled assuredly, making the statement with the confidence of an expert. Instantly the femme remembered who she was talking to, turning her expression from one of stubbornness to mixed humility and uncomfortable apology.

"Colonel Khan," she began, but the Colonel swiftly cut her off.

"Ye ain' military, are ye?" he growled, a suspicious note in his voice. The femme looked at him with some confusion.

"No, I'm a civilian," she explained, unsure of exactly what he was seeking.

The Colonel's face relaxed a bit. "Thennit's jist Khan," he growled, a subtle warning note in his voice. The femme nodded submissively clasping her paws before her.

"Khan," she began, "I am Julia Freedom, wife of Captain Anithias Freedom."

"Ah." The Colonel removed his rag, examining the scabbed joint before fishing in his front pocket with the pointer finger and thumb. "The Cap'n Freedom," he growled knowingly. Noticing Julia's questioning gaze, he nodded at the Smelt laying against the shed door. The headline blared CAPTAIN FREEDOM TO SEEK JUDGE'S POST? "Word gits around, even ou' 'ere," Khan growled informatively, pulling a cigar and matchbox from his pocket. He waved the cigar briefly in the air. "Ye don' mind?" he asked Julia, glancing once at the small golden kit at her side. When Julia shook her head, he struck up the match, holding it to the brown roll until it flared. He waved out the match, drawing deeply on the toxic roll. He blew out slowly, smoke whistling between his lips. The young todd watched the entire process in fascination.

"Naw," Khan growled, pocketing the matchbox, "wha' would the wife of a disgraced cap'n want wit' an old army rat like me?" he asked, his words muffled behind both his natural growl and his cigar.

Julia tried not to breathe as a wave of smoke blew over her. As it was, she blinked furiously and turned her head to avoid the fumes. "Well," she gasped, coughing slightly on the noxious gas, "I have a request from my husband."

Khan chortled, his broad chest vibrating with amusement. Everything about him seemed to suggest power: his intimidating height, his developed muscles, the mixed attitudes of world-wise and world-weary. "Yer 'usband ain' in much place ter make requests, Murses Freedom," the gray-specked fox scoffed, his beefy paws crossed before his chest. His cigar moved faintly up and down with each syllable.

Julia did not waver at his dubious tone. "My father knew you in the army," she told him stubbornly. "Ariscus Heartwood was his name."

Khan began to chuckle quietly at this. "Private 'Eartwood?" He shook his head, still laughing quietly to himself. "I remember 'im. Injured by a rapier durin' a trainin' exercise. Got 'onorably discharged. More'n I kin say fer the bloke wot stabbed 'im." He removed the cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He gazed into the haze meditatively, using the shimmering gas as a portal to yesterseason. "Poor bloke. Wors' luck of all the regiment. Couldn' go two steps wit'out sumpin' 'app'nin' ter 'im. Guessit were lucky 'e got discharged– 'e wouldn' 'ave lasted two minutes on the battlefield." He chuckled as he put his cigar back between his teeth, shaking his head again. "'Ow is the old clutz?"

"He's dead."

"Oh."

For the first time Khan looked uncomfortable. He chewed on his cigar for a moment, took it out, put it back in, and ran a paw through his cropped headfur. He seemed genuinely at a loss for what to say. Finally he cleared his throat, putting on his best remorseful face. "Well, 'e prob'ly 'ad a good life. I mean, na' intendin' ter offend yer sensibilities, ma'am," he grinned sheepishly, motioning toward her with his paw, "but 'e 'as ye ter show ferrit."

Julia nodded, unsure. "Thank you. He spoke very highly of you."

"Did 'e?"

"He said you were the finest todd in the unit."

"Yeh, well, 'e might've exaggerated."

"Not according to your record of service." Julia removed a small square of parchment, unfolding it to reveal an extensive list. Khan blanched as he recognized the military script.

"Please, don'," he pleaded, a note of dread in his voice. But Julia was already reading.

"Two Purple Skulls, a Heart of Valor, multiple campaign medals–"

"Murses Freedom–"

"–for service in both Alkamarian Wars, The Siege of Akef, both Victory Campaigns–"

"Murses Freedom, this really ain'-"

"–The Battle of Sampetra, The Battle of Lacertus, The Taking of Valles Mensa, a Golden Scepter for heroism during The Reclamation of Akef–"

Khan marched forward and ripped the paper from between her paws, but it was too late to stop the vixen from finishing her recitation.

"–and the Meroving'ian Cross, the highest military award in the Imperium." Her gaze did not waver as she looked upon the ancient war hero. "Not everybeast in the army receives an award from the Emperor himself," she commented softly.

Khan looked close to steaming before her. His shoulders were tense, his paws clenched by his sides. Blood had started to flow from his pawfinger again, reopened by his furious pulse. His cigar was lying on the ground now, the tip bitten off in anger. Khan growled, turning back and stalking for his shed. "Tha' were another beast an' a long time ago," he growled, spitting the cigar tip onto the ground and throwing the crumpled paper after it. He stalked into his shed, grabbing two pieces of chopped lumber and heading back out the door to the woodpile assembled against the side. He slammed them onto the pile, causing the pieces to split in two. Swearing, he cast them aside.

Julia watched him, her gaze somewhat sad as she observed the former soldier. "Please," she said softly. "The Golden Hide needs you."

Khan did not look at her, busying himself with lugging wood from the chopping block to the pile. "Yer navy don' need anythin' bu' a fresh set of recruits," he growled, lifting a fresh log as easily as if it were a twig. He slammed it on the chopping block. Seizing the axe, he lifted it high before bringing it down on the log. The wood split without giving a fight. Khan roughly pulled the axe from its embedded spot in the chopping block, grunting as he did so. His chest heaved with the anger and exertion. "I'm jist an' ol' soldier past 'is time."

Julia's gaze did not shift. "You're a leader. You know how to work with beasts of all types, all personalities. That's who my husband wants on the Hide."

Khan chuckled drily as he turned, swinging the axe low by his side. "Yer 'usband wan's somebeast ter watch 'is flock."

"To help keep them safe," insisted Julia. "They're a young lot. Most of them he saw aboard himself. They're still a precious group to him, even if their parting was less than perfect."

Khan absently reached in his breast pocket, pulling out a cigar before pausing and tucking it back in, apparently thinking better of it. He grabbed his bloody pawkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it once more to the bleeding pawfinger, stemming the trickling tide of blood. His paws seemed to be acting systematically, giving their wielder a chance to consider the problem before him. Finally he glared at Julia, his gaze filled with barely-disguised apathy.

"Wha's innit fer me?" he growled, crossing his arms before his chest. His muscles bulged in a visible show of resistance.

Julia glanced down into her purse, rummaging about in it with her right paw. Deftly she presented a sheaf of papers to the battered veteran, all marked with the seal of the Ministry of War. Many of the papers already carried signatures, including that of the Minister himself. "A commission as Honorary Commander in Mar'kan's Navy," Julia explained.

Khan chuckled derisively, his broad chest vibrating with the deep rhythm. "C'mmander," he scoffed.

Julia seemed injured. "It may be less than your army rank," she amended, "but it is still an honor. With such rank you can easily move to assume an officer's position."

Khan's dark scowl returned. "I ain' int'rested in a c'mmand, Musses Freedom. I 'ad tha' in the army." He began to turn away.

"Wait!" said Julia desperately. She took a few hurried steps forward, proffering the papers. "At least consider joining. I know..." She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She was crossing into deeply personal territory, territory of which she was not supposed to possess a map. That she knew her path at all in the murkiness of Khan's recent past might be cause for the fox to fly into berserk rage. "I know that you are upset over what your country did to you."

Sure enough Khan's shoulders hunched, tension rising in his back muscles. Quickly Julia continued, "This is an opportunity to serve the Emperor in a different way. Your chance to start over new."

Khan did not respond. He hung there silently, back to Julia, massive shoulders hunched forward. Quietly Julia set the commission papers on an upturned log, carefully rustling them so Khan would know they were there. "Just consider it," she asked softly. Then, taking her son by the paw, she slowly retreated down the forest path.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Khan sat by the fire, the flickering light bathing his scarred face in reds and yellows. Cold, steel eyes reflected the fire, their emotion shifting with the ever-changing light. Khan's face never changed once; it remained ever like carved stone, a gargoyle watching the world with eyes that had seen all and cast their vengeful judgment. He sat leaning forward in his seat, his entire frame hunched forward over his lap. Between his knees, clenched viciously in his paws, hung the commission papers.

Khan glared down at the pages, a small spattering of ash from his cigar coating the surface. Between this and the dim lighting of the room, the page was nearly illegible, but Khan still knew what it said: I, the undersigned, do swear my life to the service of His Glory Mar'kan III, and do pledge a solemn oath to fulfill all tasks He may place upon me for the glory of the Imperium, until death or His Majesty do release me from my oath. May the Blessings of His Grace tumble down upon you like a golden fog. Khan snorted derisively, a little more ash falling from his cigar tip. He'd met the Emperor once, a long time ago. There was no golden fog about him. There wasn't even a faint ochre wisp. Just a lot of horrible perfumes and fancy clothes bedecking a fox even older than Khan. Not that Khan had really expected anything else. No soldier ever went to war for the glory of "His Majesty"; they all knew that the Emperor wasn't worth a single one of their lives, and certainly not all of them. No, soldiers went to war to protect their wives and feed their kits, nothing more.

Khan grunted as he rose, pausing to stretch backwards. He held that pose, his shoulders thrown back and gut thrown forward, before slowly relaxing. His face settled into a scowl as he glared across the room. A hideous gargoyle stared back at him from the wall, its snarling maw open toward Khan. Shadows flickered around the extended relief, causing the carving to almost come alive in the night.

Khan slowly stalked toward the relief. Hatred burned in his eyes as he stared into the demonic visage, their scarred faces almost mirroring each other as the distance between them closed.

With a mighty roar, Khan seized the relief and hurled it into the fire.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The day was bright for winter. The sun hung high in the sky, bathing the port in light, though no warmth reached the chilly docks. It would not be a particularly pleasant day, but it was at least tolerable.

Khan grunted a profanity as he slowly worked his way up the gangway. "Stupid... bloody... trunk." He ground his teeth as he tried to haul the heavy chest up the inclined plane. It was slow going; the trunk must have weighed a hundred kilos at the least. Every time Khan tugged at it, it would move roughly an inch before starting to slide back down the ramp. Its presence was something of a feat within itself; Khan had dragged the trunk all the way from his cottage in the woods, going down the dirt road, through Bully Harbour and to the Imperial Docks. The trip had taken roughly four hours, not including a stopover at a tavern for breakfast.

Khan stabilized himself, adjusting his footing one last time, and give a mighty heave. With a loud scrape, the trunk slid over the edge of the ramp and onto the deck, just as something cracked in the Colonel's back. Khan yelped, his spine bending backwards reflexively. He held himself there for a moment, mastering the pain, before slowly lowering himself forward.

No use. Immediately the pain flared up again, coursing through his spine in a thick coil of agony. "Ye've really dunnit, Khan," he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. "Ye couldn' jist leave it at 'ome an' give the 'ole blasted thing up, spend yer nigh's readin' books by fireligh' instead..." Carefully he stretched his spine further backwards. This seemed to relieve the pain. Carefully working himself backward, then forward and upward, Khan eventually lowered himself into a standing position. Well, the pain was still there, and it wouldn't go away anytime soon.

Gritting his teeth, Khan slowly lowered himself into a sitting position on his trunk. "Oi! Kin anyone 'elp?" he called, a painful growl evident in his voice. "I think I threw me back ou'."


Tanya Ryalor/Kerri Quilane
"Did you know that all of these buttons on my vest are made out of bones?"

Ragged ears twitched in the uncomfortable silence that concluded the statement. Not normally one to ever be bothered by simple boasts such as those, Admiral Ryalor found herself growing more and more uncomfortable around the pale feline who spoke. After only fifteen minutes with Kerri peering over her shoulder and keeping her company on the chilly quarterdeck that morning in dock, the fox was ready to snap; she couldn't shake the feeling that the odd feline had simply stolen the skin of a twelve-year old, ripped the smile from a five-year old and stitched it all to the frame of a twenty five year old, and the creepily doll-like result had her on edge and not a little bit distracted as she continued to work on stitching up canvas. The fox supposed that she wasn't made edgy so much as by the statement, but the open smile and casual manner with which the tom explained. She'd thought it was shell.

"No. Matter 'a fact I didn' Kerri. Tha's nice."

"Oh yes; I've been spending quite a while on getting them looking just right. Each one's made from the worn-down tailbone of seven of my most interesting opponents."

Bright eyes remained fixed on her trophy gloves as her fingers worked to push needle through a double thickness of canvas.

"Only seven?"

"Oh, well, I have more vests. And a few jackets. Some nice cufflinks too."

"Ah..."

There it hung again, the awkward silence. Kerri seemed to revel in it and it was just about reaching the point where Tox would be forced to make another stab at small talk with the grinning assassin when the godsend Khan yelped, drawing both their attentions down the deck.

"Would you like me to–"

"Nah, I shifted 'eavy fings before. I'll see ter it."

Only too pleased to have an excuse to get some distance from Kerri, Tanya shoved the canvas into his soft paws (noting how pinker-than-pink the pads looked) and left him to do the work, springing lightly across the deck with a pair of light blue bolts in her back. As she approached lightly, the diminutive creature studied this new arrival with an arch of the thin eyebrows; a welcome break from the bawdy youngsters who tended to be flooding the ranks of late, this older todd bore a good deal of battle scars that marked him as a veteran and the kind of beast Jeshal would doubtless be pleased to have in the crew who'd take his orders and keep the rest in line in his absence. The only problem seemed that this beast might be a little too far past the other end of the age limits: he seemed strong enough, but his back was already giving him gyp and it made her branded tail flick in consideration. Context was valuable, so she'd reserve judgement, see how he spoke, held himself and fared in the next few weeks.

The little red-furred admiral arrived quietly and perched herself on one end of the trunk, blinking at Khan and waiting for the bigger fox to move. Tipping back the tricorne she'd elected to wear today to better see this promising-looking oldster more clearly, she gave a small smile and tilt of the head.

"Iffen yeh back's gotten thrown out've whack, yeh kin leave th' chest safe wi' us an' go right down ter our surgeon Kiptooth on th' firs' deck b'low... provided, a' course, y' kin manage to get down th' stairs, else I'll have th' bugger called up. Yeh knew to this partic'lar Navy, I'm assuming, mister...?"



Colonel Khan
Khan gritted his teeth as the pain continued to surge up and down his back, making every slight movement torturous. It was all he could do to keep his back straight and avoid leaning forward too much. Inside himself he was teeming with anger. Bloody trunk! The thing was only a hundred kilos, and still it had thrown his back out! Though Khan wouldn't admit it, especially to himself, he did on some level recognize the truth: he was getting too old for this.

Khan's thoughts blew away like wispy clouds in a strong wind as a short, lithe vixen in a strange mismatch of clothes approached him. For a moment he seemed stunned; his breathing stopped, and even the pulsating ache in his spine had paused in its course. All he could do was stare at the creature approaching him, as if unable to believe her very existence. But then he shook his head and cleared his throat, deliberately glancing down at his footpaws as the stranger sat next to him.

As silence hung between the two foxes, Khan could not help but glance at the admiral from the corner of his eye. For once, his gruff attitude seemed to have faded; he actually appeared to have difficulty in deciding how to compose himself around this four-foot vixen. Finally the scowl returned to his face, allowing him to look upon everything around him with the bitter disapproval of former generations.

It was Admiral Ryalor who broke the silence. When she spoke Khan appeared to be startled; he had clearly not expected her to speak with an accent even more contorted than his. "Iffen yeh back's gotten thrown out've whack, yeh kin leave th' chest safe wi' us an' go right down ter our surgeon Kiptooth on th' firs' deck b'low," she offered. "Provided, a' course, y' kin manage to get down th' stairs, else I'll have th' bugger called up. Yeh knew to this partic'lar Navy, I'm assuming, mister...?"

Khan cleared his throat again, the action turning into a growl. "Khan," he said shortly. "Jist Khan, nunna tha' 'Sir' or 'Mister' business." He looked away from her, scowling at every aspect of his surroundings. After a moment he remembered her offer, letting out a startled grunt as the thought intruded into his head. "Eh..." He attempted to scratch an itch on his skull, but immediately abandoned the prospect as his back screamed in protest. "Yeh, per'aps I'd bes' get meself down ter the doc," he muttered, attempting to push himself to his footpaws.

He budged all of four inches before pausing. Again he attempted to stand, but his body refused to straighten where his legs met his hips. "Erm..." Khan seemed a little embarrassed as he attempted to lift himself from the chest. Reluctantly he put a paw out to the vixen, glancing at her from the side. "Li'l 'elp?" he asked gruffly, his eyes daring to linger on the admiral. A strange glint hung in his eye, challenging and yet presuming familiarity.


Tanya Ryalor
Watching the gruff-looking veteran of war shift uncomfortably in her presence was both amusing and confounding to the little vixen; she had neither introduced herself as a beast of rank or given him means to act so, but the todd, try as he might, wasn't entirely settled with her presence. Fighting back a raise of the eyebrows as she feigned patient ignorance, Tanya let him inspect her from the corner of his eyes and kept her own focussed on the middle distance, nodding quietly as he spoke and for once agreed to seeing the doctor. Well, that was another point in his favour – he wasn't a big enough idiot to reject medical aid when it was offered. Perhaps that was how he'd managed to live so long in such a brutal job.

It took a moment for the little fox to register that Khan had actually moved (or more accurately failed to), and when he extended a paw for awkward assistance, the green gaze stared blankly at the proffered appendage for a beat. Snapping back into reality with a little jolt, the vixen nodded vigorously and muttered a quick "Oh, a'course Khan. Sorry, don' know where I was..." before breaking out into a broad smile as she slid easily off of the crate and seized the paw with gusto.

She caught his eyes, then, and froze.

For a few eternal moments she stared back directly into those eyes that expressed some kind of prior knowledge, and just like that the smile on her face dissolved. For the life of her she couldn't recognise the creature, and the unreciprocated familiarity made her fur begin to prickle. The eyes felt too intense for once, too invasive, too knowledgeable about something she lacked. Having already been bested by Kerri that morning, this usually simple introduction felt suffocating, and within moments the toughened little fox was forced to breaking the gaze with a smirk painting itself back upon her maw, taking a slightly firmer hold on the elder's paw as she awkwardly pulled with enough force to bring the todd back upright if he was willing to aid himself. Her tone remained, through habit, relaxed.

"Oh, 'm Adm'ral Tanya Ryalor by th' way. Welcome aboard Th' Golden 'Ide."


Colonel Khan
It only took a few seconds – the same seconds in which Tanya froze, unnerved by the intense gaze upon her – for Khan to realize his mistake. Swiftly his hinted grin vanished, replaced by his usual irritable scowl. Without a word he allowed the admiral to pull him to his footpaws, stalking a few feet past her without response to her introduction. He seemed quite content to once more subject the deck, the masts, anything but the admiral to a bitter glare. He examined the distant horizon with utter detest, painting the beauty of the sea with his spiteful gaze.

An oppressive silence reigned for the few seconds following the small vixen's introduction. Khan seemed unwilling to turn and face the young flag officer, ignoring her presence and greeting without so much as an acknowledging grunt. If he had ever assumed a familiarity with her, it was gone now, buried beneath the distaste – nay, enmity – that had fallen between them.

If Tanya could have peeled away the layers of anger and bitterness, she might have been able to see the true dilemma behind Khan's abhorrence; he had no idea what he could say to her.

Khan turned his head away from the sea as an icy wind cut across his cheek. For a moment it felt like a blade splitting open his face for yet another time; but his warm blood continued to pulse through his veins, and not down the side of his head. He remembered that pain: the throbbing warmth as his lifeblood flowed freely down his front even as he continued to fight, and a small, dull voice in his head questioned whether he'd survive long enough on the field of battle to die from the loss of blood. How could he ever explain that to someone? How could he explain the complete acceptance of a task, of a path, even when everything in him screamed to run the opposite way, the way he knew was inherently right?

Khan scratched the fur behind his ear, ruffling the bristled crew-cut. Had he bothered to pay attention to such things, he might have noticed that his back pain had reduced to an aching throb. "Yer ain' wot I though' yer be," he murmured vaguely, almost too quite to be heard even by himself. A spark of energy dashed across his mind, drawing his attention back to the present. His scowl solidified as he turned to face the admiral, though the resentment was no longer directed toward the vixen herself.

"Doc's b'low, righ'?" he asked sullenly, sticking his paws in the pocket of his threadbare olive jacket. He shrugged his shoulder once in the direct of the companionway. "Show me th' way?" His bi-tonal growl indicated it was not a question, but a grudging request.



Jeshal the Ironclaw
"Hahar! Well if that ain't one more debt o' Freedom's been resolved!"

Alone in his cabin, Jeshal sat, sandalled paws upon the desk whilst he tore up another piece of paperwork. The Giftsgiving raid had been marvellously fruitful. A few mishaps here and there had not prevented a few of his hidden endeavours from profit. Any losses would easily be made up from his own pocket. The copper todd stretched luxuriously before his normal paw idly opened the top drawer. A brief period of rooting about uncovered an old copy of Ye Imperium Navy Handbooke. Jeshal snickered.

"Well 'ello there. Fortune be praised. There be somethin' I can make the swabbies eat when they get lazy."

The Ironclaw sprang out of his seat, clearly having a more cheerful day than most of the beasts on board. He danced to the mirror at the far side of the cabin and preened the peacock feather in his hat, dusted off his black frockcoat and tousled his fur in a jaunty style. His reflection grinned and winked back at him. Right. That was enough of that. Down to business. No point in getting big headed with power. He just wanted to enjoy it privately for a while.

Jeshal took a breath and stepped out onto the deck just in time to see Tanya helping a seasoned todd aboard. On first impression, a childish voice in his mind sneered at the older beast and his infirm appearance but he withheld the opinion. As he drew closer, he caught sight of the signs of weathered experience.

"Afternoon, Adm'ral," Jeshal called, sweeping straight for them. "Who be this ye be kitnappin'? Did we not speak o' this earlier? Beasts 'ave a choice ter sign up, remember?" He grinned at both Tanya and the new arrival. "Ye can leave the belongin's ter me, ain't a vixen's job dirtyin' 'er paws with 'ard labour." Ooh how he hoped that would sting. Jeshal gave a gracious bow to Khan.

"Honoured ter 'ave ye aboard, matey. Cap'n Ironclaw, 'isself." He offered his metal gauntlet to shake, the grin ceaseless.



Colonel Khan
Khan’s sullen expression changed as a copper fox emerged onto the deck. Rather, it ceased to change; the lines in his face solidified, his emotionless eyes as unwavering as if they had been carved in stone. He might as well have been a gargoyle on the roof of the Ministry of Misanthropy.

The eyes barely flickered as Jeshal advanced, all grins and lively taunts aimed at the admiral. For a second Khan felt old, terribly old and past his time. He couldn't compete with these young things anymore, much as he might try to believe it. Perhaps it was about time to give it up and start settling into his retirement. Perhaps he could take up tinkyball, learn how to make a few drives. A ridiculous image of himself standing on a putting green, clad in plaid jumper and flat cap, floated into his mind. Khan scowled at the thought. No, he wasn’t going that path yet. His body might be ready to retire, but he sure as 'Gates wasn't.

Khan was pulled from his thoughts by a proffered paw and a jovial introduction. For a moment he stared down at the paw, seeming undecided on whether to show hostility or goodwill. At last, he grabbed the iron paw with his vulpine one, shaking it strongly.

"Khan," he introduced himself gruffly, plucking a cigar from his unlit pocket and clenching it between his teeth, unlit. His eyes remained sharp as he addressed the captain, though he kept a conversational tone. "Gla' ter meet ye, Cap. 'S good ter see some righ' vermin in th' navy fer a change. An' 'ere I though' ye was all a bunch'a ninny mothers an' wet rags!" He allowed himself a scornful chuckle, glancing at the admiral to catch her reaction to the joking insult. His face fell as the laughter died away, and he shook his head in contrition. "Sorry, ol' army rivalry," he explained, his tone fading into seriousness. He looked back to the Ironclaw, whose namesake he had still not released, and pulled a box of matches from his cigar pocket. "Ye min'?" he asked, motioning toward his cigar.



Jeshal the Ironclaw
Ryalor had not taken an opportunity to undermine Jeshal's authority. So far, so good. A glimmer of the hazy memory of their drunken night out flitted through his mind and caused his grin to widen. This new avenue of her destruction that he had been contemplating was beginning to look much more appealing.

Impressed that Khan still shook his metal paw, the copper fox showed no sign of irritation at his kind being insulted. He withdrew his gauntlet as the old todd readied to light a cigar.

"By all means, matey, so long as it be abovedecks an' nowhere near the galley. No use in taintin' good food with smoke, but a beast's vices have no quarrel with me. As fer our wet rag status, I be 'avin' no sympathy fer the reasons ye may hear so. T'ain't what it used ter be, says I. We've got beasts feelin' pity fer our opponents an' insubordination borderin' on treason against the Empire, so we 'ave. I be 'opin' the new year will bring us a finer breed o' vermin in the ranks. Yerself included."

The Ironclaw picked up Khan's trunk and discovered it was no small load. He grinned to make up for the slight stumble he made as he lifted it.

"Did I 'ear ye needed the carin' paws of our infirmary? This way then, if ye please!" Jeshal nodded to Tanya before setting off. "Adm'ral..."


Colonel Khan
Khan scowled as the captain limited his smoking sessions to the open air. Sourly he plucked the cigar from his mouth, tucking it back into his front pocket. There was no use in lighting it when he was about to enter the no-smoking zone. At the Ironclaw's comment about the rising morality and insubordination among the ranks, Khan couldn't help but think back to the todd he'd met on Costumenach at Captain Tarrin's survival party. Now there was a woodlander in vulpine skin! Not an ounce of good vermin blood in him, none at all. If one of Khan's daughters had come home with that rag draped on her arm, he'd have tossed them both back out again. What was the todd's name again – Bedford?

The colonel noted with some amusement the difficulty the Ironclaw encountered as he tried to lift the load. It was no surprise to him; the chest was packed with his casuals, his formals, and his semiformals, as well as something else. Something Khan wasn't intending to flash about, particularly not to Ryalor.

The party made a brief pass through the crew quarters on their way to the infirmary. Khan subjected every beast lounging on their bunk to his disapproving gaze. Many of them were laying about, playing cards or chatting idly, with the intermittent book reader propped up on his elbow. The disapproval was not directed at their actions; such pastimes were essential to maintaining a healthy garrison. It was the softness he saw reflected in the beasts. They were pampered and undisciplined, more inclined to follow their own whims than the orders of their superiors. Khan could now see for himself why the Ironclaw held them in such great contempt.

"Ye raisin' a figh'n force 'ere or th' navy's supply line, Ironclaw?" he growled to the captain, glaring at a teenage vixen in a green blouse. The vixen glared back at him from over her game of solitaire until Khan moved on. He could still feel her shooting murderous thoughts at his back as he and the Ironclaw progressed. "Bunch'a bloody rogues an' sops," he growled. "If this were th' bes' yer Freedom coul' do, I ain' impresse'."

He meant no criticism of the beasts themselves, or of their abilities, but merely of their attitudes. It was clear what the beasts thought of their enlistment in the navy; that they were not bound to their service, that they could pull out completely. Khan remembered well the fight over the removal of service terms. As a newly instated colonel he'd kicked and screamed up and down the chain of command, getting himself thrown out of a number of offices in the process. He'd warned them that the military would grow complacent, and here was the proof. When the going got tough these navybeasts could pull out, seek employment on a different ship or in a different job. In the army, Khan's army, there had been no such allowance; you went where the army told you to go, fought where the army told you to fight, came home when the army told you to come home. The only thing you could control was when, where, and if you died. Khan had learned that the hard way, and he would never forget it.

Had Khan been a little bit less consumed with the past, he might have remembered that this particular aspect of the army had ruined his life.


iptooth Rowanheart/Tanya Ryalor
The Infirmary had been quiet. Blissfully quiet. New Captain Ironclaw's latest raids had proved to yield little more than cuts and bruises amongst the returning parties, and aside from the odd rope burns, splinters or general shipwide injuries to attend, little of serious note had happened; the crew's standard of health was high, the incident levels dropped (possibly due to their rather laid back sense of work these days) and for the first time in several months the little surgeon found time to pander to his own curiosities: chemicals. Buried amongst his stacks of bloated leatherbound journals in his screened office at the rear of the Infirmary, the workworn marten wrote down notes, stuck in sketches and made extensive lists or measurements of everything he used, sitting in absorbed silence as he worked.

His head was pounding now, so much that his own writing was beginning to lilt and blur under his bloodshot gaze. Eugh. Maybe he'd just spent too much time in proximity to too many chemicals without enough time topside to get fresh air into his system and unfog the effects. Blinking slowly, Kiptooth nudged the gently fizzing beaker a few more inches away from where his nose rest near the pages and continued to jot down the observations. This was a good one; a few more weeks of modifications and he was certain he could market off a further medicine to the Ministry of Innovation, and from there finally get a cure approved for the wider market. He could help beasts beyond his own practice at last. His paw extended to the side of the desk for willowbark tablets and clasped upon empty air; whiskers twitched when the little glass bottle slid itself into his outstretched paw but he made no mention to the helpful shadow who had done it. Swallowing the tablets, he resumed work, hoping the painkiller would take effect soon.

Still scribbling away at his notes some ten minutes later, the stocky marten only allowed his rounded ears to twitch involuntarily as pawsteps sounded in his Infirmary, grey eyes fixed to the elegant sweeps of ink he was creating within the journal. The sticklike shadow that had given him the pills, now ensconced upon his bunk, immediately detached itself from the wall at the sound and anxiously stared through the beaded curtain with immense, saucer-like eyes.

"Captain and someone else," came the tiny whisper.

"Well go on, go say hello to them, Lin."

He didn't. Poking his head out a little to blink across the room, the skinny little beast who had been watching Kip work observed the scary foxes in fascinated silence.

Unseen and identically soundless, Tanya lingered just inside the doorway in muted shadow, emerald eyes fixed upon the solid mass of aged todd. Confused. After a few beats she left entirely, determined to ignore the newcomer until such a time as he faced her again an explained.


Colonel Khan
Khan's eyes were drawn away from the sloppy ordeal called the Crew Quarters by two large eyes on a skeletal frame poking out of a door. Khan watched the beast from the corner of his eye for a moment. Definitely a scrawny one; if there was a scrap of meat on him anywhere, Khan couldn't see it. Khan couldn't think of a single logical reason for the stick figure to be on the ship. Perhaps Khan had accidentally signed on to the navy's combined floating hospital and madhouse.

Giving Stick-Ferret (a nickname that was not nearly as clever as Khan thought it was) a moment to get used to his presence, Khan suddenly turned and offered a paw. The ferret pulled back into the room in fright, disappearing behind the door. "Naw wai' a minu'e!" Khan growled, advancing on the beast. The door flew open as Khan burst into the infirmary, catching the ferret in the middle of the room and a marten in mid-scribble. The ferret tried to scamper behind the infirm bed, but Khan caught his paw and yanked him back. The ferret tugged at his trapped limb for a moment before subsiding into a paralyzed stare of fear. "I jis' wan'ed ter shake paws," Khan explained defensively to the marten, who was looking at Khan with mingled annoyance and accusation. He slowly shook the ferret's paw up and down in a stop-animation parody of courtesy. Khan released the paw, leaving the ferret to his own.

"There, tha' wuzzn' so bad, wuzzi'?" Turning to face the marten, Khan eyed him over suspiciously. "Y' Doc?"


Jeshal the Ironclaw
Completely ignoring the fact that the new recruit was verging on accosting one of his crew, Jeshal slipped into the infirmary after the old fox and skimmed the weighty trunk across the floor. It came to rest at the foot of one of the empty beds. He gave his right paw a quick shake to rid it of the strain before he approached the two beasts exchanging equally strong stares.

"Kiptooth, matey, allow me ter introduce our newest beast aboard. This be Khan. I be warrantin' 'e'll not be causin' ye any trouble. 'E's a smart beast an' a smart beast aims not ter be offendin' 'is doctor, fer 'tis likely 'im 'e be seein' afore 'e slips ter Forest or 'ellgates."

The Ironclaw grinned at the two of them, and then looked to the old todd.

"If ye have questions, Khan, ask anybeast ye please. Anyone gives ye lip, tip me off." Jeshal nodded to the doctor. "Kiptooth." The copper fox swept toward the door. He paused and turned to look at Lin. "Take care o' 'im, won't ye, Valroux?" The captain gave a dark grin and left.

​