Peace of Mind (Old VI Thread)

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(The crew of the Golden Hide visit an abbey run by 'vermin'. Some soul searching occurs. Set after Jeshal's attempted attack on Tanya. Starring: Xhavek Mokorai/Will Wanderpaw, Jeshal the Ironclaw, Armina Rogue, Jeb, Kerri Quilane, Macavity Ashpaw, Father Ezekiel, and Rathinias)

PEACE OF MIND

First post Macabre 26, Yr. 1730


Xhavek Mokorai/Will Wanderpaw
Xhavek was grumbling irritably under his breath as he prowled the topdeck of the Golden Hide. So far they had been out at sea for only a week or two during which nobeast had any idea of where exactly they were headed. Eventually it was rooted out that they were inspecting a little visited island far to the east of the Imperium. Apparently there were records of Vulpinsulan sailors taking refuge there for various reasons but their reports about what actually occurred there were sketchy at best. Of course this was hardly the reason why the short reptile was angry at the moment no it had to do with something entirely different.

"What's the matter mi amigo? Ya look like ya got something stuck in yer craw."

And there the problem was. Xhavek whirled to face Rathinias, that oddball grey monitor who had installed himself on the Hide for unspecified reasons and was now becoming an ever-present thorn in Xhavek's side. Mostly because he never shut up. "Oh I have zomething ztuck in mine craw all right! I'm zick and tired of your conztant babbling! Everytime I turn around you're talking to zomebeazt about ZOMETHING! It never endz!"

Rathinias gave a slow blink of his dull yellow eyes before he tilted back his broad brimmed hat and grinned at Xhavek. "Why Xhavvy-kins I didn' know ya cared. Would ya like me to kiss it better or do I hafta remind you that that's my job? You know full well that th' gatherin' of information and the finding of a place to install myself is what I do best. So do me a favor compadre, don't be so angry. Relax, take a load off, we ain't goin' nowhere in a hurry."

Xhavek quivered in pent up rage. This idiot reptile never changed! I'm trying to keep this crew together while he's busy poking his striped snout where it doesn't belong! Xhavek thought to himself. However, before he could voice his usual barrage of slanderous remarks about the state of the offending party's mind Will cried out from his vantage point on the crow's nest.

"LAND HO! DUE EAST! STRAIGHT AHEAD!" there was a long pause before Willhelm called down again, "IT LOOKS INHABITED!"


Jeshal the Ironclaw
"Ughh...why be every beast bein' so loud fer?"

Jeshal half woke from where his snout had been drooling into the open spread of his private journal. His eyes crossed and he shook himself into sense, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror he usually adored. He looked an absolute state: hat askew on messed-up fur, grog stain on his shirt and something he believed to be treacle was spattered on his claw. If he hadn't known better he would've assumed Tanya's kits had broken into his cabin and run riot.

The Ironclaw knew better.

He wondered whether he would ever see the smiles of those kits again. Surely there was not a chance Tanya would leave them in his presence, not after he had taken them away to get at her. He had not realised how much he had enjoyed sneaking them treats and listening to their chatter until the privilege of 'Unc'e Jesh' had been removed.

The fox captain winced at his broken foot, immediately looking longingly at the near-empty bottle of grog on his desk. Ah how the cool facade of the sly Ironclaw had taken a tumble. He sneered once again at the creature in the mirror, fancying himself for a moment as Captain Freedom. "Neither of us be livin' up to our name, ol' matey."

Once again came the hollering that had roused him. Willhelm had sighted land of some sort. Jeshal groaned and looked down at the book in front of him. The last entry had still been written in his own code, if a little drunkenly, but his eyes boggled at the sketch he had made in the margin.

"Oh, 'Gates."

It was scruffy and the ink and blotted, but it was her face.

"IMBECILE!"

Jeshal threw his journal at the mirror. Fortunately the glass remained intact. He grumbled and made to get up, almost falling out of his chair. He seized the crutch propped against his desk and hobbled across the room. Straightening himself out, he locked the journal away and prepared himself for a public appearance.

The captain opened the door and stomped out on deck. He squinted at the stretch of land they were fast approaching.

"Keep yer eye on it, Wisp. If it be a vermin place, we should be pullin' in fer supplies, says I!"


Armina Rogue/Jeb
Bugger 'im.

It was rare that Armina used any of her aunt's phrases, even mentally, but she was in a mood worth using them. What him she was referencing was unknown; it might as easily have been Tomias as it could Colonel Arbach. Either one of them would have received a furious rant from Armina had they been unfortunate enough to cross her at that time.

Armina paused in climbing the rigging, glancing up at the stars. A few constellations she recognized, but most were drowned out by the dawning light to the east. On a good morn Armina would lie in the hammock she'd secreted in the rigging, watching the tiny lights slowly disappear into the bluing sky. Tonight, she was in no mood. She wanted to get away from those 'Gates-blasted todds and spend an hour or so fuming at them until she was so exhausted she fell asleep.

Armina climbed onto the highest yard and slowly crawled along toward the canvas cocoon she'd made on the starboard end. She was almost upon it when she spotted the unusual bulge in her little pod. Clamping her legs around the yard for support, she seized the ends and pulled open the hammock.

Jeb grinned up at her. "Com' tah joen mah, swea'art?" he purred in his best seductive tone.

Armina was almost too furious to speak. "Jeb!... You... My..."

Jeb patted the canvas. "C'man," he invited, his tone beginning to crack into a desperate whine. "Y'knuh yah-"

"No I don't!" Armina snapped. "Nor does anyone else on this 'Gates-blasted boat, so stop pursuing all the femmes like a mindless slobber-hound!"

Jeb sat up a bit and leaned on the yard, giving her a sympathetic look. "Awww," he purred. "Issit tha' tahm uh' thu' munth ahgai-"

He didn't get to finish. Armina had seized him by the lapels and, in a fit of fury, thrown him as hard as she could toward the open sea. Jeb flailed helplessly down toward the ocean, landing in what Armina hoped was a painful splash.

Unfortunately the action unbalanced her, and she swung upside-down, clinging to the mast purely with her legs. Waving her arms about helplessly, Armina tried to make a grab for a nearby rope to support her. She managed to latch on, but the rope simply pulled away with her weight. Armina panicked as her legs, already having committed to trusting their safety to the rope, began to slide off the yard. She made a desperate attempt to regain her place, but it was no use. Armina's footpaws slipped off the yard, and she began to plummet.

Armina sped toward the deck, caught up in too much terror to think much clearer than GatesGatesGatesGatesGatesGATES! Her arm was abruptly jerked about as the rope reached its limit and she began to swing sideways, out over the rail and toward the sea. Armina was overjoyed to safe, black-as-night ocean beneath her. Water! she thought joyously. Her paw let go of the rope, her motion continuing toward the waves. Water! WaterWaterWaterWaterWater-

She broke the surface of the waves.

COLD!

Armina turned head over tail beneath the water, buffeted by the current and her own tangential motion. For a moment she thought she wouldn't find up again; then her head emerged into open air, and she breathed deeply. She kicked to keep herself afloat, sparing a moment to push her long headfur away from her eyes. The Hide was just six meters away, but it was being propelled away quickly. No – it was the tide pulling Armina away. Taking a deep breath, Armina dived beneath the waves, swimming as quickly as she could toward the Hide. She emerged again, the distance closed by another two meters. She could see a beast at the rail, illuminated by the first light of the sun. The crewbeast threw out a rope, but it vastly overshot Armina. She was about to cry her protest when she saw Jeb seize the end of the rope, floundering even as he was pulled in. Armina was about to make a grab for the rope when she paused, squinting into the dawn. On the horizon she could see a small speck of black, framed against a sky of orange and yellow. Her spirits lifted a bit. An island! Land at long last!

Jeb was hauled aboard first, then Armina. She passed by the towel offered to her, headed toward Jeshal and Xhavek. A moment later the chill breeze hit her. The vixen flew back to her rescuer and seized the towel, pulling it close around her drenched frame as she once more approached the senior officers. "J-J-Jeshal, X-X-Xhavek," she managed, her teeth chattering with the cold. She avoided looking Jeshal in the face, knowing that some sort of rebuke for her ill conduct was on its way. Instead she focused on the distant island. "Th-th-that's it, h-h-h-huh?" she asked, pulling her towel a little tighter around her.


Kerri Quilane
Appreciation, he well knew, was as rare an occurrence amongst vermin at sea as it was finding fresh tangerines in the hold; despite this simple fact of Imperium life, it still rankled with the slight feline who stood by the railings that his remarkably chivalrous efforts had gone largely ignored. Plastic smile solidly attached to his round face in spite of this, Kerri tracked the erratic movements of the young miss Rogue as she skittered back and forth to him depending upon the weather, expression unreadable as he allowed the grey fox to pluck the previously proffered towel from his paws. Perhaps it was the very notion of the unpredictable MAUL agent showing some form of compassion that didn't involve putting a half-slaughtered target out of their misery that surprised her. He never would fully understand the intricacies of the female world, or of such complex society.

With a light sniff, the pale tom resumed his task of winding back in the rope he had cast for the pair of foolish tumblers, tail twitching languidly as he eyed the ever growing assembly. Of course it hadn't been a genuine fear for the lives of his fellow crewbeasts which had prompted such a charitable act – oh no, it was some innate sixth sense within the polite assassin which had picked up vibrations of discomfort and unease over the past few months aboard, and these terse, uncertain few weeks into uncharted waters had only amplified this. She was close to some kind of breaking point, he knew it, and if saving her now meant he could spectate as she fell apart in the later months, then so be it, he had confidence that the vixen's unstable mind would give in sooner or later, and provide for him plenty of inspiration for when he implemented his own plans upon the chosen targets.

Fascinatingly, though, she wasn't the only beast aboard bound for insanity. No, the air which surrounded The Hide practically charged with a frenzied energy as even beasts as well established and steady as the Ironclaw himself seemed to have taken an inexplicable turn for the worse since acquiring his injury. It had been a terse voyage so far, and he very much hoped that this island would provide the catalyst for an explosive finale.

Deciding to saunter across deck now that the rope was stowed, Kerri lurked behind the gathering in silence for some time, eyeing the island in the light of dawn until finally he deigned to voice his own opinion in his usual light, musical tones.

"It certainly is nice to see a spot of land in this direction after so long. Do you anticipate a stampede as soon as there is a call for the longboats? I do so hope we get something of the sort: it rather lightens the mood...well, for myself, at least."


Jeshal the Ironclaw
Just to add to the reasons for the captain's pounding head, Jeshal watched as squabbling up in the rigging led to the crew's youngest grey vixen hurtling overboard. She had been preceded by Jeb, the scruffy cause of the squabbling. On a good day this would probably have amused him. At present the todd did not have many of these. He did not bother issuing any orders for their safe return: for Armina there were already plenty aboard with good intentions (or at the least blood flowing the opposite way from their brains) that would do it without. As for Jeb, he was a bad smell you couldn't shake.

The Ironclaw's brow furrowed as the sodden vixen trudged up to him and Xhavek. His fur bristled with annoyance, his muzzle ready to twist into a snarl. Insubordination was beginning to rankle him. Her failure to address him as captain should have pushed him to outburst but, almost as though a fuse had blown in his mind, Jeshal's anger deflated. He remembered smashing his gauntlet into the back of the adolescent's head those months ago. Did she really not know what had happened? She couldn't possibly. She would surely not be on speaking terms. Was this guilt? Bad day.

Fortunately Quilane disturbed his musings, and indeed everyone else's, with the sort of remark that only the strange feline could make. It was comforting to know that there were others not quite walking the tightrope of sanity. Oh wait, that was nearly everyone on the Hide, wasn't it?

"There will be no stampede, to me regret, Quilane. There will be an orderly assemblage once we be droppin' anchor an' any beast what be pushin' an' shovin' will either be left be'ind or pushed an' shoved straight inter the drink." He glared into every pair of eyes he could catch.

"Be that understood?"


Armina Rogue
Armina tried her best to return Jeshal's glare, but after a few seconds she broke eye contact. She'd tried to prove to him and to herself that she was not afraid of him, that she was stronger than he thought. Which, of course, was a pile of gull droppings.

The truth was that Armina had been on edge since the night that she had been knocked unconscious and awoke to find her reality completely changed. Jeshal and Tox were both thoroughly worse for the wear and neither would so much as look at the other. For Armina, what was worse was that Tox was now treating her with suspicion. It wasn't overt, and sometimes Armina thought she was just imagining it, but the glances Tox would occasionally throw her were unlike any she'd received before. When Armina asked her what had happened, Tox would simply brush it off as unimportant.

Armina wasn't fooled. She may not have been well educated, but she was smart enough to know that Tox was lying to her. She slowly pieced together the few signs she was given; something had happened between Jeshal and Tox, and Tox suspected Armina may have been involved. Of course, Armina didn't try telling Tox that she had nothing to do with it (whatever it was). The words would just sound hollow. Frankly, Armina wouldn't have believed herself either had she been in Tox's place.

Then there was the matter of being attacked. Armina couldn't help but feel unnerved that she had been incapacitated so easily. Before that incident, she'd held the confident belief that she was capable of defending herself against almost any assault. That she had fallen with a single blow was seriously undermining her self-confidence and sense of security. How easy would it be for someone to knock her unconscious and take her hostage? Or worse, to use her for even more twisted purposes? She had gotten lucky that time, but the next time she might not.

It was the fact that she had been left unharmed which gave Armina her suspicion as to her attacker's motive. Someone had wanted her out of the way so they could get at the twins. And she thought she knew who that beast was.

Armina forced herself to look Jeshal in the eyes as she responded to his question. "Yes, Jeshal," she responded hoarsely, her throat suddenly very dry as she looked at the beast who had, for a brief time, held physical power over her.

In that moment, Armina hated him as she'd never hated a male before.

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There had been no trouble in finding a willing crew for the longboat. Cabin fever had been spreading like wildfire over the past week, intensified by the bitter cold and the harsh seas. There had been so many volunteers that eventually they'd been forced to hold a drawing to decide who would stay behind. Urel and Sokea had both graciously bowed out, while Jeb had to be restrained when his name was drawn for shipboard duty. Several others were grudgingly pressed into the skeleton crew, joining the few who volunteered to stay.

The sun rose feebly into the sky, its mid-winter course slanted horribly. Armina pulled her heavy coat tighter about her. It felt as though the sun's heat did not even reach down to the ocean and the tiny company of longboats headed for shore. She felt horribly cramped, even at the bow of her longboat. The boat was full to bursting, so much so that Armina was half tempted to lean over backwards and slip into the water to escape them.

The moment the longboat hit sand, Armina was out of the longboat and headed for dry land. Several of the crew scowled at her as she left them to haul the longboat to shore, a few muttering mutinously about their officer behind her back. She didn't notice; she had closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the shore air, cold as it was. It felt good to finally have open space surrounding her again.

Opening her eyes, she surveyed the land before her. It looked to be mostly forest, certainly an ancient one. The trees were incredibly tall, having grown for at least two hundred years without impediment. There hadn't been trees of such height in the Imperium for centuries, all having been harvested for the purpose of construction. If the Emperor had brought this land under his dominion, he would have immediately ordered the entire island disafforested.

The thought brought Armina's mood crashing back down again.

Armina's eyes drifted down, suddenly caught by a slight gap in the trees. Approaching, she found what looked to be a path through the woods. She knelt to make sure, brushing away the dead pine needles. Underneath was smooth ground, worn away by years upon years of travel.

Armina returned to the beachfront, approaching the captain as his crew hauled their boat ashore. For a moment she was tempted to keep her discovery to herself, but Jeshal would locate the path sooner or later. "Jeshal," she said, keeping some distance from him out of loathing. She motioned with a paw to the treeline. "I found a path," she reported. "It doesn't look as if it's seen recent use, but certainly consistent use over a long time. It might lead to an indigenous settlement."


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Macavity Ashpaw
The arguing preceding the filling of the longboats had passed by in a blur to Jeshal. It seemed as though a brass band could have played next to him and the silence would still have reigned supreme. The silence came from the admiral, louder than the whoops and wails of the sea-legged. He tried so hard not to look at her but the time this took up seemed to be as dense as conversation. Even on approaching the island, Tanya ignored her powers of rank and assimilated herself into the crew, leaving him to do all the hard work. Well deserved, at that. Sometimes she chattered away to Kiptooth as though nothing had ever happened.

Isn't that how you agreed to act too, Ironclaw?

He physically shook his head as he stepped out of his boat, biting back a wince as his damaged paw touched down on the sand. Ashpaw passed across the crutch, which Jeshal took away with barely less than a snatch. It would not do to look incapable.

The captain padded up the beach and met Armina coming back. She informed him of her discovery. This time he thought he noticed something uncomfortable in her manner, but right now he was wary of everybeast's feelings toward him. He'd never really cared before. Funny how you flounder for what you never had when you actually notice.

Once everyone was assembled on the beach he gave out orders, not looking back at the crew this time, but across the path.

"Everybeast keep their weapons sheathed or otherwise 'idden. Keep yer eyes an' ears peeled but don't be lookin' over surly, says I. We don't know what manner o' beasts be lurkin' hereabouts an' we don't be wantin' ter looks weak nor over rough. Some beast with a lick o' sense needs ter be mindin' the boat. Ashpaw, might as well be you."

Macavity's whiskers drooped. "But, Cap'n -!"

"Unless ye can persuade somebeast ter work with ye in shifts, hold yer tongue afore I consider its removal." The wildcat pouting behind him, Jeshal continued. "Decide amongst yerselves who be coming first. Be best if half of us be goin' so we looks less like a raidin' party. Then, if we need ter look that way, we can combine. No need ter wait over long. Miss Rogue, you can be leadin' the second wave, unless o' course Ms Ryalor wants the honours. An' be quick about it, the lot o' ye."

Jeshal hobbled on, which was irritatingly taxing on the unstable sand, and waited at the start of the path. As soon as the first group had been decided, he set off with them into the woods.

((Tox auto'd with permission))


Armina Rogue/ Father Ezekiel
Armina's ears flitted about as the two groups moved deeper into the ancient woods. The tall trees had seemed to close around them, dim light filtering down from high above to give the path ahead a faint glow. As far as they could see in any direction, the forest extended.

Armina shivered, drawing her coat more tightly about her. Were this a novel, this would be the time at which one of the group would disappear from among them. Armina surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder and took a quick head count. It seemed they still had everyone with them. For now.

Armina did not know how far they had traveled before the first group stopped, suddenly dispersing into the surrounding woods to hide behind trees. Armina immediately gestured for her group to do the same. She could not tell from her position what the cause of this disturbance was. Slowly, following the general pattern of Jeshal's group, her wave darted from tree to tree in an attempt at a stealthy approach.

The cause of this secrecy, once she saw it, was a vast disappointment to Armina. A squat, aged stoat in a simple brown frock was drawing water from a well set in the middle of a small clearing. He was turning an old, creaky wheel that drew the bucket out of the depths. Grabbing the bucket and another like it that he had previously drawn, the old stoat began to trundle back up the path.

Motioning to her group, Armina began to follow Jeshal's group after the stoat, still keeping their habit of darting from tree to tree. The stoat did not seem in a hurry; nor did he once look back at him, despite the general noisiness of the crew as they moved over the leaf-strewn ground. Armina strongly suspected that the stoat knew they were there and was simply being polite by pretending he didn't hear them. Eventually, as they followed their mysterious guide farther into the island, the crew began to abandon secrecy and started walking on the path again. The stoat merely glanced back at them and gave them an encouraging smile before continuing onward.

By the time the forest started to thin, both groups had return to the path, openly chatting amongst themselves and laughing at crude jokes. Armina noticed the stoat's ears twitched in something like annoyance at some of the punchlines, but he gave no other sign of disapproval.

The trees fell away behind them and a small field opened before them. Wheat grew in long rows stretching to either side, tended by beasts dressed similarly to their guide. The farmers smiled to the travelers as they passed, some waving friendlily. Ahead, at the end of the path, was a great stone monastery built from grey rock that might have been mined on the island. It lacked the height and impressiveness of the gothic castles and architectural masterpieces found in the Imperium. It had more of a rambling feel to it, as if wing after wing had been built onto the central dome rather than the entire building planned at once. Despite this, there was no discontinuity in the architecture, each part flowing seamlessly into the next.

The monk trundled up a short set of stairs to an open set of doors, from which could be heard the sounds of rhythmic chanting. Glancing amongst themselves, the crew filed through the doors after him.

When Armina entered, she first thought that her eyes were tricking her. Above her, night and day swirled together. She blinked a few times before realizing that it was a highly detailed fresco. Opposite the door, the sun peeked above the ground, then rose to the right, hour by hour, to disappear into the curve of the dome. On the other side, the moon moved in a complex path across the sky, often journeying into the realm of day, where it became a faint sliver. Armina realized that whoever painted this mural must have been a prodigious astronomer.

The group was brought back to earth (so to speak) by the approach of a tall, balding ferret in a frayed brown habit. He was very thin, his frailty suggesting that he was in his declining years. His voice shook with age as he spoke. "Welcome," he greeted them, a smile upon his snout. "You are all most welcome here at the Abbey of the Cyclical Brotherhood. Please, I must ask that you remove your weapons. Our order is dedicated to peace and reflection, not to violence. You may, if you wish, keep them outside the door."

There was some muttering among the crew, but at Armina's order the weapons were collected and placed outside. As a precaution, Bootnose and Johan van Wolfenheim were assigned to guard them.

"Thank you," the ferret said graciously. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Father Ezekiel, the abbot of this monastery. As I said, we are dedicated to peace. You are most welcome to explore our home, to aid us in the fields, or to join us in meditation." He motioned to a large group of monks (a few of whom were female but shared the same dress, Armina was surprised to note), all of whom were seated on the floor in the center of the circular chamber, chanting rhythmically.

"If you so wish," the abbot continued kindlily, "you can seek private counselling with myself or any other of the monks here who wear a braid." He placed his paws on the ends of the golden braid that he wore about his waist in lieu of a belt. Armina eyed the monks assembled on the floor and noticed that they all wore either a simple strip of leather or a braided rope, though none had a golden one like the abbot. "You may leave any time you wish," the abbot continued, "but all who choose to stay are most welcome. Once more, let me welcome you warmly." He gave the group a small smile, lingering on Jeshal. His eyes twinkled with a slight mirth.

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Armina was one of the first to break from the group. She immediately started for a passage, hoping to find someplace where she couldn't hear the chanting, but a stoat wearing a braid about his waist blocked her way. Armina noticed he seemed only in his early forties, much younger than many of the other 'braided' monks.

"You need counselling," he said cheerily, as if it was the best news he'd had all day.

"Excuse me?" asked Armina, offended. She edged around the stoat and started walking briskly down the corridor.

The monk didn't give up. "You need counselling," he restated, hurrying after her. His short legs had trouble keeping up with the vixen's length of stride. "I tell by your walk, your face, you are very unhappy. Many problems." Armina noticed he had a slight accent that she couldn't place, as well as some issues with grammatical structure.

"Well, you sure don't beat around the bush," she commented, picking up the pace a bit.

The stoat seemed confused. "I don't understand what you say." He had to jog to keep up with Armina at this point.

"Never mind," Armina sighed. "Where are you from anyway?"

The stoat's face lit up with eagerness at her question. "Arkincrus, many seas from here," he explained. "I am Jakob. I merchanted with ship that come here. Ship go away, I stay."

"Got it," said Armina, thinking. "Do you mean Artican?"

"I don't understand what-"

"Never mind," repeated Armina. She slowed to a stop, allowing Jakob to catch his breath. He was obviously no athlete, she noted. "Look, if I let you 'counsel' me, will you leave me alone afterward?"

Jakob's face lit up. "You not even hear from me again," he promised.

"Good." Armina began walking down the corridor again, the stoat walking next to her.

"So," asked Jakob, "are you person at bottom of many small holes or person at bottom of big well?"

"What?" Armina was taken aback.

"Are you person with many small problems or very big problem?" Jakob translated.

Armina didn't even have to think about it. "Person at bottom of many big wells."

Jakob's whiskers drooped slightly. "Oh."

"Yeah," Armina agreed. "Oh."

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Father Ezekiel waited until the newcomers had begun to disperse before approaching their leader, the fox with the metal gauntlet. "My son," he said quietly, "we must talk. I sense that among your crew, you are the one who most needs our guidance." His eyes were very grave and serious as he looked at Jeshal.


Jeshal the Ironclaw
Restlessness plagued the Ironclaw the moment he had stepped into the monastery grounds. The overwhelming sense of peace in this place was painful, a gentleness he had never known. Even alone in his castle with time to reflect, his mind was busy and haunted, filled with memories and conflicting desires. Seeing this pastoral scene made him anxious to leave, to return to the open ocean, even lose himself in the hustle of Bully, pass the seconds fast and hard. Anything not to have to pause and truly see himself for what he was. For the past few minutes the captain had been careful to observe his crew rather than the wondrous spectacle around him. It had been a struggle to contain the pangs he felt in that one second he had glanced up at the celestial mural.

He watched the crew disperse, some actively seeking advice, others taking the opportunity to enjoy the gardens. More than a few were skulking about, pondering over what to steal or at least where they might tread that was forbidden. Several lingered close to him, unsure whether he had actually dismissed them to leisure and, like him, were not exactly thrilled by the idea.

"Do as ye please," he said to those who had not already decided for themselves. He noticed Sorrona drifting quietly after Kerri. For a while now he had been keeping an eye on Macavity's cousin. Her silence combined with her company was worrying. As for Tanya – he did not dare look.

"My son." The abbot addressed him. Son. What a strange word. He was not sure he liked it. "We must talk. I sense that among your crew, you are the one who most needs our guidance."

Jeshal gave the ferret a wry smile, masking the defences that sprang up. "Ye be mistaken, matey, er – Father. 'Tis plain that I be less troubled than most. I be a cap'n in 'is Grace's Navy, an' the Cap'n o' the Guard. Wealth be no object fer me. I be livin' in a great castle overlookin' the fields of Amarone. What more could most of us be seekin'?" He stared into the abbot's unwavering eyes, his fake expression fading. This beast would not be fooled and Jeshal was in no fit state to play games. "Spare me the lecture. Materials an' titles be but dust in the wind, blah blah, metaphors. I be knowin' me follies, Father. Yer time be best spent elsewhere."

With that, the Ironclaw gave a bow and prepared to turn away.


Father Ezekiel
With a speed surprising for such an ancient beast, Father Ezekiel's paw shot out and gave the captain's ear a sharp twist. "It is you who mistake me, my son," reprimanded the abbot. His paw maintained a tight grip on the captain's ear, applying pressure. "Circumstances do not make a beast, for all things flow from rich to poor and return again. The poorest urchin is as mighty in his standing as the most powerful emperor. The physical begets the physical; it is the beast inside that stirs the beast outside. And you, my son, are the poorest wretch that I have ever seen."

Somehow the abbot managed to say this with the utmost sympathy while he simultaneously twisted Jeshal's ear to the point of near falling off.


Jeshal the Ironclaw
"Aghhhh!"

Jeshal let out a high-pitched vulpine yelp as the abbot wrenched his ear. The stern words he had expected came heavy and fast, followed up with the finishing strike of pity. How dare anyone pity him? The invasiveness was revolting.

He gave out another loud yelp as the twisting grew worse, unbearable. The Ironclaw snarled, his gauntlet giving a faint squeak as he curled his fist ready to strike the cleric. If the ferret did not let go after his next words, instinct would take over. It was embarrassing enough in front of his crew.

"'Gates, leggo says I! All righ', wharrever ye want!"


Father Ezekiel
The moment the Ironclaw had agreed to Ezekiel's terms, the abbot's pawfingers left his captive's ear. Once more he was simply a frail old ferret with a quavering voice. "Very well, my son," he said simply. "I shall arrange for our counsel to take place away from prying ears."

Several monks seemed to materialize from thin air beside him. Father Ezekiel gave quiet instructions to each of them, his words unintelligible beneath the chanting. As each monk received his instructions, he dispersed to a different wing of the monastery. When the last one disappeared, Ezekiel returned his attention to the captain.

"For the sake of our privacy, I have cleared a room for our use," the abbot informed Jeshal. "I believe you will find it most appropriate." There was a hint of irony in his voice.


Jakob
(here written by Jeshal)

Having got over the initial moments of enquiry with the troubled vixen, Jakob beckoned Armina through to a small courtyard within the monastery in which was a soothing water garden. Fountains, miniature beast-made waterfalls and lily-ponds complimented one another throughout the area. Unless one needed the little vermin room it was a delightful place.

"Come, come," the stoat gestured, waddling over to a couple of benches. He took a seat and pointed to his bench and the one adjacent, depending on how comfortable Armina was with proximity. "Yes, sit you there."

Once the vixen had taken her place, Jakob gave a gentle smile and began.

"Shall we start with first big well? Which big, great problem come to mind first? Is most prominent? How you feel in yourself?"

It seemed like a lot of questions, but he paced them slowly and carefully, allowing her to choose which ones were rhetorical and which would be prudent to answer.


Father Ezekiel/Armina Rogue
Father Ezekiel led Jeshal down a flight of stairs that curved continuously to the right in a wide circle. The tunnel grew progressively dimmer as they descended, lit only by torches flickering in their brackets. They must have descended at least fifty meters into the ground when the stairs met their base, the path angling sharply inwards toward a central chamber lit by flickering torchlight. It was into this chamber that Father Ezekiel led his begrudging charge.

The first thought of many beasts who saw this chamber was that it belonged anywhere but in a monastery. It lacked the elegance of the rest of the building, the majority of the wall and the entirety of the flat ceiling being smoothly carved stone. It appeared to be directly beneath the central chamber of the monastery; its circular floor, walls and ceiling matched the dimensions of the meditation room, save for the absence of a dome.

Along the top third of the wall ran a continuous mural. It began above the door with a simple farming family. To their right, more farms sprung up, then a few merchant shacks. Other buildings continued to rise as the mural continued along the wall, growing progressively to a bustling port city not unlike Bully Harbour in its heyday. Throughout these scenes, beasts painted in exact scale moved about their busy lives, transitioning from archaic to modern as easily as one would from country to city. But as the mural passed its halfway mark, the scene changed. Thieves began to attack citizens in the alleys. Police responded with excessive force, often catching the innocent in their nets. Soon riots began, and soldiers were deployed to stop them. Rebellion transitioned to anarchy, buildings alight and the entire town burning itself down to empty ruins. For the last quarter of the mural, wind and storm swept away all traces of civilization until a lone beast took a plow to the earth.

Beneath this mural, tools were hung on the wall with iron pegs, transitioning from hoes to axes to whatever implement best represented its age. All the blades were dulled, perhaps because even the architect of this violent room felt usable weapons would originate too much temptation.

Father Ezekiel sat himself on one of two stone benches that faced each other across the room's center, separated by only a few strides. He folded his robes about him for comfort. "This is the Peace Room," he noted. "As you can see, that is not entirely accurate as to its adornments. However, it is the room that you need the most." He did not explain why.

"Your sword," he transitioned abruptly, his eyes glinting as he glanced at the place on Jeshal's belt where the sword would normally hang. "It is called the Peacemaker – a most curious choice of name. Tell me, my son, does your blade match its wielder? Are you a peacemaker?"

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

Armina wasn't keen on the whole 'counselling' idea. It was all a little too personal for her taste. It wasn't that she minded having a good heart-to-heart on occasion; she just preferred to have one with someone she really trusted, like...

She spent a few seconds searching for a name before giving up.

Fortunately the room was nice. Armina immediately took a liking to the myriad pools, ponds and fountains. She ran her paw through a raised pond of midnight-dark water, enjoying the feel of fluidity and coolness. Shaking off her paw, Armina took the seat next to Jakob, her mood improved by the choice of room.

As Jakob began his polite questioning, Armina realized that he must have deliberately chosen this room for her. How did he do that? she wondered, a little offput that somebeast could ever have enough insight into her to decipher what she liked before she did. Still, she had to admit it had made a difference. For the first time in several weeks, Armina actually felt relaxed, so much so that, before she could help herself, she had answered Jakob's question truthfully.

"Tomias," she confessed. "My toddfriend." She realized what she had just said and hastily backtracked. "Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy. Wonderful, in fact. The thing is..." Clouds of frustration moved across her face. "Well, sometimes I..." She bit her lip before blurting, "I think he doesn't really see me. I feel as though he looks at me and idealizes me, pictures me as something more than I am. Or worse, he sees what I am and wants to change me into his perfect vixen. Either way, I don't feel loved for who I am."

It was more than she'd ever said and she regretted it the moment it was out, but she somehow felt lighter for it. It had not been easy pretending for so long that she and Tomias were perfectly fine. Still, she couldn't help the twinges of guilt for betraying Tomias and shame for having ignored the problem for so long.


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Jakob
Down and down the fox captain followed the abbot, making his descent at a grudgingly slow pace no thanks to his injured footpaw. The crutch clacked on every stone – how he hated feeling so inadequate. Unease furrowed his being as Jeshal ambled past the detailed mural. He kept his fascination to himself, but how a part of him would have longed to study so much of this woven history. Was it truly in his head that he could almost hear the screams of the beasts in the fall of civilizations?

Soon enough the Father halted and took a seat upon a waiting bench. There was one opposite but Jeshal did not currently relish the idea of submitting himself further. He remained standing, leaning on his crutch as the ferret introduced the room.

"Your sword," he said, moving on from the Peace revelation. "It is called the Peacemaker – a most curious choice of name. Tell me, my son, does your blade match its wielder? Are you a peacemaker?"

What a question. Thoughts of raids and fiery ballistae, of uttered vengeance, of striking Armina, of the night he killed a not-quite-so-innocent vixen in a drunken stupor, of trying to drown and throttle Tanya, the destruction of woodlander homes and lives... Jeshal's brain could not help itself.

"Do I be lookin' fittin' fer the label?" the Ironclaw snorted, cycling the digits of his namesake. The scars on his face and chest, yet more reminders of his fight with the admiral, were still clearly on the mend. "Were I as much as a saint 'twould be fair troublesome ter keep the rabble in line without the encouragement that be pain an' manipulation. Ye see before ye an ex pirate. 'Tis like that I ever feel peace in my black 'eart only when I be dead." He tilted his head curiously. "Ye be knowin' of the Peacemaker?"

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

Jakob listened politely to Armina's plight, never once letting his expression change into anything that might alarm her as to his possible thoughts. He was proud of what he had learned about listening. If he could just get past a few more language barriers, he might even make it to the high echelons of the brotherhood. When he deemed the moment right, he gave his reply.

"Matters of heart exceedingly delicate. I see why you reluctant to share and I thank you." The stoat tapped his paws together softly in contemplation. "You are still young and I guess same is your toddfriend. Perhaps he not yet realise relationship no have to be smelling roses all of time? There is disconnection, at least discordance he not able to see. Is quite possibly a disease of love, or could be something more." He looked up at the vixen. "Now comes further question. You want easy cutting short of problem, or long road to potential solution?"


Father Ezekiel/Armina Rogue
Father Ezekiel listened closely to Jeshal's defiant retort, the lines on his face deepening with each successive sentence. For the first time he looked troubled, as if he were realizing the full extent of the task before him. It was only at the Ironclaw's query concerning his blade that Ezekiel allowed himself a slight smile.

"Yes, I do," he confirmed, a wry smile playing about his lips. "Several of your crew speak most freely to our priestesses." He did not give further explanation.

Slowly the abbot got to his footpaws, his ancient frame struggling to rise. At last he managed to straighten himself and began circling the inner track. His expression was one of weariness as he slowly paced.

"Jeshal," he sighed, for the first time not addressing the fox as 'my son', "I will tell you the truth. I cannot teach you if you have no desire to learn. If you wish, you may get up and leave this place without once looking back, and I will be powerless to stop you. However, you would be depriving yourself of a chance to find your resolution.

"Why is it that you so avoid finding peace in yourself?" The question was apparently rhetorical, for Ezekiel continued, "Is it because of your past deeds? Do you believe that having once been a pirate has tainted you beyond all hope of recovery? Please, my son, discontinue this self-indulgence." There was a hint of disparagement in his voice. "Your deeds, black as they may be, cannot match the horrible secrets this room has heard. Tyrants, horde leaders, mass murders have all sat on that bench and disgorged words that shrivel the spirit to even hear them. To each I have listened and advised in my best capacity. Some walked away cleansed, hopeful to resolve their lasting conflict. Others refused to part with their guilt and left dragging their chains, having refused the key." Ezekiel paced closer to Jeshal, the circle slowly closing.

"You remind me so much of these poor, deluded fools. What have you done? Murdered? Violated? Betrayed? Each one produces guilt that is almost impossible to bear, yes. But it can be lifted. Forgiveness of the self can be granted, amends made. I would not wish to see you walk away like the others, my son." Ezekiel stopped before Jeshal, searching his face. "You do not realize," he said softly, "that the distance from you to your freedom is only an arm's reach."

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Armina listened carefully to Jakob's response as she ran her paw slowly through the pond. I love this water, she mused. It has the perfect feel. A slight refreshing coolness. Not moving too fast or too slow, just at a quiet pace. Action without hurry, without conflict. Armina had always hated the sea. It was too violent for her, always in turmoil, even on the calm days. It felt too much like her own mind, confused and disordered. Armina didn't need to be reminded of what her mind was like. She spent enough time in there as it was.

The vixen's slow paw gestures through the water paused as the stoat offered her a choice. Great, she thought. More life choices. Armina didn't like being forced to choose like this. She was sure that the decision was more important than it sounded, probably in a way that would make her regret her choice later in life. "Erm..." She scratched her snout with her dry paw, yawning as she considered. "I don't suppose I could glance down the long road?" she asked half-heartedly.


Xhavek Mokorai/Rathinias
Xhavek had been amazingly quiet the entire trip to the island and even more so as they had moved their way onto the island. Inside, deeply buried inside of his pitted and battered soul he was feeling peace and somehow wholeness emanating from the island. Few things had made him feel this way and only one beast he had ever met had been anywhere near this at peace with himself. And by his thinking he could barely believe that this beast was that chatterbox of a grey scaleface.

As if summoned Rathinias grinned at the short monitor as they followed the monk as the day grew warmer. Xhavek snarled at him and looked away.

Ztupid bugger I vish he'd juzt find a plaze to curl up and die zometimez.

When the order eventually came down to remove their weapons Xhavek almost put up a fight right then and there, likely by killing half the monks in the wretched place. However to his shock his striped friend approached him and laid a claw firmly on his shoulder. The touch was not painful neither was it commanding it was just a simple gentle touch.

"Best not be arguing compadre. These beasts here are the key to your Holy Grail."

Xhavek's own pale mismatched eyes pierced coldly into Rathinias’ dull yellow ones and held the gaze for a long while before the tribal monitor spoke. "Truly mine friend?"

Rather than speak Rathinias nodded and swept a claw towards a small brother who looked like a rat but was so bent by a malformation that in truth he could have been of any species. The 'rat' had grey and white streaks running haphazardly through his otherwise jet black fur. "I have been to this isle afore my warrior friend, this is Brother Archibald. He will guide you to where you must go."

For this brief moment Rathinias held unintentionally let his accent drop and laid bare his true voice. While it still held the hints of the former drawl it sounded far more educated with an intelligence in the cadence un-bespoken in his usual mode of speech. Xhavek's now whirling mind barely noted this as he followed the hunched rat away from his fellow crew beasts and out of the compound.

"Zo Archibald vhere you...?"

The grotesque brother wheezed in a dull and raspy voice that made him sound as if he was already a wizened oldster when in truth he could not have been any more than forty seasons hardly old at all, "Borrrn thisss way? Yesss by the paws of fate I wass born a monssster. Rathiniasss told me much of you when he wasss lassst here."

"Zo zat bungler brought uz here?"

Archibald gauged Xhavek as he paused at a crossroads, "In a sense but in another view you were alwaysss coming to usss."

Leaving Xhavek to ponder his words Archibald turned and stumped his way onward not giving the monitor a chance to reply. For such a creature unsuited to rapid movement the mutated rat seemed perfectly capable of speed when it was required.

******

Rathinias moved away from the crew and crouched in a nearby alcove where he lifted a dusty tome from a shelf.

"Hello there old friend. Have you missed me?" The grey monitor gently stroked the spine of the book with a black clawtip as he gently opened the book. "It seems the brothers here listened to my instructions perfectly. Hopefully if all goes as it should this poor motley crew of Xhavek's will come out of this better beasts than when they came."

Rathinias adjusted his hat and briskly walked into the shadows his dully yellow eyes seeming to gleam all their own in the half light of the shaded halls.


Kerri Quilane
"What a fascinating place. The beasts, equally. I could spend hours here just appreciating the architecture. You know, masonry is almost as interesting as timber – the skeleton of a building is always most insightful."

Drifting through the impressive halls of the monastery with Sorrona in tow, the pale tomcat and his silent follower explored the rambling building in a polite silence, interspersed only with Kerri's commentary whenever he felt the noiseless world too oppressive. Of course he hadn't handed over all of his weapons: when the order had come about to disarm, Kerri had been all too happy to leave his new scythe and long knives by the door, but a set of knuckledusters remained wrapped in a square of kerchief in his vest pocket. Polite he may have been to their customs, the tom was not so hasty to trust to chance, these 'councillors'. No beast he had ever known gave away so freely of their own accord.

Having left the crew to their indecisive languishing (Tanya he had noted remained as close to the door as was respectful, looking both bemused and agitated by the entire situation), he had taken to inspecting the sprawl of architecture almost immediately, having never seen a building of such fashion after a life in the Imperium. Though large and daunting in its layout, he found after a few minutes that the place was laughably simple to navigate.

Getting through the monastery without being besieged by these self-proclaimed councillors was another matter altogether. More than once, friendly faces and disquietingly eager pleas of assistance were offered, to which Kerri could find no better response than to feign muteness; as soon as they approached, the glassy stare would fix upon their eyes, the large smile would become even greater, and his entire body took on a type of catatonia that implied a less-than-stable mentality beneath the grin as he waited in silence for them to finish their speech. Needless to say, not many beasts lingered for long after receiving such a display.

The latest attempt from a well-fed ferret had lasted almost five minutes before the creature had finally seen that there was to be no persuading the freakish wildcat scurried off to find more willing recipients of his talents. Exhausted from such a long stint in frozen silence, Kerri puffed quietly and sunk against the nearest wall, shooting his blue-fanged accomplice a glance to stall her from any form of rebuke lest she assume his mannerism too harsh upon their hosts. Turning back to the wall, the tom rest his right paw against the cool stone and appreciated its strength and the sense of permeance it resonated.

"Now look, you left blood all over the walls; the rag bucket's there, better get cleaning before mum and dad get back. Hey, smile Kerri: you aren't dead. Yet."

Needle-sharp claws suddenly gouged five delicate lines with a hairline precision into the dull grey of the masonry, stark white against the dark backdrop. His plastic smile didn't budge an inch as acid-bleached pads traced the marks softly, but the frantic twitching his whiskers implied a snarl beneath the facade. A permanent mark to tell of his passing, so thoughtlessly created. Unnervingly pale eyes slid from the self-made marks to the backs of several passing monks as they floated by, and the claws retracted. He pouted lightly.

"Simply curious. I do wonder, though..." he mumbled once more as he pushed away from the wall to continue the walk, not much caring if Sorrona bothered to reply to him or not. He was as accustomed to her bouts of silence by now as he was to breathing, and regardless of his enjoyment of any company, was not after any lengthy discussion with anybeast but himself.


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Jakob
Already that desire to turn back and flee the way he had come was creeping through Jeshal’s bloodstream. He wanted to blame the obvious fact that he wasn’t doing so on his condition but underneath it all it had to be something more. The fox wanted sympathy without pity. He wanted acknowledgement of an identity beyond a trickster. He wanted something he had never had from any creature, a something that could never be demanded and was utterly outside of his experience. Even he remained in denial.

Fool. What could this housebound cleric know of his inner workings? Self-indulgence, my backside. Wharr’if I don’ want ter change. I might be happy the way I be. Aye. Right. Happy. Wharr’ a word.

As Ezekiel continued, Jeshal began to feel more and more like a chastised kit being told that his problems were immaterial. For an Imperial captain he had killed relatively few woodlanders. As for those resident in Bully, he had taken only one life by his own paws, and that hadn’t even been in his right mind. Pathetic. Jeshal had spent so long hiding the fact that he had nothing to prove, that he did not even know who he was. The mousemaid he had killed in her home all those seasons ago – he remembered the anguish of the accident and the elation of control that had followed. The vixen he had accompanied home one night and … all those things he could never utter. She was dead and that was all that mattered.

Why did I not kill Tanya?

The monk stood before him now, awaiting an answer. Jeshal rose, fast. He bore the pain in his foot enough to snarl out his response.

“Wharr’ is it ye be wantin’ o’ me? A confession? Bear me soul ter bring solace ter me bleedin’ inner self? Well wha’ good will that be doin’? It don’ be takin’ wharrever I do back, do it? What be done be done an’ I CAN NEVER TAKE IT BACK!” A whine filtered through the pained gasps. “Save yer blessin’s fer a beast what actually ‘as an inner self. There be none in this shell.” He slumped back onto the bench, shivering, hating himself for his weakness.

********************************************************************

Ever patient, Jakob waited for Armina’s answer. When it drifted from her he smiled placidly. “Long road may be always difficult, but oftentime best. If he mean much to you, let not his delusion bring much concern. Accept he think you beautiful and good beast. Perhaps he see that in you, even if you do not yourself. If you sure he mistaken then pay less heed to it and he come to understand in time. Do not test him, I think. This would be bad and provoke bad feeling between you. Be as you as you can be, no let him push you, nor strive hard to make him see. He eventually understand and, if he question, then consider if he and you are truly meant, you see?” Jakob ran through his advice in his head and nodded, certain it was what he wanted to divulge. “Yes. Like water, everything inevitably flow where it should.”


Father Ezekiel/Armina Rogue
Ezekiel watched, pangs of sympathy echoing through his heart, as the Ironclaw came violently to terms with his guilt. It was a step forward, and yet a step so far back as well. It also told Ezekiel most clearly where the Ironclaw was on his path to forgiveness and what the priest must do to lead him there.

The ancient abbot gave the Ironclaw a moment to brood before quietly, with gentle motions, sitting himself on the bench beside Jeshal. Ezekiel reflected for a moment before admitting, "It cannot be taken back. No action can. That is every beast's curse. However, it is that you feel the pain which most clearly shows you deserve a chance for forgiveness. After all, the outside cannot function without the inside to direct it. You should know this better than most." He glanced pointedly at Jeshal's metal claw.

Ezekiel stood once more, wearing a troubled expression as he paced slowly. "My son, please accept my words as those of a beast who sees your pain and yearns to relieve you of it. I deceive you in nothing, speaking salt-water truths that sting the wounds so they may be cleansed and heal.

"You are at the most difficult step of our journey, my son," Ezekiel assessed grimly. "By your own words you have admitted the pain and guilt you feel. You know the path that will rid you of this burden. Now you must accept that you are worthy of forgiveness.

"Tell me, my son," Ezekiel abruptly departed from the subject, "what is it that haunts you so? What deed occupies your thoughts as the sun makes its course?"

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

Armina continued to run her paw through the faint current as she listened to Jakob's advice. At first, she felt cheated, being told to ignore the problem and hope it would work itself out. She tilted her head up slightly as she examined herself in the rippling mirror: that horrible headfur, neither quite straight nor quite wavy, which was so common among the femmes of her country; the plain grey coloration of her fur; and though she could not see it in the reflection, the awkward height that placed her above her diminutive aunt and yet well below her gangly toddfriend, so that she could never feel quite comfortable compared to either of them. She honestly couldn't figure out how Tomias had ever come to believe she was either beautiful or good.

Absently she nodded along to Jakob's inquiry, her thoughts trained on her mirror and the water behind it. Over the past few minutes she'd felt a strong desire lodge itself in her side, demanding in the manner of an itch to be sated. She'd ignored it, but it had grown to the point of distraction. There was nothing for it at that point. "I'm sorry," she apologized to her mentor before scooting onto the rim of the artificial pond and slipping her whole body into the water with a swush of water.

Armina leaned back in the pond, resting her head on the edge and allowing the water to support her. Ripples extended outward from her, shattering the mirror-like properties of the surface, but Armina continued her self-reflection mentally. She looked nothing like Tox, she knew. There were a few small traits that they shared – a certain chin shape, green eyes (even though Armina's were light green and Tox's were dark) – but the resemblance ended there. Had she not known that she had to have acquired her appearance from somewhere it wouldn't have been a problem. Unfortunately, she was aware that kits tended to resemble their parents, and this thought nagged at her as she lay refreshing herself in the pond.

"Did you know your parents, Jakob?" she asked quietly, watching birds fly above the water garden.


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Jakob
"It cannot be taken back."

Jeshal allowed those words to run circuits about his mind. How despairing and yet oddly comforting they were. He could not take back what he had done, so really, why was he letting it torture him? Stuff this moping for a lark.

""By your own words you have admitted the pain and guilt you feel. You know the path that will rid you of this burden. Now you must accept that you are worthy of forgiveness."

Guilt? He supposed he had revealed his guilt. As the Ironclaw's resolve hardened he challenged those feelings. Why should he feel that way? It was what he had wanted. She had deserved that, and she was lucky he had not killed her. What point was there in letting emotions lie to him that he felt remorse?

"Forgiveness?" The previously moping fox now met the abbot's gaze. A terrible smile spread across his muzzle. "Dear Father, what need be there for forgiveness? 'Tis thanks ter ye I be confrontin' these feelin's what brought such 'opelessness. Now I be seein' me mistake. The only guilt in me black soul was not finishin' the deed what ye believe I regret. Thanks ter ye I be seein' a little more o' me own worth. In the end 'twas me own choice an' ye've taught me ter trust in meself."

The Ironclaw began to chuckle to himself. It gave way to laughter.

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

Blinking in confusion at Armina's abrupt decision to interrupt their discussion, Jakob watched the vixen slide into the pond. He reined in his disappointment and replaced it with his bright countenance, pleased that the teen was at least enjoying the garden. Perhaps he had said the wrong thing. He was not very accustomed to young females or these sorts of matters.

"Did you know your parents, Jakob?"

In the hope that she might continue in her own way, he opted to respond to her change of subject.

"I did. My father was fisherbeast and my mother, who still live, makes clothes for living in Arkincrus. Poor and simple, occasionally quarrelled, but good beasts at heart I think. Their childhoods had much troubles. I think my mother would have wanted this peace for me. So here I am."


Father Ezekiel/Armina Rogue
As the Ironclaw's self-searching hardened into resolve, Ezekiel realized that somewhere along the line he had taken a misstep. The Ironclaw's maniacal answer only confirmed this.

Understanding that any further errors might cost a beast's life down the line, Ezekiel quickly moved to sit on the Ironclaw's bench. "I am glad for your newfound confidence, Jeshal," he assured the fox. "However, consider well the consequences of your crusade. Blood stains the fur to its root, and it draws the sharks as surely as the day does the night. What begins in murder can only end in death."

Ezekiel shuffled about on the bench to make himself more comfortable. "Tell me, what is this grave offense committed against you?" he asked. He sounded genuinely interested.

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

Armina listened with muted interest to Jakob's reply. She could tell that he hadn't traced her line of thought yet, which was just fine with her. She would share it when she felt open enough.

"Do you resemble them much?" she asked quietly. She watched her reflection, wondering if the thinness of her face belonged to her father or not.


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Jakob
The laughter had stopped with worrying abruptness the moment the abbot spoke of consequences. That coupled with the mere mention of blood caused Jeshal to become conscious of his own – that warm, pounding life, yet more of a purpose, to live just to live! He decided he no longer cared what the old beast had to offer him now. He had found himself, even for a moment, a glimpse of that part of him that was Jeshal. Just a feeling, nothing more. He resented that Ezekiel assumed that a creature like him would be stupid enough to let death get its teeth closer than a hair's breadth.

The fox looked up at the abbot with a faraway gleam. He imagined wrapping his claws about the old beast's neck. He could show anyone that doubted him of what he was capable. He hadn't killed her but maybe he had chosen not to. He could do what his past company would have done. Order the mass slaughter of everyone here and burn whatever would burn in this sickening, useless place of peace. What would it matter that they weren't woodlanders?

"Tell me, what is this grave offense committed against you?"

Jeshal focused. Rebelliousness bubbled under his surface. He did not want to see the old beast's expression change were he to answer. He knew that what he considered an offense was irrational, but she had been a face to put to his loss. He did not want to be judged nor to have the right taken from him.

So he lied.

"There wer' a vixen, back when I wer' a smaller scrap of a beast. Afore I ran with pirates an' the like, 'twas with fisherfolk I lived, an' this vixen commanded a great ship what came inter conflict with our lowly vessel. It be not known ter me whether she were pirate or Navy at the time, but she sank our boat, scarred me paw, killed all o' the beasts aboard save me. I escaped, swam, 'alf-drifted ter shore an' lost everythin' I knew about meself."

He grunted as though the 'truth' had been difficult. What he did not quite understand, was that it really had been.

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When asked if he resembled his parents, Jakob furrowed his brow in thought.

"Yes... and no. I more like my mother, they say. Her eyes and shape of face, even her gentleyness. Not quite her sharp mind, though." He chuckled fondly. "I have Father's determination, I think. Same tail marking too." Concluding, he slid the question back to Armina, ensuring he did not look as though he were pressing. "You yourself?"


Father Ezekiel/Armina Rogue
Ezekiel's wrinkle lines deepened as he listened to Jeshal's tale. A faint dubiousness appeared on his face; however, if he detected the lie, he did not call Jeshal out in it. Instead he attempted to smooth a crease in his habit with his wizened paws. He did not look at Jeshal directly as he spoke.

"Have you found her yet, this beast who so unprovokedly attacked you?"

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Armina leaned her head back on the edge of the pond, turning it to examine her tutor. Her eyes lingered over each feature he named, examining them with a gaze that was almost hungry. With his analysis, she could just begin to see the faintest outlines of his mother. His father she could not even begin to imagine, his description had been so vague.

As he slid the question back at her, Armina returned her gaze to the water. She couldn't see her reflection from that angle, but she could still see herself in her mind's eye. "I don't know," she admitted. "I never knew them. I must look a lot like my mother, since my fur color is fairly common in Fyador. Tox – my aunt – says she sees a lot of my father in me, especially how I act. I don't know how much of that I believe." She stared into the water as if trying to see her father there. "I wish she'd at least talk about him," she expressed wistfully.


Jeshal the Ironclaw/Jakob
Whilst the abbot did not hold his gaze, Jeshal stared intensely. Though his injury made him externally weaker, for these few moments he basked in the fiery confidence of his own being.

"Aye, I found 'er. Near took me revenge after a year or so o' waitin', but..." the fox sniffed with false chivalry, "'twould 'ave been beneath me, says I. I chose not ter end her life at present so that she may learn the error of 'er past deeds."

No you didn't. You chickened out. Why? It wasn't just because of the kits. Early days perhaps you would have slaughtered the lot of them, but you never did go that far, did you? You never really enjoyed killing anything. You just wanted to see someone suffer that wasn't YOU. The inner torments continued, visible only through a series of blinks that followed his spoken words.

"Ye've been very... helpful, as I said, Father. I feel the cruelty in me blood fadin', that I do."

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Despite the difficulty it must have harboured for the vixen, Jakob was pleased to hear her draw out more of her feelings. It would surely lead to a greater healing of her soul. Spying a tendril of an issue, he gently tugged.

"She is actively avoiding the subject, you think? Or you think is possible to ask her yourself?"
​