Open The Slups Storm Clouds and Crossbow Bolts

Aiken Brudenell

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It’d been months, now. Months since he’d left his home, sailed out for the place of his birth, the great city of Bouillabaisse. It hadn’t gone well.

The stoat couldn’t forget he’d already killed a beast – slain him in broad daylight, out in the street with the edge of his favorite saber. It troubled him, though he knew it shouldn’t have. The dead ferret had lived a life of menace, at least the part he’d seen. Threatening innocent beasts with torture and death.

But it was exactly how he’d feared the city to be. Dirty. Violent. He’d managed to duck the difficult questions in the police interview that followed, but it cost him the chance to make contacts of the acquaintances he’d met. He’d been left exactly where he started.

And Aiken hadn’t had much better luck since. Time crept by, depriving him of his savings. Many of the old SDS safehouses he’d read about before leaving had long since been occupied by gangs or destroyed over time. And try as he had, landing a job worthy of his talents had been harder than he’d expected.

In a pinch for gilders, he’d become a reporter for the Saturday Evening Smelt. Originally, he’d thought it something to keep him alive until he could get a position within the Ministry of Justice – the closest thing to a plan he still had for rising to the top in the city. Now, he found it was a job that spoke to him.

Sure, the pay was bad. He’d been mugged twice, having to often leave his saber behind to avoid attracting attention. He’d been rained on, snowed on, spat on and even pushed into the sewers once, ruining much of the clothes he’d brought with him. But even after all that, he couldn’t help but go back out, following his instinct to find the stories the city didn’t often heard shared, investigating leads the fogeys didn't bother with.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. His mother had written for the Smelt, after all. Maybe there was something in the blood.

He doubted, however, that his mother would be thrilled with his latest plans.



The stoat knew little of the small stretch of Slups that made up Annacker Alley. The name was a mystery by itself. Nobeast he’d talked to seemed to know who Annacker was or how or when the name had come about. Some said it’d been around since the Winter War, some sort of Imperial holdout during the Coalition occupation. It wasn’t terribly important information. Not compared to the lead he’d been tracing.

Somebeast in the army had been shifting supplies onto the black market. Spears, swords, crossbows. Even armor supposedly found its way into the hands of hardened criminals here, all stamped with the skull and bones of the Imperium’s noble seal. Maybe that wasn’t a surprise for beasts who’d lived in the city their whole lives. For Aiken, it was a travesty, a stain on the good name of the Ministry of War, that never would have been tolerated under his father’s watch. And he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“You said you saw them sold here? The weapons?”

Even dressed dimly and practically for his foray, the stoat looked out of place. His fur was too clean, his whiskers too straight. His scarless body remained elegant under his still mostly stainless clothes. He hadn’t brought his saber – keeping only a knife on his belt – but it too looked just a little more polished and reliable than the typical Slups cutlery went. His source, a sickly, wheezing weasel, looked much more belonging, dressed in the typically soot-and-mud stained clothes of a professional beggar.

“Aye,” the weasel mused, gesturing vaguely – and quite drunkenly, now – out at the alley ahead of them before taking another swig of his wine. Aiken had been kind enough to provide it for his services. Alcohol went a long way to opening his sources up.

The stoat looked around. The space was strangely empty. No weapons, no crates. All the shops and shacks to the sides of the alleyway seemed to be shuttered and lifeless. Not much of an arms bazaar. Unusually silent for any part of the Slups, especially later into the afternoon as it was.

“Are you sure this was the place?”

The stoat kept looking for a moment, turning around only after the silence became awkward. His source was gone.

Aiken’s fur immediately went on edge. He might have been raised in safety and wealth, but he wasn’t totally without instinct. Dashing back the way he’d came, the stoat looked just in time to the see the ambushers waiting to cut him off or cut him down, hearing much swearing as he turned tail to run back into the alley. Then, the clunking hiss of an army crossbow – the bolt barely missing him, cutting a fresh hole in his shirt and nicking flesh on his side.

He knew he had to escape, and fast. Finding the most rickety looking of the shacks that made up the alley’s walls, the stoat tried to smash through the door, to no avail. Either the buildings were sturdier than they looked, or their doors had been well reinforced with nails or barricading on the other side.

“Gates!”

He swore loudly, panic setting in. The next bolt buried itself in the wall next to him with a loud thunk. Running again, he tried the next shack, throwing his whole weight into its ramshackle door. This time he could feel it budge.

The stoat kept slamming into it, hearing paws racing towards him from behind. Finally, with one final burst, he smashed through, sending splinters flying as the door finally gave way. Stumbling, Aiken kept running until the sounds of falling paws and ragged curses faded behind him, his heart racing and his lungs aching with exertion.

Able to run no more, the stoat stumbled out into another street of the mazelike Slups, chest heaving as he leaned up against a wall, trying desperately to catch his breath. Small splinters stuck out of his otherwise well-groomed fur, fragments of the escape he'd just barely made. And he had no telling if his unknown assailants would be back, or if they were following him still.

Maybe this hadn’t been the smartest idea after all.
 
The gray-furred fox was nearly bowled over by the fleeing stoat, barely managing to get out of the way. He started, about to say something indignant about the near collision, then noticed the group of beasts bursting from a shopfront, crossbows in arms. Immediately Daniil's mind flashed back to his training in Fyador. "When you have a sword and your enemy has a crossbow, find cover, draw a shot, then wait for them to fire before charging. When you are up against multiple beasts with crossbows, however, you have only one course: retreat expeditiously.

Daniil swore in Fyadorian and turned, fleeing after the stoat. "Run serpentine!" he called after the beast, hollering to be heard as he pushed himself to catch up, weaving as he did so. A crossbow bolt went flying past his shoulder as he did, passing through the spot where his head was a moment before.
 
It turned out he didn't have the time to rest. He looked to the fox that shouted after him - a beast he'd nearly pushed over in his mad dash - and caught the glimmer of the leveled crossbow behind them, just in time to see it let loose it's projectile.

Aiken didn't linger to watch where it went. Forcing himself back into a run, the stoat tried to weave as the fox had told him to, but found himself flagging before long. He wasn't going to get away like this.

As soon as the street rounded again, the stoat sprang for the edge, knocking over a well-organized stand of various junk fished out of the harbor in his urgency to get out of his pursuers' line of sight - and fire. Ignoring the cursing complaints of the poor, middle-aged ratess whose shop he'd overturned in his efforts, the stoat stumbled on another few meters until he found another alleyway to try to hide in. Beckoning breathlessly to the fox behind him with one paw, the other on his knife, he dove to hide behind a foul-smelling barrel full of some sort of fish, waiting for the sound of running paws on rubble to fade elsewhere, hoping they'd not find him here, or that the rat wouldn't give away where he'd gone.
 
Daniil had to leap to clear the small avalanche of junk that cascaded into his path in the wake of the stoat's flight. He stumbled as he landed, arms flailing, barely managing to steady himself just before the alley. He caught sight of the stoat's beckoning motion just from the entrance of the alley, and, hoping against hope that he'd picked the right side in the conflict, he flung himself in after the stoat. He ducked down behind a crate, trying to minimize himself, but the barrier wasn't large enough for him to hide behind. Swearing quietly, he put his paw on his katana, drawing the blade in an awkward motion while kneeling. If the beasts looked down this alley, he'd have less than a second to charge them before they could aim. He could feel the sweat on his paws, his mind flashing back to a dozen close calls, even a few failures. He'd sworn to protect his cousins, had put his body between them and the threats against them, and so many times, it hadn't been enough. He tightened his grip, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't fail. Not again.
 
There were two of them, or at least only two that had followed. Tough, well-built beasts, they followed not far behind Aiken and Daniil. One of them, a ferret, had his crossbow still loaded, ready to fire. The other, a fox, had hers slung over her shoulder, empty after almost hitting Daniil before - paw and a half sword at the ready instead. Together they paused at the corner of the street, looking for traces of the stoat and his possible ally. Beside them, a rat tried collecting scattered nets and bottles back into their respective boxes, muttering curses under her breath.

They didn't have to ask her what had happened. Exchanging glances, the two beasts advanced down the path their prey had gone, looking aside into each upcoming alley and dilapidated doorway for glimpses of them. Beasts around them largely gave way, some mumbling frustration at their presence, but not involving themselves in what was no doubt the private affair of one of the Slups' many gangs.

Aiken peaked out from behind his barrel. He could see Daniil's cover - if it could be called that. The fox had his blade almost drawn - one of the strange, curved swords that seemed all the rage with Fyadorans - but without concealment it seemed unlikely to him that the beast would be able to take a bowbeast down from the street before they could fire.

The stoat felt a twang of pity. He'd not thought highly of Fyadoran foxes, given their meddling in his country's affairs - given what Talinn had done. But this beast was prepared to lay down his life for him - or at least willing to risk it with him, rather than try to flee on his own, or use him as a shield. Perhaps that was a low bar to be impressed with a beast. Aiken hoped it was, but felt the pity anyhow.

Seeing the beasts that were after him finally skulk into view - armed and ready, seemingly aware of his hiding in the alley - and knowing in an instant that the Fyadoran fox was his one chance for survival, Aiken shot up and ran noisily from behind his barrel before either of the ambushers could lay sight on Daniil, as though spooked by seeing them.

He'd hoped to be able to dive for another bit of cover, or avoid any shots sent his way by moving, but the ferret had a quick eye and good reflexes, sending his bolt flying down the short alley, slicing past the running stoat's right leg, enough to send him tumbling down with a cry of pain. Teeth gnashed together, Aiken turned over on his back, ignoring the bleeding wound for a moment to ready his knife as the beasts came to finish him off.

It was up to the stranger, now, whether he lived or died.
 
For a moment, Daniil froze as the stoat bolted, the sound drawing their pursuers' attention to the alley and a crossbow bolt shot as well. Time seemed to freeze as the ferret raised his bow-

It's a ploy. Daniil realized it only when the bolt went sailing down the alley. The stoat had drawn their attention and their fire, giving Daniil a chance to get up close. From the sound of pain that echoed down the alley, it had been at his own expense too. Daniil surged to his footpaws, sword leaving his sheath as he charged forward. The ferret, realizing the threat, tried to drop his crossbow and reach for his sword, but it was too late. Daniil swung into his chest, blade slashing across it and sending the beast to his knees, clutching at the gash. The vixen had time to draw on him instead, her sturdy Vulpinsulan-made blade enough to be a threat to him. Even Auldurnian steel, its composite layers adding to its durability, would only stand so well against a thicker Imperial blade. Don't block, the voice of his uncle in his ear reminded him. Katanas are thinner, made for speed. Imperial swords are big, brutish things, made to cleave through armor, flesh, and bone. Block even with an Auldurnian steel katana, and you'll have a shattered blade and a sword in your gut.

Daniil stabbed at her, aiming for her chest, hoping that he could get her before she could get him. His blade cut through her armor, red blossoming around the wound as it pierced her ribcage -

He saw his mother's face, Vaelora, gasping in pain as a blade pierced her chest, then the life leaving her eyes. Daniil choked at the imagined scene, pain settling in his gut. Then the vision was gone, but the pain remained. Daniil glanced down to see that the vixen's sword had struck his side, cutting through layers of cloth, padding, fur, and skin to leave a vicious gash. Daniil put a paw to his side and it came away bloody.

Oh.

Daniil had been on the receiving and delivering side of enough wounds to know that wasn't good. If treated properly at a hospital, he'd survive, recover after a time as well, with nothing worse than a scar to show for it. Left untreated...

The ferret was struggling to free his own blade, raising it to try to strike at Daniil from behind. Daniil turned, his sword moving in a clumsy arc, battering away the sword and sending it clattering. He raised his blade and brought it down on the beast's shoulder, aiming for his neck. Swinging with his off paw, he missed, biting into his clavicle instead. The beast cried out, and Daniil wrenched his blade free, trying again. It took three swings before the beast stopped crying out, blood pooling on the ground. There was no honor in it, none of the grace that Talinn expected out of House Ryalor. Only the mess of beasts killing each other.

Daniil clumsily wiped the blade on the back of the ferret's cloak, trying to wipe it clean of the blood it had spilled. His mother had kept her blade immaculate, as Talinn had taught Daniil to do after her. It shamed him that there was still crimson on the edge when he sheathed it. Then, he turned and staggered down the alley, after the beast whose pursuit had started this whole matter. "Can you stand?" he called to the beast, a groan of pain escaping him as his wound protested the use of its affected muscles.
 
A pair of quick, dark eyes watched from a roof adjacent to the alley. Boggy's gaze darted from the still-living to the dead, then to the weapons of the dead. The wounded fox was checking on the stoat, leaving the dead beasts and their valuable weapons behind. It was his lucky day. He only regretted that he did not have a bag with him in which to pack more valuables.

Swinging down from the rooftop, using the uneven wood and sheet metal of the building's exterior wall for handholds, Boggy made his way quickly to the ground. He hoped the clattering and clanking of the filth-sorting rat cleaning up her jumbled pile masked the sound of his descent. With a twitch of his right ear, he went to work rifling through the pockets of the slain beasts and gathering their crossbows and swords. He considered finding a place to stash what he couldn't carry easily somewhere in the alley in order to return later with his siblings. Boggy paused for a moment in his gathering to scan for such a spot.
 
Aiken didn't let his knife paw slacken until the ferret had drawn his last, suffering breath. He'd played his cards right. The Fyadoran fox had killed both his ambushers. Still worked over with adrenaline and exertion, the stoat barely registered his ally's words.

The pain came right after.

Aiken hissed, clamping a paw around his leg. Blood seeped through still, but not terribly much - the bolt hadn't suck deep into him, just grazed the side. It hurt, now, but rising shakily back to his feet, he found he could still stand. The bleeding was concerning, but he figured it would stop on its own, or else he could perhaps find some way to bandage it, maybe.

"I-I think I can, yes."

The stoat's voice retained a refined edge, despite his excitement. His heart was still beating fast. Out of danger, now, he actually felt more alive, fear giving way to some strange sort of exuberance. He was still breathing. Even the pain in his leg and his chest felt like a pleasant reminder of that fact.

"Thank you kindly, fox. Don't know that I'd have escaped them without your help."

Survival euphoria slowly fading, Aiken noticed his companion hadn't made it out fully intact either.

"Are - are you hurt badly?"

There was blood all down the fox's side, though he wasn't so sure it was his and not from either of his foes. Stealing a glance back at their corpses, he could make out another rat prying loot from their bodies, causing him to instinctively feel for his knife again.
 
Daniil groaned as his wound ached, the muscle screaming in pain. He didn't think it had cut into any of his intestines; if it had, there would be nothing the doctors could do for him by the time he reached the hospital. He carefully moved over to the injured stoat and put his shoulder under the arm on his injured side, offering himself as a crutch. He hissed through his teeth as this put more strain on his own injury, but he refused to let go of the other beast. He would not leave anyone else to die.

"You there!" he called to the urchin, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, can you run and seek a doctor for myself and my friend? I'll pay you for your trouble." He fished out a pair of gilders from his pocket, trying to ignore his own blood gathered on the golden coins.
 
Boggy sniffed and paused mid-stashing the swords behind a crate. He looked at the gilders, then to the beast offering them. The rat shoved the swords against the wall behind the crate and pushed the crate up against them, rendering the weapons imperceptible to anybeast walking through the alley unless they stood atop the crate.

"You got more?" He scurried towards the fox, stolen crossbow in paw. "Two now, five when I get back, eh? Then you'll have a deal."
 
Daniil bit his lip, resisting the impulse, heightened by the pain in his side, to snap at the rat. He was staring down the risk of his own death now; he couldn't afford to haggle. "Five on return," he promised, holding out the two gilders for the rat to take. He glanced to his injured companion, suggesting, "Let's get you to that crate and sit you down, and see about staunching that wound." He knew that, with the size of his own wound, trying to staunch the blood loss before the doctor could arrive was a largely futile gesture. Either the doctor would arrive in time to save him, or they wouldn't.
 
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With a lopsided grin, Boggy snatched the gilders from Daniil and pocketed them. "If you take my weapons, I'll make sure somebeast comes and finishes the job on you, yeah?" He tilted his head towards the todd's injury.

Without another word to the pair, the wiry rat darted out of the alley. They could hear him commiserating with the junk-rat's ill fortune as he left.

"Sodding bad luck, innit? I have to go fetch the sawbones for these poor lads before they bleed out, but if any of the mess is still here when I get back, don't you worry, I'll lend a paw."
 
Aiken adjusted himself unsteadily as the fox put himself under his shoulder. The cut into his upper right leg was still bleeding, though he didn’t feel concerned. Not yet, anyhow. It was worth more that he was alive despite the close brush with death.

The stoat winced as they moved together, even so, and he was thankful to sit against the crate, taking the weight back off of his leg. Instinctively he moved a paw to cover the wound, putting some pressure on it while he watched the rat his companion had called for aid run off with his gilders.

“I-I can pay you back for that, if you’d like.”

Aiken had little knowledge of medicine or first aid. He didn’t know how serious his injury was, though watching the fox struggle made him think the Fyadoran probably required more care than what the average Slups beast could provide. It was possible his savior wouldn’t actually survive.

That thought made him frown, a different expression than what the pain and exertion had forced him to show so far.

“Are you going to make it, fox?”
 
Daniil knelt to examine the wound, nearly toppling in the motion as his leg almost gave way at the pain. He managed to get down on one knee, fighting to focus through the haze and pay attention to the wound before him, rather than the one at his side. "The sun rises until it doesn't," he commented, adding by way of explanation, "a Fyadorian proverb. Let's focus on what we can control." He painfully shrugged his arm out of the good side of his coat, then more carefully removed it from the bad side. He draped the coat, already blood-soaked on one side, over the stoat's wound, trying to only cover it with the side that wasn't already stained with blood. He could feel himself getting dizzy; the blood loss was beginning to get to him. "Hold that there," he managed to instruct. "It should stan... staunch the bleeding un... until help arrives." Why was it getting so hard to talk - and to think? 'Gates, he felt tired. Had he not slept enough the night before? He blinked, disorientation setting in, his body feeling colder than it should on such a warm day... though his paw was hot, so hot, and wet.
 
It was pretty apparent that the fox wasn't doing well. Still, Aiken let him look at his injury - followed his instructions, pressing the beast's cloth to his leg. But when the Fyadoran - that much he'd confirmed - seemed to sway in place, blinking away deathly exhaustion, he reached out with his free paw to steady the beast, shaking him lightly by his shoulder.

"Hey, stay with me."

The stoat had watched beasts die before. Once by his own paw - something he wouldn't soon forget. He didn't want to be responsible for another death. At the very least, he wanted to know who it was that had sacrificed themselves for the chance of his survival.

"Have you got a name, fox?"

He tried to meet the beast's eyes, as difficult as it may be to keep the struggling fox's focus.

"I'm Aiken. I've got to know who it is that I'm paying back, you see. Perhaps a drink, someplace?"

Maybe he would at least have a name for the ghost he was sure to see in his memories and his dreams.
 
The stoat was asking him something... His name? What was his name? How would Daniil know... Oh, Aiken, he'd just said it. The name tickled his brain, but Daniil couldn't think, he was too tired, too cold. He leaned his head against the alley wall, slumped against it, the urge to slide down into a heap in the alley now creeping across his shoulders like a spider. Part of his brain tugged at him, telling him he'd missed something. What was...? The name, that was right, his own name.

"Daniil," he murmured, resting his head against the rough brick wall and closing his eyes. He was so tired, he just needed a nap. Maybe his mother would find him and carry him home. He'd tried so hard to look after her sword for her, and it was getting so heavy. He could almost feel her arms around him, ready to lift him into her embrace...
 
Aiken kept the fox's coat on his wound, keeping pressure over it even as he moved to inspect Daniil's injury. He didn't know what he was doing, but it was clear by this point that something had to be tried.

The fox was hurt far worse than he was, and had lost a lot of blood. He didn't need a medical license to figure that much.

"Hey, stay with me Daniil. You're gonna be alright, you hear?"

Thinking quickly, the stoat took the coat from his leg, trying to wrap it tightly about the the fox's side, doing much as he'd been instructed to do with his own wound.
 
"'Gates."

Caden stopped at the entrance to the alley, partially forced to do so by the scattering of garbage a rattess was sifting through, which thus brought his attention to the two corpses and two injured beasts within the alley. Typically, he would have continued on his way, as this type of scene was not unusual in the Slups. However, and perhaps fortunately for the beleaguered pair, he knew one of the still-living beasts. The Fates certainly have a dark sense of humor, Caden mused as he took a breath and turned into the alley. Or perhaps it's simply their idea of justice.

"Daniil?" The marten trotted towards the pair on the ground. He nodded to the stoat as he came to kneel beside them, though with a careful eye kept towards the entrance of the alley. Though by no means a trained medic, Caden had patched up enough comrades--and himself--in a pinch during campaigns that he knew by the amount of blood on the fox his wound was serious. The stoat was injured, but in less dire condition than Daniil.

"I'm Caden," he offered as way of introduction to the stoat. "I know Daniil from the Guard."

He set to work taking off his satchel and pulling out a water canteen from the various items inside. He held it out to the stoat. "Here, drink some, then see if you can get him to drink."

With a quick motion, Caden shrugged off his coat and set it to the side, then unlaced the top of his shirt and pulled it off over his head. He drew his knife from his belt and punched a hole into the fabric. From there, it was a matter of moments for him to begin a long tear in the garment, ripping a portion of it it into a series of long strips.

"This should work better than the coat," he murmured as he tied off two strips that would fit around the fox's midsection. With the remainder of his shirt, he bunched it and shifted so that he could access Daniil's wound, pulling the coat from his side. "They got you good, didn't they? But looks like you got them better. Well done on that, my friend."

Pressing the makeshift bandage against the still-bleeding laceration with firm pressure, Caden used his other paw to reach around Daniil and slide the long strip behind his back. For several moments they were pressed close to each other, and Caden could feel the warmth of the fox on his bare torso, the brush of his fur, and could smell the sharp, coppery scent of his blood mingling with the softer smell of him that still lingered in Caden's memory from the training grounds at the Ministry.

Caden blinked and cleared his throat as he pulled away to tie the strip of cloth tightly about the fox's midsection. Some of Daniil's blood was on his paws, stark red against the white of his fur. He looked down at it, then up at the fox's eyes. Various sensations warred within the marten, but he shoved them away and gave the todd a confident smile. "How does that feel?"
 
Daniil wasn't entirely sure if he was conscious or delirious. He thought that an angelic beast of white fur, glowing in the sun, was approaching him. He's coming to take me to mother, his blood oxygen-deprived mind surmised. Maybe he'd been better than he realized - a better son, a better brother, a better Ryalor. It wasn't until the pain of binding his wound brought him back to full consciousness that he recognized the jack from the training field.
"Caden," he murmured, pain lacing his voice as the marten used his own clothes to save Daniil's life. "Thank... the saints..." He tried to stand, and he swayed dangerously, only catching himself by flinging his arms around Caden's shoulders. "They... they got me good," he murmured, his mind swimming as he tried to think clearly. What was that smell? There was something pleasant in the air, tickling at his nose, but his mind wasn't working right, he couldn't place it. "Smell... nice..." He murmured, not fully cognizant of what he was saying.
 
The fox, smaller and more slender than Caden, was not difficult for the broad-shouldered marten to hold up. "'Gates, careful. Move slowly. You don't want to open up the wound any more." Shifting so that he could support Daniil on one shoulder, his strong arm wrapped firmly around the todd's upper body to keep him leaning against Caden, the marten glanced at Aiken.

"Can you walk? We should get out of the Slups as quickly as we can. A lot of opportunists here."
 
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