The Mercenaries Return (Old VI Thread)

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(New captain of the Kreehold, Padraig Kesey sets his crew on a wild and somewhat bloodthirsty mission. Starring: Padraig Kesey, Rijard M. Chaos, Xhavek Mokorai, Keinruf Wright, Drumein "The Drum" Doozle, Layla Raposa, Jeremiah Nightfur, and Dale from Jail (NPC))

THE MERCENARIES RETURN

First post Smarch 25, Yr. 1729, 9:58 am



Padraig Kesey
It had taken a while to find the long-fabled Kreehold Headquarters. Then again, Kesey would have been disappointed if it hadn't. The base of operations for the Imperium's one-time most powerful group had to be someplace hidden away, where the public wouldn't intrude. So, of course, Kesey was impressed with its location- a large, imposing grey complex in the Imperial Barracks, inscribed with the title "Kreehold Barracks and Condos". Without a moment of hesitation, Kesey pushed through the heavy revolving doors into the lobby.

The space was dark, the only light coming from a few tiny, high windows. Trophies of various accomplishments hung on the walls. As Kesey's pawsteps echoed through the lobby, small showers of dust fell from these remnants of Kreehold past. Kesey stopped to admire a particularly impressive trophy, a singed tavern sign which looked as if the location it advertised had met an explosive end, before moving on.

Of course, it would happen that all the doors leading out of the lobby were locked, and the beast who had the key was dead. Thankfully somebeast had left a club lying next to the door. Within a minute the door was open, and Kesey had his first item to charge to the Ministry of Commerce — one door handle. Kesey dropped the club off to the side before walking through.

He was disappointed by what he saw. The conference room was a mess; the chandelier was covered with cobwebs, the table covered with an inch of dust, and the chairs in various forms of dilapidation. The kitchen was little better — Kesey found a cockroach colony living in the cupboards. The barracks themselves were in relatively good condition, though the mattresses were rotting and would need replacing. All in all, Kesey wasn't too shocked at what he found. That was, until he reached his office.

Kesey pushed open the door, peering in. A large desk occupied the center of the room, a plush leather chair behind it. Someone had left a large grey laundry bag in the chair, but that could be dealt with. Kesey closed the door behind him, moving to examine the weapons rack on the right side of the room. A large variety of lethal instruments greeted him, their cold steel glistening in welcome. Kesey examined them objectively, impressed neither by their menace or their contorted, malicious forms. Only one caught his eye — a ceremonial short blade traditional to the Kreehold. Kesey removed the weapon from the rack, unsheathing it. It was a fine weapon. Kesey examined it appreciatively before sheathing it, attaching the sheath to his belt.

The laundry bag grunted.

Kesey whirled, his crossbow loaded and in his paws in a second. He cradled it carefully in his paws, keeping it trained at all times on the bundle of rags. Slowly Kesey moved his left footpaw, bringing it down with a slight thump on the carpet to his left. He moved carefully, always keeping just out of reach as he navigated around the desk. At last, once he was on the opposite side of the room, he approached, the tip of his loaded bolt shining dully in the poor light. Carefully, he pressed the cold tip of the bolt against the laundry bag’s neck.

The beast woke up.

"Whawuzzat!" The beast flailed for a second before falling out of the chair with a large thump. Kesey peered into the darkness beyond the chair, crossbow still ready. He could just make out the form of a large rat, moaning from an apparent hangover.

Kesey smirked before reapplying the safety on his crossbow. "Dale from Jail," he drawled mockingly. "Were ye plannen' on waken' oop before Ah got here, or were ye jest goen' t' sleep righ' through?"

Dale didn’t respond, aside from a faint mumble that could have been interpreted any number of ways. Kesey returned his crossbow to its holder, walking around the chair and giving Dale a kick in the ribs. "Come on," he ordered, walking past him to the door. "We have a lot o' work t' do."

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

After an hour's cleaning, brushing, sweeping, and arranging, most of it done by Dale under Kesey's supervision, the Kreehold Barracks were restored to their picturesque grandness. The chandeliers were all lit and cobweb-free, the majority of the dust was removed from the trophies, and the conference room now looked like the den of cruelty and debauchery it had once been. Even the broken chairs were doing their part to help, burning away merrily in the conference room fireplace. Kesey had ordered that the room's chandelier remain unlit, making the fireplace the only source of light beyond a single flickering candle centered on the table.

The Kreehold Captain was in his office, carefully running his paw along the room's single bookshelf and reading the titles by the dim light. Finding one that apparently interested him, he pulled it from the shelves, taking it to his seat at the desk. It was a strange sight- the pine marten seated in the stern chair, silhouetted by the fire, reading a book by dim candlelight.

"Dale," Kesey ordered, speaking to the rat who had just brought in a vase of platycodons, "man the lobby desk. As soon as the merc'naries arrive, send them in." Dale nodded grudgingly before departing, leaving the vase on the desk.

Kesey returned to the book.


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard walked through the streets only holding three things. First: His cutlass which was resting in a leather strand tied to his belt. He never knew when a guard or Fogey could appear in the streets and he wanted to have something to fight with other than his claws.

Second: A notebook, he was busy trying to remember some rules about a game he was to teach to a fellow crew beast. Also he wanted to take a few notes for himself about the Kreehold. Of course he would burn the papers after he memorized them before returning to his ship.

And third: An invitation hidden inside his coat. It contained directions to the Kreehold Headquarters, and proof that he was sent by Padraig Kesey since he was a new member of the Kreehold.

As he walked through the revolving doors he called out silently "Hello? Any beast in here?" His voice echoed in the darkness. Rijard looked around the dark lobby. No one seemed to be there. He was about to give up and leave when a rat walked in the room.

"Oh hello," said the rat, "what brings you here?"

"I was sent here by Padraig Kesy," Rijard pulled out from his coat and gave him the piece of paper Kesey wrote his invitation. "He said some beast called Dale could help me settle in. You are Dale aren't you?" He put his paw on the handle of his cutlass.

"Aye that's me. Now if you follow me I'll show you to the conference room." He motioned with his hand for Rijard to follow. As they walked to the conference room Rijard kept his paw on the cutlass. Only when they entered the conference room did he remove his paw.

He hung up his coat on a chair's back and sat down. "The Captain will be with you in a moment and the others should be here soon," Dale said as he left the conference room. Rijard sat there waiting for the others and wondered what their discussion would be tonight.



Xhavek Mokorai
And out of nowhere a certain lizard was flung through the entrance of the Kreehold building. Dale stared open-mouthed as the short monitor picked himself up and dusted himself off.

"Ztupid ztreet gangz trying to throw zeir veight around. I'll fix zem, alright. Of courze zen I'm going to zettle vith zat zorry little rodent who told me zat he had payed zem to leave me off. Oh yez I'm gonna hurt him good. Huh? Oh hey Dale? Got outta jail again I zee."

Dale closed his mouth and grinned sloppily, everything was cool it was just Xhavek. The little lizard was known for popping up everywhere once in a while, usually by way of some big beast launching him. That or of his own volition of movement. But usually because he got punched there. Xhavek grinned back with his trademark manic grin. "Yeah I joined ze Kreehold if you didn't know but I'll get to you in juzt a moment. I've got zome buzinezz to finish firzt."

With that Xhavek stalked back out the door of the Kreehold HQ. And a few seconds later there was much loud roaring and screams of pain, then just as quickly the air was eerily silent. Then Xhavek walked back through the door. He sported several cuts, one of which was a rather deep one just above his left eye. His vest was torn and his slacks had a nice little gash in the right leg. Dale's mouth dropped open again at the sight of the half-mad monitor covered in cuts. How did he manage that in such a short time?

Xhavek's self-satisfied grin broadened at Dale's reaction. "Zere vere a lot of zem. And zen ze Fogey'z showed up. Late az uzual. Anyhoo iz ze Captain here?"

"No but he asked for the mercs ter gather in the conference room."

"Right zen, off I go. Zee ya Dale." As Xhavek went to go past Dale's desk Dale halted him.

"Sorry Xhav but can ya prove yer a Kreehold? I mean you’re a good fighter an' all but I need proof."

"How about zis I don't rip your throat out and inztead I show you zat nize little zpot vhere you learn to zing ze high notez in choir."

"Huh? What're y-?" Unfortunately Dale didn't get to finish his sentence because he was too busy clutching himself in that oh so tender fork in his legs. Xhavek pulled his fist away from the now prone beast and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Padraig Kezey iz a crewbeazt on ze Hide ztupid. He perzonally erecruited me. Oh and next time I rip it off. Have a nize day Dale!"

Xhavek righted himself and left the piteously mewling Dale to hold himself in solitude. Xhavek hummed to himself as he walked into the conference room. Xhavek nodded at the mercenary already present and plonked himself down on one of the leather chairs and promptly sat back up. He reached down and pulled an old nail from the cushion. After studying the offending article he tossed it away and sat back down. He looked up and the other fighter-for-hire. "Zo vhat'z up? How'd Kezey drag you into zis mezz?"



Keinruf Wright
Far below the ground, a mile and a half away from the Kreehold Barracks...

Keinruf Wright ran.

The cavernous room was empty, but for himself and the cells. There was no light, nothing to guide his path. But he knew each step, knew each turn, each smell and sound. If one were to have a top-down perspective of the derelict Ministry of Commerce dungeon, one would be reminded of the Four side of a die, with the white being the path between the cells, and the black being the four prison blocks in the middle of the room. Smaller cells lined the outside of this layout; if Keinruf took one wrong turn, missed a step, he'd get a snoutful of iron.

He didn't. He ran on in perfect rhythm, breathing easily — an ease that he'd never felt before in his life. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Occasionally, the marten would drop his upright pose and run on all fours, his spine coiling, bounding in an arc.

He was getting better. Every day, he felt well enough to do one more lap around the dungeon. His strength was returning, as was his health. It was a shame he didn't have anybeast to practice swordfighting with, but that was a skill he decided he no longer needed. Running would be enough. If you could run fast enough, you'd never have to stick around to deal with the beasts with swords.

As he ran, he thought. He thought about support beams and seasonal climates. He thought about the friction between match-heads and wood, thought about the spark of flint on steel. He thought about leverage and architecture. He thought about salt and farmlands...

His legs and arms ached, but he kept on, until he'd gone not once, but twice more around than he had the previous day. He collapsed with a sigh onto a cot in one of the cells, and just lie there, enjoying the feeling of being alive, until the fire in his chest left him, to be replaced by a gnawing in his gut.

The marten sat, pulled on his shirt and scarf, and trudged towards one of the room's exits. There were two tunnels, opposite each other, on either end of the dungeons. One led to the main MinoComm tax-payer's dungeon facility, the other...

It took a mile of dank passages and half a mile of uneven before Keinruf reached the tight, circular staircase that led up through the Kreehold Barracks. The stone walls were thick, not prone to allowing sound through; when one took a screaming, sobbing prisoner down, one didn't want the rest of the building to hear it. At the top, he unlatched the revolving door and swung it around.

This was the Torture Chamber. Blood channels ran in grooves along the floor, towards small pipes that drained out the side of the building. There were no windows, just sacks of straw nailed to the walls. A large chair sat imposingly in the center of the room, and shelves upon shelves of tools rusted from misuse and lack of proper cleaning. It was a room Keinruf knew well. He'd furnished it, after all...

The marten stepped forwards, let the wall swing back behind him — the blackened bricks of the tunnel became just another section of wall covered in sacks, just like the rest. The locking latch had originally been on this side of the secret door, to allow him access to the prisoners below.

Today was going to be a good day, he decided. He had certain arrangements with Dale. He'd let the rat live, and the rat would provide him with food whenever he wasn't currently incarcerated. There was now some food on the shelf, hidden amongst the tools: a greasy swaddling of non-fish fishsticks in an old Smelt and a flask of water. Days when Dale was in jail were not good days for Keinruf. Going out into Bully Harbour to get himself food was not his idea of a fun time.

The marten hurriedly gathered up Dale's offering and had begun to go back to the dungeons when his ears pricked. There were noises coming from the floor below, too many noises. More noises than one stupid rat ought to be able to make himself. Keinruf wrinkled his nose.

Platycodons.

So they were back.

Slowly, Keinruf grinned.™ This was good. His plans needed a scapestoat.

Making an effort to be as quiet as possible, he pawed the secret doorway around again, re-latched the door, and sat on the top step of the spiral staircase to eat in the dark.



Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard sat at the large table waiting for the rest of the Kreehold. The only light was a single candlestick in the middle of the table and the fire at the end of the room. It was an interesting setup of lighting, the fire cast random shadows throughout the conference room, leaving the candle a more solid light source. The light was too dim for writing so Rijard put his notebook away.

The next beast to enter was a short monitor lizard. Rijard thought he'd seen the beast on the Hide. He seemed to sit down and stand back up as if he were stung by a bee. He pulled a nail from his seat and sat back down. Then he looked at Rijard, and started to speak in a strange accent. "Zo vhat'z up? How'd Kezey drag you into zis mezz?"

It took Rijard a few moments to understand what he said, and a few more to figure what he would say. "Kesey and I are on the same ship, I believe you are as well, the Golden Hide. My first day and I got into a fight with the bothersome Brek. I suppose Kesey saw some fresh skill in me and offered me a position of Kreehold mercenary. I don't think we have met before, officially that is," Rijard frowned trying to remember if he had.

He studied his face until he gave up. Even if they had the dim light and the shadows that seemed to dance across the lizard's scales. "I'm Rijard M. Chaos, you can call me Chaos if you wish."



Xhavek Mokorai
"Kesey and I are on the same ship, I believe you are as well, the Golden Hide. My first day and I got into a fight with the bothersome Brek. I supose Kesey saw some fresh skill in me and offered me a position of Kreehold mercenary. I don't think we have met before, officially that is. I'm Rijard M. Chaos, you can call me Chaos if you wish."

"Hmm zat name....vhy doez it ring a bell?.....Letz zee....,' Xhavek began to make odd grasping gestures in the air with one of his claws, as if to pluck the memory from out of the very air. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and smiled. "Ah yez! You're zat pine marten in charge of zat little band of vagabondz, ze Forgotten. You know you really should give up ze life of a ztreet gangmember, itz usually short and ze end iz alvayz painful. I vould know, I've killed mine fair share of you pozturing little foolz. Unlezz of courze you're one of ze few vith a brain?"

It wasn't that the monitor disliked Rijard personally it was just that the young beast was involved in what Xhavek saw as a waste of time. Getting wrapped up in petty squabbles about whose territory was whose when in reality they were all under the big leaguers made no sense. The fighters who roamed the streets in their 'gangs' were little more than wanna-be Furotazzis. And the Tazzis only had interest in them when they could be used as arrow or dagger fodder. And to be honest most of those street toughs were useful for little else. Though there were a few that were a bit more they were far and few between.

Oddly enough Xhavek had been approached by several different gangs looking to add him and his reputation for savagery to their number. However each and every one of them had gone home with bruised egos and even more bruised bodies. This lizard was much more interested in messing with the bigtime beasts than the nameless pawns. Actually the ones who Xhavek was really after were anybeast involved with MAUL. In a million little ways Xhavek sought to be a pest to the shadowy government faction. The short lizard had to be a lot more subtle than he preferred but if that meant living a little longer and allowing him to bother MAUL a bit more than so be it.

Xhavek broke off from his musing and smiled once more at the marten. "Be offended if you vant to be. I'm juzt ztating ze truth. Mozt of you thugz aren't exactly vhat I vould call intelligent."


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard listened to the lizard's story. "Ah, so ye are the one who my fellows kept babblin' about, the 'Short Scales' as they called ye. Aye I remember those who were claimed dead from runnin' into ye. Fools they were, hardly any of me group had enough brains to tie a knot, if ye know what I mean." He leaned on the table as he spoke.

"Well believe me, I've given up that life long ago once I found thugs like that don't do well as a career. I knew I could become more than another gang member with the wits I had possessed. So I decided to start a little revolution, going from town t' town lookin' fer new recruits. But just as I planned my first strike the blasted police caught up t' meh and sent me to prison! Being the leader they had me in longest, the rest had left thug life or joined another gang when I got out."

"With nowhere t' go after that I decided to earn me own money in the navy. But all those rules! So when Kesey offered me a position here in the Kreehold I said to meself 'Bah! Forget these rules, I want me old life back. Back in the destruction, the fear, back into Chaos.' So 'ere I am, right in front of the Short Scales himself!" Rijard leaned back as he finished.


Padraig Kesey
Kesey was reading a rather interesting page on guillotining when a knock sounded on the door. Instantly Kesey picked up his loaded crossbow from under the desk, flicked the safety, and held it at his side, concealed from view by the desk. "Enter," he called, tensed to bring it up and fire.

It was Dale. The large rat blinked stupidly for a moment before making a hasty (and obviously just-remembered) salute. "Yer mercenaries are 'ere," he reported, shuffling uncomfortably. He winced for a moment, accentuating his strange limp.

Kesey nodded, switching the safety to its original position. "Ah'll be there." He returned the crossbow to its holster on his back, making sure it was secure. The holster had taken two months and collaboration with three different leather crafters, each one picking up where the last left off, in order to finish. Kesey had several subsequent models and replacements designed, which at all times remained with him. As one holster wore out, Kesey commissioned another one from a set of very specific plans. He had not shown those plans to anyone besides the beast immediately crafting it, and never planned to release them.

When Kesey arrived at a the conference room, he was disappointed. Only two of his prized mercenaries had arrived. Then again, that was out of a group of six, including himself. Half the mercenaries were better than none. Kesey lurked in the shadowy hallway for a time, listening to them. It was not good. It was obvious that Xhavek was an experienced fighter and criminal, just as he originally thought. Rijard, though possessing great talent, potential, and experience, was still not enough to impress the lizard. Soon their storytelling was turning into an outright bragging contest, and was threatening to escalate. Quickly Kesey intervened.

"'Tis nae a gang yer in," Kesey said loudly, walking into the room. The glow played across his moleskin jacket and hare-fur epaulets, dancing up to his face, outlining the contours. The tiny irregular tufts and cuts left from a lifetime of rebellion and violence seemed magnified by the candlelight, revealing the toll that fighting a constant war had taken on the marten. For the first time he truly looked about 40; he could easily have been Rijard's father.

Kesey stopped exactly halfway down the table, paused between Rijard and Xhavek. He glared at them for a moment before continuing. "But yer nae in the mafia either. Yer group really shoul' keep its secrets, Xhavek," Kesey added. "'Tis a whole underworld ou' there, en' it dunnae like t' keep silent." Finding out about the Furotazzis had been kit's play — practically every black market weapons dealer, drug smuggler, and even leather tailor knew about Bully Harbor's most predominant mafia. Really, there were no secrets in the underworld; they were traded enough that soon everybeast in the criminal network knew them, but had an unspoken pact not to reveal them. At least, not to anyone who wasn't of "their own". Even then, it cost a high price. It had been a long and arduous process to immerse himself in the criminal network, but eventually a combination of threats and his new rank as Kreehold Captain had garnered the required respect. Intimidation worked too.

"Naw," Kesey glared at them, "Ah dunnae know where our other merc'naries are, bu' weh'll jest have t' continue wit'out them. If they show oop, they show oop. If nae, then weh owe them nothen'."

Kesey pulled out the chair before him, sitting down. He motioned for the others to sit as well.

"Ah dunnae like speaken', so Ah'll be short. The Kreehold, as of now, is weak." He showed no emotion as he proclaimed the fact. His face remained unreadable behind the harshness in his eyes. "Fer the past year 'tis been a bloody mess, nae even worthy o' its name. Ah wunnae tolerate that." Kesey glared at the two mercenaries, challenging them to speak. "Already only half our number is here. Our first meeting!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. It rattled, nearly tipping the candle. Hot wax sputtered on the oaken surface. Kesey's anger dissipated slowly, his breathing growing calmer. "'Tis nae any fault of yer own," he affirmed. "They'll get what 'tis comen' t' them." There was a deadliness in his voice that indicated Rijard and Xhavek should consider themselves lucky they were on time.

There was a quick rap on the door. Dale hustled in, trying to squeeze his copious bulk behind chairs in an effort to reach Kesey. He was still moving with a pronounced limp originating somewhere in his pelvic area, and seemed extremely nervous as he passed Xhavek. At last he handed Kesey a sheet of parchment, whispered something quickly to the Captain, and hurried off through the kitchen. Kesey read it once before tossing it onto the table, between Xhavek and Rijard.

"Here," he looked at each of the Kreeholders, "is yer first mission. A merchant called Goldfur wants t' settle a feud wit' a competitor the hard way. We're t' sink the Heartwood Eagle, en' make sure it looks like en' accident. In mah mind tha' means three parts — setten' a galley fire t' make it look acciden'l, setten' another fire en' the hold where all the rum is, en' cutten' it adrift. This," he looked at them in turn, "is yer proven' moment. Ah'll give ye yer assignments when we get there. Any questions?"


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard sat and listened to his captain. Kesey had told him his first mission. He was excited but refused to show it. A good old feud between merchants, though Rijard was unfamiliar with the kind of situation. However Rijard was good at making "accidents." Rijard read the scroll in front of him, simple task, good pay.

"Only question from me," said Rijard "When do we start?" He looked up from the scroll, a smile on his face that spread across one cheek and leaving the other still.


Padraig Kesey
Kesey smiled at Rijard's one question. "Weh'll be leaven' righ' naw, if ye're ready." He moved to a candleholder protruding high on the wall, seizing and pulling it. The wall moved with it, revealing the entrance to a dark room. A faint glimmer in the darkness revealed the presence of an armory. Taking the candle from the table, Kesey walked into the darkness, touching the flickering flame to several old torches. The wooden sticks burst into life, revealing the fabled Kreehold Armory. Weapons of every size, type, shape, and make hung from the wall or rested on racks, the silver glint of death everywhere.

Kesey turned, looking at his two mercenaries. "Take anythen' ye like," he told them, motioning at the many rows of ornate (and sometimes grotesque) weaponry. "If ye want t' use yer own trusted blades en' bows, that be fine as well." He patted his own beloved crossbow.


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard walked into the hidden room. Amazed at the number of weapons inside, he remarked at all the tools used for combat. He wasn't even too experienced with his cutlass, yet, he pulled a short bow and a quiver of arrows.

He wanted to try another weapon, Rijard's accuracy was slightly respectable. He had gotten plenty of practice at throwing rocks at Brek and other beasts. Now he had his own ranged weapon that would come in useful when needed. He stuck the unstrung bow in the quiver with the string attached to the top end, then strapped the quiver around his shoulder.

"I'm ready," said Rijard when he walked out.


Xhavek Mokorai
When Xhavek heard the names Goldfur and Heartwood a broad malicious grin spread across his scaly (and still bleeding) features. Oh he had an old score to settle with both of those families and this would be a supreme pleasure. Oh yes indeed he was going to enjoy this very much. The short monitor stood after a precursory glance at the contract paper and strode over to the armory. His icy blue eyes glinted as they swept over the various instruments of death adorning the walls. Then his frosty orbs centered on a pair of very promising gauntlets.

He quickly walked over to them and lifted them off their pegs. He lifted them to his eyes to get a better inspection of them. They were steel with spikes lining the back of them and had large knuckle studs on them. However the most important quality of them was that the ends of the fingers were long and resembled his own claws. Xhavek pulled off one of his gloves and for a brief instant his brand scar was visible in the torchlight, then it was covered by the wicked looking gauntlet. And unbelievably the thing fit his claw like it was made for him. Experimentally he flexed his claw and found that despite the added weight of the weapon it didn't limit any of his movement. Now this was a true warrior's treasure. How in the world the Kreehold had gotten a hold of these Xhavek had no idea but that didn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of this opportunity. Quickly he slid its mate on and grinned at Padraig and Rijard.

"Theze vill do nizely, yez? Vell vhat're ve vaiting for eh? Letz get zis show on ze road."


Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
Drumein had been born extremely premature, in fact the midwife had proclaimed his survival as a miracle. That had been the last time he had been early for anything, perhaps it was karma, maybe whoever's in charge up there over compensated when they had tried to get Drum in sync with the rest of the world after his premature birth, or most likely the big stoat just had a really bad memory.

“Take a left now sir.”

Drumein ran as quickly as his mighty bulk would allow, down the streets and avenues towards the Imperial Barracks. He looked much as he usually did, dirty, dull-headed, and slightly hung over. In his left forepaw his carried his precious ten pound ball-peen hammer. And under his right arm, dangerously close to Drum's armpit was a very nervous, rather scholarly looking rat holding onto a tattered piece of paper for dear life.

“You should take a right now, if you wouldn't mind sir”

Said the rat reading off the paper the directions to the Imperial Barracks. If he could make it that far then Drum would have to conjure up enough mental power to remember his conversion with the mysterious Mr. Kesey when he had told him how to find the Kreehold barracks from there. As well as what would happen to Drum if he betrayed Mr. Kesey. The obese stoat didn't much care for remembering that part.

“Now, if you feel so inclined, perhaps you could take the right road of this fork.”

Of course Drum didn't know how to find the Imperial Barracks, that was where Mr. Scholarly Looking Rat came in. The poor abused beast had opened up his little book store early that morning, the day had been going quite good, and whole ten sales, rather impressive when considering the illiterate nature of Bully Harbor's inhabitants. Then that afternoon a dirty, a flustered looking stoat came in asking for directions to the Imperial Barracks, Mr. Scholarly L. Rat had obliged cheerfully, writing the directions down for a confused looking stoat. The stoat had looked grimly from the paper to the rat several times before all Hellgates broke out. Now here he was being carried through the streets being told that if he didn't direct his captor to the 'Barracks promptly he would be experience a great deal of pain. Or as Drumein had put it, “Yo'r intrails will 'come yo'r outrails.”

“And I do believe we have arrived at your destination sir.”

Mr. Rat said with relief that showed prominently on his face. Drum slowed to stumbling gait, his panting mouth open wide, tongue lolling out on one side. He slowly gazed about at his surroundings, It was the Imperial Barracks, and naturally rather Spartan in design, but to a beast who had spent almost their whole life in the Slups it looked like the Promised Land.

“You may release me now sir, if you like. I've done as you asked, you would have my gratitude if you wou- THUMP”

Scholarly was dropped to the ground, and Drum stumbled off wordlessly, still panting heavily. Grateful to be walking on his own two feet again the rat ran off back towards the city, his numb paws still clutching the little piece of paper.

Drumein's legs felt like noodles under his enormous weight, sweat stung his eyes something fierce, and he was greatly regretting stealing that little weasel tykes food on his way to the rat's book store. He felt cold chills sweep across his tingling skin, as suddenly throbbing pain in the back of his head took him by surprise.

“'Gates”

As he stumbled into a convenient alleyway a wave of nausea overtook him, and he deposited his last meal into the gutter.

“Ah blood' 'ellgates”

Despite the continuing discomfort Drum forced his mind to recall the words of Mr. Kesey. Take two lefts, a right, a left. Right? Or left? 'Gates.

As he was beginning to give up all hope of finding the meeting place, and perhaps steady pay and meals, he stumbled upon the place. A great grey building, with its name written on a sign.

That's convenient

He thought silently as he entered the place through some great revolving doors, which Drum would have loved to use a few more times. He entered a large lobby, with shining chandeliers and a large desk in the middle. But what was foremost in Drum's sluggish mind was the voices emanating from an open doorway that sat squarely (though the doorway was more of a rectangle) across from the large stoat. He moved almost quietly towards the door, his heart throbbing loudly in his ears, though it had been doing that since halfway through his run.

"I'm ready,"

Said a voice as its owner exited the room, Drum successfully held back an embarrassing squeal as he found himself face to face with a dark-furred, heavily armed pine marten.

Overtaken by another wave of nausea Drumein Christoph Doozle heroically fought off dry heaves as he mumbled an introduction.

“'Ullo, um I'm The Drum. I'm 'ere t'see Mr. Kesey.”


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard came face to face with a tall stoat. He was almost three feet over Rijard. Before the stoat could speak Rijard had his cutlass to the throat. Without even noticing, or possibly not feeling threatened by Rijard, The stoat began to speak.

“'Ullo, um I'm The Drum. I'm 'ere t'see Mr. Kesey.”

Quikly Rijard lowered his cutlass with care and skill, then immediately grabbed the stoat's chest fur. Even though he was short, he was strong. "Mr. Kesey eh?" He asked, "He's right o'er here." Rijard dragged the so called Drum to where Kesey stood in the armory. "He says he come here for you Kesey." He threw the stoat to Kesey's feet. "Calls 'imself The Drum."



Padraig Kesey
Kesey watched as his mercenaries made good use of the famous (or was it infamous?) Kreehold Armory. Rijard seized a ranged weapon, which immediately earned him Kesey's approval, while Xhavek chose a pair of gauntlets that seemed custom-made for him. Kesey smiled maliciously. With a force like this, even such a small one, Bully Harbor had reason to fear.

Suddenly one of the "late" mercenaries arrived, running straight into Rijard. Instantly the young marten sprang to life, putting a cutlass to his throat. When the large stoat identified himself as The Drum, Rijard lowerd the cutlass before dragging the stoat to Kesey.

"He says he come here for you Kesey." He threw Drum forward. "Calls 'imself The Drum."

Kesey stared at the stoat coldly. There was an iciness to his gaze, the kind that could pierce right through a beast. It was the most dangerous of Kesey's moods. Instead of letting his anger flow, where it could either boil down or get the best of him, iciness meant his anger had a defined form, and he knew exactly what to do with it. Most beasts were lucky to live when he was in that kind of mood.

"Ye're late," he said frostily. He pawfingered the hilt of his new sword. Kesey was not a forgiving beast by any stretch of the imagination. But still, good mercenaries were hard to come by. Besides, he needed the stoat.

Kesey brushed past Drum, already moving onto the next thing. "Change o' plans," he said loudly, grabbing a large scroll from among many stored in a honeycombed recess. Glancing at its contents, Kesey turned to the room and spread them on the table. It was a large set of galleon plans.* "'Tis naw four parts t' the operat'n. Drum, ye'll cut the lines leaden' t' the dock so weh kin git this thing out int' the harbor. Ye'll then git onboard en' start readyen' a longboat. Weh'll have t' leave in a hurry, en' Ah dunnae plan t' go down wit' the ship." It was by no means the prime job, but Kesey still was angry with the stoat. Although in all earnestness the job was a vital one — by the time they lit the rum barrels, they wouldn't have time to lower a longboat. They'd be lucky if they had time to clamber into it.

"Mokorai, Rijard, ye'll git rid o' th' night watch en' the cap'n. Dunnae fail meh," he warned them, an intensity in his voice. "Weh kinnae fall int' battle wit' the crew. If weh do, it willnae be long b'fore the law shows oop en' our plans are ruined. Mokorai, if ye do take them down, git t' the quart'rdeck en' guide it int' the harbor. Rijard, go t' the galley en' start a fire. Throw a glove on the stove," he suggested. He had no idea if it would work, but it was the best he could think of. Kesey had never been good at cooking anyway.

"Ah'll wait 'til the fire's lit, en' then Ah'll take care o' the rum. Weh'll have t' run then. Ah dunnae care who gets in our way goen' out, cut them down. 'Tis our survival, lads." He looked at each of the mercenaries. It would be a good first mission for the Kreehold — challenging and dangerous, with many separate parts riding on each other. The odds of such a plan succeeding were a thousand to one. Kesey never got tired of beating the odds.

"One more thing," Kesey said suddenly, remembering. He fished around in both his jacket pockets before bringing out what looked like four black, stretchy, woolen socks. He tossed one to each of them. "Masks," he explained, pulling the material over his own snout. His cold eyes stared out from wide holes in the mask, his jaw open thanks to another, larger hole. The mask didn't cover all of his fur, but enough of it to generally disguise his identity. Still, the main purpose of the mask seemed to be intimidation; with the mask on, Kesey suddenly seemed ten times more dangerous and ruthless. Pulling off the mask, Kesey stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. "Dunnae put them on yet," he ordered. "Weh'll wait until the docks."

Without waiting for his mercenaries (or giving Drum a chance to raid the armory), Kesey turned and left the room.

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

The Eagle was exactly where the contract said it would be. At a glance Kesey counted two guards, one stationed toward the bow and one toward the stern. Thick ropes kept the swaying vessel tethered to the dock. The time was now. Kesey had left instructions with Dale on how to get to the site and what to do, in case any other Kreeholders showed up late.

Kesey pulled on his black mask, which unevenly covered his head. "Mokorai, Rijard, naw 'tis your chance," he ordered quietly. "Drum, go t' the bow rope." He pointed at a long rope tied to a post on the street itself. The angle meant that neither of the watchbeasts could see it. "Untie that, then wait fer the other two t' remove the watch. If anything goes wrong," Kesey warned them, "run, en' dunnae stop until at least a sector away." Of course, if anyone botched it they'd have a lot more trouble awaiting them than just the law, but Kesey had stressed that point enough.

*Galleon plans at (link no longer available)


Rijard M. Chaos
The Kreehold Mercenaries stood on the docks in front of the galleon Heartwood Eagle. Rijard followed Kesey as he pulled on his mask. The sock mask smelled, as if some beast had worn it recently. "Mokorai, Rijard, naw 'tis your chance," Rijard was off before he addressed Drum. They climbed from a plank onto the ship.

He turned to Xhavek once aboard, "I'll take care the night watch towards the bow and start me way towards the stern. You should take the cap'n, since I don't trust meself being too careful. Had a beet o' rum before I had left the Hide. Then get the rest of the guards in between me and ye." Before he let the lizard respond he was off into the darkness.

He made his way to the bow. He didn't approach any beast or even attempt to kill them. He almost made it to the bow when he heard a hushed voice call. "Ho there! What are you doing?" He turned, some beast was coming toward him! He cursed under his breath, thinking of a way to get out of trouble. Rijard pulled of his mask and turned to face the wildcat that approached him.

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

Jeremey was having a good night. The wildcat stood on deck watching the waves. A soft breeze blew threw his dark fur. He was about to retire for the night when he saw a beast pass him. "Ho there! What are you doing?" he called as he walked to the beast.

It was a pine marten, he walked and stood towering over the creature. "State your business on the Heartwood Eagle?"

"Oh sorry for the disturbance." The pine marten spoke quietly. "I was just looking fer somethin'. I left me stuff on the docks and must o' turned up here. So I'm just doin' some quick lookin' around for it before this ship takes off." He smiled.

Jeremey believed him. "Fair enough, carry on." Jeremey left the him to his searchings. He then went down to his bunk below the decks for the night.

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

Rijard left out a gasp of relief. That was a close one for the entire Kreehold. He returned to his current job, getting rid of the night watch.


Keinruf Wright
Dale the rat (from Jail), was in a curious mood. He sat at the bar in the corner of the Kreehold Common room, pondering over a large mug of ale. Most of the pondering was along the lines of, "hm, I wonder 'ow much seconds I ought ter wait before I take anudder swig." But there were some other thoughts drowning in his brain, thoughts regarding pine martens and platycodons. These thoughts were being used as driftwood so the thoughts about females and fighting could be kept afloat.

It really was unfair, the rat thought miserably, that they'd left him here. He was itching for a good brawl and to knock some teeth out of a pretty ratmaid... or ugly ratmaid, he didn't really care.

He gave a sudden belch of surprise as his mug was torn from his grasp and thrown across the room. Another paw gripped the nape of his neck and dragged him off his barstool, over to the opposite corner, away from all the alcohol fermenting behind the bar.

"K-Keinruf!" he burbled. He was hefted over the back of a couch, something warm and scratchy placed against his neck. Warm and scratchy was never a good sign. Cold and sharp, now, that was a proper feeling. Cold and sharp meant that whatever was going to cut you would do so quickly and cleanly and probably not hurt as much. Warm and scratchy meant it was going to feel like sandpaper sawing through your bones and if you weren't lucky, you survived long enough to find a doctor and then died a few months later from infection or chunks of rusty metal clogging up your veins...

"Masks?" the marten spat. "Four off dem, vearink masks?"

"I know, sir! 's an insult to th'Kreehold! They aren't e'en wearin' th'flower! If I'da gone, I'd've taken th'flower an' not worn a mask, sir!"

"Don't be stupid," Keinruf said, bopping him with the hilt of the old dagger. "Masks. Vhy didn't ve effer t'ink off masks?" Keinruf frowned. Not that it would help him much. A mask wouldn't hide his lopsided ear or his halftail, and a mask certainly wouldn't hide his accent.

"Vhere did dey go? Show me."

Dale shook as he led Keinruf to the map, still splayed out on the table.

"Some ship, sir. Not one'f th'Navy ones. Merchant one. Ferget th'name. They're gonna burn it down."

Keinruf hummed. Kreehold burning things was nothing new, but...

"After dey steal der cargo?"

"Don't think so, sir. No one mentioned it."

"Hm."

"Sir?"

"Did you... tell dem... about me?"

"Nosir."

"Gut. Do not mention me. If you do..." Keinruf patted Dale's back in a friendly manner. This was, in a way, far more frightening than any threatening motion he could have made. "...I vill haff to kill you."

"An' it won't be fast?"

"Off course it vill be fast," Keinruf said, giving a chuckle that sounded like rusty wire being dragged across sandpaper. "Compared to der complete history off der Imperium."

Dale blinked. "Urm..."

Keinruf sighed.

"It vill be slow. Very slow. You might die off old age before I get around to lettink you off der rack."

"Oh," Dale said. He glanced down at his trousers. "I fink I need ter go change now."



Xhavek Mokorai
Xhavek shook his head at Rijard as he plunged headlong up the planking. No class or brains that one. Ah well he might as well enjoy this. Xhavek grinned malevolently to himself as he cautiously made his way along the side railing. He, unlike the pretentious marten, had chosen a more covert way of stealing onto the ship. And like a shadow of doom the short monitor lizard slithered onto the deck.

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

The stoat stood idly watching the waters, though technically he was on duty he had already imbibed a few rounds of grog. He sighed again and turned around. Just in time to stare into the coldest blue eyes he'd ever seen. For a few seconds he numbly stared at the beast before then all at once he collapsed in pain and seized his throat. His mouth flapping open and shut like that of a fish he desperately tried to draw breath from his shattered trachea. He gazed up and saw a cruelly grinning masked face.

"Don't vorry you von't be in pain much longer." With that Xhavek reached down and broke the poor beast’s neck in twain. Wishing he could linger, Xhavek dropped the now dead stoat to the deck and moved on, he had other targets tonight. Silently, and barely suppressing his bloodlust, he prowled the ebon darkness. Soon the short lizard came to another guard who ended his life with his lifeblood spilling from a broken ribcage and a torn throat. The last guard in Xhavek's path died without a scream, the unfortunate rat's own tail used to strangle him. Now his way was clear sailing.

With studious care Xhavek knelt and picked the lock on the captain's door. And as his door softly slid open the captain slept on in obliviousness. Xhavek smiled grimly, he needed to get some blood down his throat and soon because this killing without feasting was torture. Most furries tended to forget that their scaly companions were flesh-eaters and that was a grievous oversight. Especially for a lizard with the twisted background that this one in particular had. And as he raised his gauntleted claws above his head to shred the blithely snoring fox into nothing but ribbons, he stopped a shocked expression on his masked features.

He looked just like Julia Freedom! Xhavek shuddered as he lowered his metal encased claws to his side. He had nearly murdered Julia's brother! What could he do? If he simply slit this guy's throat he'd end up with Julia being incredibly depressed and weeping and Xhavek would know he was responsible. He couldn't do that, the guilt would ride him mercilessly. But he couldn't just walk away either. What was he going to do? Then suddenly Xhavek grinned anew, a rather clever idea forming in his mind.


Rijard M. Chaos
After his encounter with Jeremey, Rijard had hid behind a wooden pillar that held the sails up. He strung his bow and hung it on his shoulder. Then he ran to the ratlines and started to climb. He reached the crow's nest, inside there was a sleeping rat. Rijard pulled his cutlass out and cut the rat's throat. Then he threw his victim over the small walls. The irony of its destination made Rijard laugh inside, he hung on the ratline themselves!

"Rest in peace beastie," Rijard whispered to the corpse. His plan was to use the crow's nest to take most of the guard out from there. Ducking inside the barrel like stand, he prepared his bow and notched an arrow. Standing up quickly he aimed at a beast on the deck. As he let the string go he felt one jolt go through him. The arrow landed a few feet away from the target. The beast went to inspect the arrow. Not wasting time Rijard pulled out another arrow and killed him before he could scream.

Rijard pulled out another arrow to the closest beast next to his fellow guard. He let go and watched the beast go down. Taking time to shoot his targets and he had almost taken out most of the guard.

He put his bow back on his shoulder and climbed down from the ratlines to fight the rest on foot. As he descended he saw a guard he hadn't noticed. He was inspecting the corpse of Rijard's victims. Thinking quickly, Rijard did something rather clever in less than a minute. He cut a rope from the edge of the nets of the ratlines while slipping downwards. Before he reached the ground he swung himself off the ratlines in the direction of the guard. The swing was exciting and frightful, even to Rijard. His cutlass in hand, he came closer into the beast. Once in reach he sliced into its body.

He dropped the rest of the way down. His paws ached and were covered with rope burn. He ignored them. Now he headed for the captain's where Xhavek was. He started picking up arrows from bodies and putting them back into his quiver on the way.

At the doorway he saw Xhavek inside. He hadn't yet killed the captain, but Rijard was in no rush. He waited for about a minute, watching the short lizard do nothing. Finally he lost his patience. "Xhavek," Rijard whispered, "hurry this up. We have yet another part o' the mission t' do."


Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
The wave of nausea had come at even a worse time then he had thought, before Drum could even recover from his spastic stomach the little marten had pulled him off balance by a mighty tug on his chest fur. This had been painful enough but the booming fall was even worse, Drumein was a mighty powerful beast, but once laying face down on the ground he was a bit pathetic. Oh 'gates that little whelp is going to b- Gah! The surprisingly strong marten grabbed Drum scruff and dragged him into the room, across the floor and then left him struggling there at the feet of somebeast who he could only see from the knees down, due to his position on the floor.

"He says he come here for you Kesey. Calls 'imself The Drum."

The voice belonged to the marten whelp, and the name belonged to... Mr. Kesey! Thank Mar'kan , I'm safe! Drum began struggling to his feet, as difficult as it was he managed to pull himself to a sitting position before Kesey spoke.

"Ye're late,"

“Oh... 'Gates.”

Drumein rather expected those to be his last words, judging solely from how his new boss was looking at him. To say that his blood froze in his veins would had been a gross understatement, to say that the air in his lungs froze solid and exploded would have been closer to what Drum felt as those ice cold orbs gazed at him heartlessly. Then as suddenly as they had set upon him, they were gone, Mr. Kesey walked past an extremely nervous Mr. Doozle, who half expected the marten to spin around and behead him with some hidden blade. But instead Mr. Kesey just spoke.

"Change o' plans,"

And a sigh of relief escaped Drum's lips, he pulled himself the rest of the way up, then turned to face Mr. Kesey, as the marten pulled a rolled scroll from a nearby shelf and unrolled on a table.

"'Tis naw four parts t' the operat'n.” Drum resisted the urge to clap his paws jubilantly, and settled for crooked smile. He was one of those parts! “Drum, ye'll cut the lines leaden' t' the dock so weh kin git this thing out int' the harbor. Ye'll then git onboard en' start readyen' a longboat. Weh'll have t' leave in a hurry, en' Ah dunnae plan t' go down wit' the ship."

Down with the ship? They were sinking a ship? That prospect scared Drumein a bit, ships were big, tough things, with lots of beasts on board. Though Drum had once sunk a small rowboat in the harbor just by climbing on board he didn't have any experience in sinking larger vessels.

"Mokorai, Rijard, ye'll git rid o' th' night watch en' the cap'n. Dunnae fail meh... Weh kinnae fall int' battle wit' the crew. If weh do, it willnae be long b'fore the law shows oop en' our plans are ruined. Mokorai, if ye do take them down, git t' the quart'rdeck en' guide it int' the harbor. Rijard, go t' the galley en' start a fire. Throw a glove on the stove,"

Fire, the possibility of burning a ship had never occurred to Drum. It made sense he supposed ship were after all made of wood, which burned more than not. The stoat once again fought the urge clap his paws in appreciation for his clever boss's plan

"Ah'll wait 'til the fire's lit, en' then Ah'll take care o' the rum. Weh'll have t' run then. Ah dunnae care who gets in our way goen' out, cut them down. 'Tis our survival, lads." Mr. Kesey seemed to be finished then added. "One more thing."

He pulled four stretchy socks out from his jacket, which, Drum had just realized appeared to be made of moleskin. A sock was tossed to each of the mercs, after picking his up off the floor Drum realized it had several holes cut in it, luckily before he could make a fool of himself by mentioning this boss explained.

"Masks,"

After demonstrating how a beast was supposed to use these masks, and how effective they were, Mr. Kesey reminded his beasts.

"Dunnae put them on yet, Weh'll wait until the docks."

As the boss left the room, and both of the other mercs followed, it occurred to Drum that he was in charge of cutting the rope that attached the ship to the dock. Or more importantly the blade he would need to do that. In a mad rush as he found himself alone Drum grabbed the first blade he that came to his paws, then ran to the lobby after his fellow Kreeholders.

*

The walk went without any conversation, Drum sized up the other Kreeholders. Mr. Kesey was obviously a cold, calculating killer. The lizard was, like many of his kind rather short in stature, he didn't have much weight to him either, but walked with a dangerous gait. And the little marten who had basically done all but actually mop the floor with Drum back in the armory seemed like a rather dangerous beast, not like Mr. Kesey by any means, but not a marten you'd want to meet in a dark alley. That didn't mean that Drum respected him or liked though, the stoat wouldn't forget the humiliation he'd been dealt at the Kreehold base for quite some time.

Things seemed quiet enough when the little group reached the docks, Drum couldn’t help stare in slight awe at the great ships that were docked. Lined up neatly along the pier, each one pulling eagerly at its mooring lines. It was all greatly exciting for the slups-dwelling stoat, who had only seen ocean-going vessels up close once or twice, despite this he tried to hide his admiration for the ships from the others. Lest they thought it childish.

Kesey halted the group as they came within sight of a certain ship that was floating a bit low in the water, pulling the sock-turned-mask onto his head, he quickly issued orders to his two rather height challenged throat slitters, and then turned to our hero-stoat as they both headed towards the gangplank.

"Drum, go t' the bow rope." The deadly marten pointed it out, it seemed to be concealed from the ship. "Untie that, then wait fer the other two t' remove the watch. If anything goes wrong, run, en' dunnae stop until at least a sector away."

Drumein nodded grimly, and after donning his mask headed towards the bow line. It was tied to the dock he found, quite securely, he also found that he was quite bad knots.

“'Gates, nevermind that.”

Drum said under his breath, pulling out the blade grabbed from the armory he found it to be a little bejeweled dagger. As he studied it briefly with the light from a nearby streetlamp Drum was mortified to find it looking a bit feminine. A narrow little blade, with a silver hilt covered in little purple jewels, and a little ruby embedded in the pommel. There were simply far too many 'little' things about the blade for him to like it. But it was sharp at least and it cut through the tangled knot like a hot knife through butter, the line fell into the murky waters of Bully Harbor.

Drumein witnessed the massacre of nightwatch, everything was moving smoothly now. Both the little killers had gone into that back room of the ship, whatever was in there he didn't know, but at least the guard was down now. So what was he supposed to do now again? Wracking his brain for information it came to faster than it had in the past, Cut the little ropes Getting to work Drumein started moving down the pier cutting the rest of the mooring lines that kept the ship in place.


Xhavek Mokorai
"Xhavek. Hurry this up. We have yet another part o' the mission t' do."

Xhavek went rigid in fury. It wasn't that it was because he had been taken by surprise no, it was because this snot-nosed self-absorbed little guttersnipe thought he could tell Xhavek what to do! Quivering with suppressed rage, the short monitor whirled his tail making a queer whistling sound with the speed of the movement. He glared icily at the upstart marten.

"You don't tell me vhat to do!", he whispered furiously, "And bezidez ve vere hired to deztroy ze ship not kill ze Heartvood'z progeny. I figure it'd be better to ranzom him anyvay. zo juzt for fun..."

With a mischievous smirk Xhavek turned around once more and leaned down putting his mouth ever so close to Edward's flicking ear. "Oh dear pleaze vake up ve need to talk." He whispered as softly as he possibly could. The sleeping form of the fox slowly stirred and he mumbled out, "Jennifer wha' is i....."

His words cut off when his eyes saw that the grinning face in front of his own was not the vixen he had been expecting but, Xhavek's scaly masked features. Xhavek chuckled lowly at his victim's pole-axed expression and spoke quietly but brightly as if discussing the weather. "Greetingz! I juzt thought to give you a headz up. Ve," Xhavek motioned behind him to Rijard at the door, "are taking you for ranzom."

In response Edward lay completely and utterly flabbergasted. In fact he did the most impressive impersonation of a freshly landed fish that Xhavek had ever seen. Smiling pleasantly Xhavek nodded as if this was the reaction he was looking for. "Vell no time to vazte! Have a good rezt."

And quick as a lightning strike the brutal monitor slammed his open palm against the side of Edward's head promptly sending the unfortunate todd back to slumberland. Xhavek wasted no time in pulling the now limp form out of the bed and dragged it to the door. There he stopped and glared at Rijard. "Don't ever tell me vhat to do again."


Padraig Kesey
Kesey watched with increasing frustration and rage as Rijard charged headlong up the gangplank, attracting the attention of one of the guards. "Kill'em," Kesey whispered, watching intently. They couldn't leave anyone in the way. The plan depended on it.

Instead, after a brief exchange, the guard allowed Rijard to pass. The lad hurried on, resuming his mission. Kesey slowly let his breath out, his mind racing furiously. Stupid! The young marten could have blown the entire mission! He'd have to have a talk with that one. There was potential, yes, but the thing about potential was you had to be alive to fulfill it! Kesey slowed his breathing, trying to calm down. Focus. Focus on what had to be done. There was time to deal with the lad later.

The rest of the plan moved smoothly. Drum proceeded to cut the lines. With each line, the ship drifted a little further free of the dock. They'd have to hurry to get aboard. Rijard and Xhavek had dealt with the guards, and were now inside the captain's cabin. Taking far too long. Kesey frowned. What was going on?

He'd have to see for himself. Donning his mask, Kesey walked freely across the street, his footpaws falling softly on the dock. He nodded his approval at Drum, who despite his lateness had proven to be a swift worker. That one was valuable, there was no doubt in that. Boarding the ship, Kesey looked around. The guards were all dealt with. Good.

Kesey crossed to the quarterdeck, where Rijard was peering inside. Xhavek was glaring at Rijard, dragging a fox by the footpaw. "Wha' tis taken' so long?" Kesey growled quietly, moving inside. He looked at Xhavek, then down at the sleeping captain. He stopped short, staring. The resemblance was not lost on him either. Instantly he started pooling back through the information he'd found on the Heartwood trade family, trying to figure out who this was. Suddenly he found it — Edward Heartwood, the eldest son of the Heartwood family. Also the patriarch since his father's death from a heart attack. So that was why Goldfur had wanted the Eagle sunk — not only would he cripple his opponents' trade fleet, but he would also cut the family off at the head. A clever ploy.

Which is why Kesey hated it. He was very specific about jobs and their costs, and made that very clear to prospective hirers. He'd known this was arson, and charged it as such. But now this — this was assassination as well. Normally Kesey would have nothing against killing the fox and being done with it, but now he'd been betrayed. This hadn't been in the agreement.

Well, he wouldn't play the game.

Kesey nodded approvingly at Xhavek, though his eyes were shining with murder now. The mercenaries could consider themselves lucky it wasn't them he was angry at, and start mourning for the sly Mr. Goldfur instead. "Good work, Mokorai," Kesey complimented him, still looking away. He was clearly embroiled in planning how to get back at their funder. "Weh'll take 'im. Give 'im off t' Drum, en' git t' the quarterdeck. Rijard," he turned to the youngster, who could be relieved that Kesey had forgotten his anger towards him, "let's git t' the galley. Weh've got a ship t' destroy." He left the room, fire still burning in his eyes.



Rijard M. Chaos
"-Rijard," Kesey called him silently, "let's get t' the galley. Weh've got a ship t' destroy." Rijard adjusted his bow on his shoulder, the cursed thing kept slipping off his shoulder. threatening to cause more noise. He nodded to the dark figure of his captain and quickly yet silently followed Kesey outside.

They made way for the galley. He was upset that he wasn't the one burning the rum, he could have had a night's drink before setting it ablaze. He shook his head, getting rid of the thought, he had to focus. Inside he made sure he dodged other beasts that were taking a night's drink. Staying behind chairs a under tables until he moved again, Rijard slowly made it to the stove in the kitchen area. There was a stoat inside, the chief perhaps. Before the stoat could question him Rijard had his cutlass in his fur and through his flesh.

He walked to the stove, it was a type of brick oven with a sheet of metal on the top. It was not burning, Rijard glanced around for the fuel. He didn't find any. The marten had only one option, with a selfish sadness, he pulled out a bottle of rum he was saving if this ended well. He also got out his box of matches. There were a few broken chairs and tables inside, leftovers from a bar fight. He broke them into smaller pieces and threw them into the brick oven. Pouring his rum on it to make it burn more, then taking one last sip of his precious rum, he stacked the rest of the wood in front of the oven and poured more rum on.


Layla Raposa
The sound of a flaring match fizzled from the pantry behind Rijard. A demonic-looking shadow cast upon the wall in front of him, a creature with great wild hair and a long fox muzzle, paws outstretched and misshapen.

Layla grinned at the marten. In one paw she held the blazing stick and in the other, which made the shadow look so grotesque, was a bulbous bottle filled with a mystery liquid. Out of its top poked a rag doused in lantern oil.

"Tyger, tyger, little spectacles! We are the black stripes. Knew you'd be here I did, and Keskes needs Layla!"

She brought the flame that was almost burning her pawtips to the rag and watched it catch. With an insane giggle, she looked back at her fellow arsonist.


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard was stunned! He never realized the vixen behind him. She held a match that was ablaze, "Tyger, tyger, little spectacles! We are the black stripes. Knew you'd be here I did, and Keskes needs Layla!"

She lit a rag and set Rijard's work ablaze. He felt the heat of the fire melt his whiskers. But on Rijard's back fur he felt like there was a cold behind him, a cold of evil and power, coming from the vixen who looked directly at him! It made him dizzy while he'd sweat on the outside, yet freeze on the inside.

Rijard turned to Layla, "Stop eet!" He accused, "Stop, eet's too cold, too cold." The marten's face went down in pain. Rijard needed something to drink, he picked up a bottle of liquid and left the kitchen.

"Better hurry," Rijard called behind his shoulder inside, "Before they feed the fire." He left the galley and headed for the rum storage. If he was lucky he might get a drink before Kesey burned it all.


Padraig Kesey
Kesey was impressed with the stores of rum. Twenty-six barrels, all stacked up together. Apparently the Heartwoods treated their sailors well. Kesey opened one of the barrels, dipping a pawfinger in to taste it. Highly fermented. Kesey estimated with this much explosive force, the entire quarterdeck would shatter. The Eagle would sink rear-first, the water rushing in. A large air pocket would likely form at the bow end, and anybeast unlucky enough to be trapped there would face an agonizingly slow death, suffocating on their own breath.

Not that Kesey cared.

The trick was, he had to wait until they were in the harbor. Otherwise the Eagle would sink in shallow water, leaving an easily-salvageable ship. Not that he cared at this point; Mr Goldfur's orders didn't matter to him anymore. Still, when he did a job, he liked to do it right.

Kesey stood by, waiting for Xhavek to steer the ship out. Hopefully without leaving Drum behind.


Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
Drumein put the last straining mooring line out of its misery with a swift slice with his dagger, and watched it catapult spectacularly towards the ship, with a grin the massive stoat sheathed his dainty little blade and looked over his handiwork. The ship drifted steadily away from the pier. Drum had seen two dark shapes run from the back room of the ship and into the trap door in the middle of the deck, so he figured the plan was going well so far. Then of course it hit him what the next part of the plan included.

Ye'll then git onboard en' start readyen' a longboat.

He remembered from the briefing at the headquarters, he had to get onto the ship. The gangplank had fallen quite a while ago, and no convenient ropes were hanging anywhere for Drum to make his entrance swashbuckler style, so that left him but one option. He stared down fearfully at the depths below. It wasn't that Drum was afraid of water, it was just the stories he had heard in the taverns, from old drunken sailors, about terrible things that lurked beneath those gray waves. Not that the waves beneath Drum were gray, more of a greenish black color, but that didn't help the big stoat's nerves all that much. Of course neither had the look Mr. Kesey had given him back in the armory, when it got right down to the fight between terrible sailor-eating water creatures and Mr. Kesey, his boss won by a landslide.

“O' well”

Were the last words Drumein uttered before letting himself fall into the murky waters that separated him from the Heartwood Eagle . Cold water enveloped Drum...

”Get in the tub ya stuffed little whelp, it's been a whole 'af a year since yo'r last bath. Time to get the 'tater outta yo'r lugs.” A tiny Drum screamed and fought to get away from the bath tub, his mother had an advantage in size and strength, but not desperation. So for the moment Drum held his own, but it was only a matter of time before her annoyance turned to frustration, and then desperation. Then the battle would be lost. “Mama! Pweeze do-

A great gasp escaped Drum's lungs as he surfaced, and his painful childhood memories did just the opposite. Taking his bearing the almost panic-stricken stoat pushed off from piling towards the seemingly distant 'Eagle, Drum had taken a rest from swimming for the better part of his life, but the necessary motions returned quickly. After what seemed like an hour Drum caught hold of a severed mooring line, pulling his bulk from the water was far from easy, but he managed with the help of some panicky adrenaline. The Drum wasn't built for pulling himself paw over paw up a rope, gravity fought him for every inch, but the dripping wet miserable stoat wasn't about to plunge back into those depths of despair. After what seemed like another hour he was on the deck, panting, cold, wet, sweating from panic, and reeking very badly since his crusty fur had been soaked.

Drum caught his breath, pulled himself from the ground, and began searching for a longboat. Though he wasn't sure what a longboat was, he had guessed it to be a boat that was long.


Rijard M. Chaos/Jeremiah K. Nightfur
Rijard ran down the hall, he found a good hiding place inside a closed doorway. He stood quietly as he heard the alarm of the fire from beasts in the galley. Rijard sat with his knees in front of his face. He unscrewed the bottle preparing for a drink. Before he lifted it to his snout he noticed a sign on the bottle. It was a beast's skull, with two bones behind it in an "X" form. A simple and well known sign for poison, probably to kill any thing not wanted in the kitchen.

He placed it in one of his pockets and saved it for later. He continued to watch the fire; he got up when the flames burned through the wall, now it was too late for the beasts to stop it. As he walked around a corner of the hall his snout followed by the rest of his body bumped into hard dark fur. He felt his chest fur being pulled as his feet left the ground. His sock mask was pulled off and he saw his attacker. It was the same wildcat he saw on the deck.

"You?" the wildcat yelled. "You did all this?" His strength surprised Rijard as he held him up to his face. Rijard's arms went limp.

Rijard wouldn't be able to talk his way out this time, he stuttered a bit until he calmed down enough to speak. "No, I had sum rum t' help."

"I don't want your games I want answers!" he continued to yell.

"Games? Where? I don' see an’ cards." He was trying to stall the wildcat.

"Enough!" he yelled one last time as he threw Rijard to the wall, the sore marten slowly picked himself up as the wildcat walked over. He put his hand up begging for him to stop with blood running down his snout when the cat spoke "When you talk about this act of foolishness to the devil himself, make sure you mention the wildcat that stopped you. Tell him about Jeremiah K. Nightfur!" He turned and left for to help the others escape the fire.

But before he rounded the corner Rijard was up, yelling and running at Jeremiah, though the cat could barely hear it over the drowning noise of the panicking beast all around the kitchen and ship's mess. He smacked the hilt of his sword into the cat's skull and watched him fall to his knees in pain. The marten quickly turned and ran down the hall towards the stairs. It was too late to catch up with Kesey now; Rijard had to meet up with the Drum character with the longboat. As his body rounded the last bit of the corner he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He grimaced and slowed as he continued to run. He checked his back and saw a bolt inside his flesh, Rijard pulled it out the best he could and continued his run to the deck.

On the deck Rijard looked around the deck for the longboat Drum was to prepare. He couldn’t see the longboat; he couldn’t even find the stoat! He glanced around looking for any sign of him. To his left towards the starboard side was a flicker of motion. Rijard legs moved without him as he ran quietly to his target. Unfortunately it wasn’t the Drum, it was another guard. This time the guard got the best of Rijard, he lifted a spear he was carrying and skilfully tripped him.

The marten’s face went into the wooden floor, stabbing splinters into his flesh. His right eye started to swell and he couldn’t see out of it. Rijard slowly got up to face his opponent. He pulled out his cutlass (which felt heavy under his wounded shoulder) the tip pointed to the beast’s chest.

“Never d’ that again,” Rijard whispered.

Instead of a reply the guard gave another swing with his spear, this time he meant it to be fatal. Rijard quickly dodged and stepped back as the guard tried a stab. He grabbed hold of the wooden pole with his free paw and with all his strength and some help from his cutlass he broke the spear in two. Grabbing the pointed end in his paw, the other holding his cutlass, he stabbed the guard with both tools. Pulling out his cutlass but keeping the spear point inside the beast’s blood drenched fur, he pushed it further until the dying beast stepped back over and over to escape the pain.

Rijard pushed harder until the beast’s backside met the railings. He gave one last push and let go of the spear as the beast fell to the waves below. Rijard wiped off his blade and headed for the bow, hoping to find Drum there. He did.

The stoat must have not been aboard too long. He seemed confused about what to do. Rijard walked up, careful not to startle the fellow mercenary on a risk of another wound. “Drum,” He said in a hushed voice, “Ye een need o’ sum ‘elp?”


Layla Raposa
As the marten escaped the galley ahead of her, Layla remained watching the fire for a few moments in disappointed contemplation. Her bottle had been a dud concoction. She sniffed and shrugged.

"Duck's backwater..."

The mystic vixen stole out of the burning room, pulling the cowl of her grey, smoky clothes over her head. She scurried through the gangways, her footpaws bare and treading softly. As she rounded down the next stairwell, a yawning ferret, barely out of his kithood, ambled along her intended path. Although at this point in time she was not a member of the Kreehold, she could see by the way the beast took no pains to remain in hiding that he was not among them. She stood, unmoving, in the shadows of the stairs. The ferret trudged on until he was level with her. His instincts did not kick in until it was too late.

Layla jumped forward and took him into an embrace, her knife embedding into his heart up to the hilt. "Hush, my little nectarine. Dark Forest knows your name," she whispered into his ear as the horror of death clouded his eyes.

Casting the body into the darkness that lay behind the stairwell, she moved on to the stores, where she found Padraig Kesey — the instigator of the whole plot that the luck of her cards had led her to discover.

She grinned at him from the doorway, the dripping blade still in her paw. Her shivery voice drifted from the confines of her cowl.

"I see the Magician standing in the fields of sugar cane..."


Padraig Kesey
Kesey turned, his heart thumping in his chest, as perhaps the most beautiful creature in the world entered the room.

Not Layla; her power.

Kesey could taste the electric tingle of unearthly might in the air, swirling slowly around the vixen through whom it worked. He almost sighed in pleasure as he felt it slowly pass through him. It was the closest thing Kesey knew to a god, and he worshiped it.

Power.

Kesey smiled at Layla before bowing low to her, like a knight before a princess.

"En' Ah am honoured t' have the eye o' mah queen."


Layla Raposa
A coy smile at her lips, Layla crept into the store room, toying with the bloodied dagger as though it were as harmless as a child's plaything.

"They said you'd be here, yes. On the bird of prey in the love-tree, before it became the dragon."

She drew closer to Kesey, her blue eyes arrowing into the abyssal depths of the marten's. She revelled in his awe of her, but did not comprehend it, not only because she did not know herself to be gifted except to be what she was, but because her sanity walked the farthest edges. She was neither god nor mortal unto herself, but a flitting, childish, dark butterfly.

The black-silver vixen laughed softly, a serious and strangely less unhinged tone becoming her voice. "If I am Queen, I will need society. I care not for the doldrum expectations of those outside. I want to weave in and out..." She twirled her wrists and sashayed around him. "In and out...over and under..." Layla twirled violently on the spot and stopped a hair's breadth before Padraig, her snout almost touching his. "Let me be of the Magician's caste. I found him, weaving in and out, not where he's supposed to be." She giggled girlishly. "Choose me," she whispered.

The dagger was thrust towards him, hilt first. The reddened tip she held at her throat, teeth bared in a sudden savagery.

"Or will the mage pick regicide?"


Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
“Drum, Ye een need o’ sum ‘elp?”

A hushed voiced called, Drumein took a quick scan of his surroundings and found the little marten approaching him. Forcing himself to stop panting, and attempting to lose the shakes he'd got from the climb up the mooring line, the stoat tried to put on a brave face in front of the marten that had so completely humiliated him. Finding that his brave face had drowned in the harbor Drum put on his next best substitute, his “hunter on the prowl” face, his “cunning predator” face, his “calculating assassin” face. It wasn't a very good face, even by Drum's standards.

“An' what, would I ne'd help wit'?”

Asked the stoat, mustering every scrap of pride we could find while sitting soaking wet on the deck. He looked about suspiciously, adding a dangerous-looking squint for good measure, he imagined himself to be looking very perilous.

“It would se'm to me, tha' the beasts needin' help will be the-” Drum struggled here, both verbally, and physically, he couldn't seem to think of a word to describe the beasts on the 'Eagle, and he couldn't get up. “Eh, bad beasts, when I get done wid them!” A little voice reminded Drum that his job wasn't to hurt any beasts, not even bad ones really. He was supposed to be get the longboat ready, if things were going as planned he wouldn't even see any bad beasts. The war-like stoat dismissed the little voice as a trick of the wind. What he couldn't dismiss unfortunately was his lack of ability to get to his feet. Between the added weight of his soaked fur and clothes, the swaying deck, and his still trembling limbs Drum couldn't seem to get to a more upright position then he was already. He had almost made it when his footpaw slipped on the wet deck, and he found himself once again laying prone on the ground at the little marten's feet.

'Gates this is why I stay off ships. Drum thought, then he thought again, about whether or not continuing this show strength and independence would really help his image in the faction. Blast it, forget about shows of strength. Rolling onto his back the humbled Drumein held his paw up towards the little marten. With a relatively charming smile he spoke in what he hoped would come out as a good-natured voice.

“B' a mate?”


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard hid a smile under his mask as the stoat tried to look intimidating. His excuse was nothing more than a blur to Rijard.

When the stoat tried to walk forward, he slipped on the wood and fell to Rijard's feet. Drumein held up a paw. “B' a mate?”

The marten's paw found the stoat's in the darkness as he pulled his companion off the ground. "Right, let's get t' it. Thees way." Rijard walked off to the side of the ship. There were long boats tied to the inside of the railings. Rijard walked to the far end of the boat and motioned to Drum to take the other side.

Chaos glanced at the complex sailor type knots. How can any beasties be tyin' these knots? He asked himself. Not wasting time, he started cutting the ropes with his cutlass, hoping Drumein would follow his example. As he finished he called over across the boat, "Eef yer don' we are goin' t' flip eet over first. Then we have t' tie eet and let eet down slowly t' the waters. Ready?"


Padraig Kesey
Kesey watched, entranced, as the Queen danced in and out, caught in the graceful, sometimes violent movements of chaos. It was as if the Mage was spellbound – an irony, considering his otherworldly identity. His heart (or what could be called his heart; Kesey lacked any true love) was aflutter, awakened by the flirting, passing touch of power. Every spin of the dark maiden lured Kesey further into her spell.

Suddenly she stopped, her snout just before his. He could see deeply into her eyes, and found himself staring into them in hope of glimpsing that elusive force, the metaphysical that lurked in her. "Let me be of the Magician's caste. I found him, weaving in and out, not where he's supposed to be." She giggled, recalling memories of flirtatious young martenesses from former lands. "Choose me," she whispered. Kesey found himself held on that whisper, unable to break the spell.

Layla broke it for him. Thrusting the dagger toward him hilt-first, her paw clutching the other end to her metal-clad throat, she bared her teeth savagely. "Or will the mage pick regicide?"

Kesey was not perturbed by the sudden change; he regarded it as another intriguing facet of this mysterious vixen. Taking the dagger in his paw, he slowly ran the flat along her cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood as he moved it up her face. A strange tenderness lurked on his face as he reached her shock of hair, abruptly jerking the blade upward. A few short strands of headfur drifted from the spot, which Kesey caught expertly in the air. He closed his paw around the strands, looking up at Layla with a gentlebeast's look.

"A token 'tis all Ah will take, mah lady," he said smoothly, taking her paw and kissing it with all the charm and honor of his homeland. The paw holding the dagger traveled around to her other cheek, his thumb resting under her jaw. Had Director of the Imperial Opera House M.C. Beth seen the gesture, he would have called it 'Amour des Tyrans', and immediately attempted to set it to 'Don't Cry For Me, Bully Harbour'.

"En' per'aps," Kesey suggested, their snouts just a short distance from touching, "a glimpse o' the unknown?"


Xhavek Mokorai
Xhavek hissed lowly under his breath with merriment. This was all going oh so very well. He got to sow his mayhem AND he got to make that fox do his 'BWAH!?!" face! Yes indeed this was the most fun he had had in a long time. Tox had rarely let him 'off the leash' so to speak. As he dragged the unfortunate todd behind him the lizard's cold eyes glinted. Tonight the world would see that the Kreehold mercenaries were still a force to be reckoned with.

Edward groaned and Xhavek delivered a quick kick to the beast’s head to shut him up. "Shut up ztupid! Unconziouz people don't talk! Bezidez your pretty little ship iz about to burn to zinderz. And you vouldn't vant to be vitnezz to zat now vould you?" The mercurial monitor grinned sardonically at his insensible captive and continued to haul him across the deck.

When he reached the aftcastle ladder/stairs he heaved the limp form of the todd onto his shoulders and quite literally carried Edward like a sack of potatoes. Grunting as he alighted he listed dangerously to the side twice before he completed his ponderous ascent. The reason he kept the todd with him rather than delivering him directly to the longboat was simple, he didn't know or trust the others. Therefore the simplest way to keep track of his charge was to keep him near at all times.

With a thump he dropped his cargo and began to turn the helm wheel about to lead the vessel out of port. "Here ve ladiez and gentlebeaztz, Ze Grand Floating Pyre iz leaving ziz port for a far better plane of exiztenze!" He half whispered and half giggled to himself.



Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
With another impressive show of strength the marten easily pulled Drumein to his footpaws despite the helping paw the stoat couldn't help but sneer at back of the marten's head as he got right back down to business.

"Right, let's get t' it. Thees way."

Well ain't he an efficient little blighter.

Drumein thought wordlessly as he followed Mr. Efficient towards some little boats, presumably long boats, though they weren't nearly as long as the ship. Drum puzzled for a moment why they were called longboats if they were shorter than the ship. He felt a headache stirring up though, so he quit hurriedly.

The marten seemed to have found a longer-shortish-boat of his liking, Drum headed towards the side opposite of him, not a moment before the marten had motioned him to do just that. For a second the stoat entertained thoughts of not fact doing so, just so it wouldn't look like he was obeying the little whelp's every word. But he relented to reason and did as he had been asked, but had been going to do before.
Drumein found that the boat was tied to railings with rope. He was, of course, now an expert when it came to rope, so with a flash of his little dagger the line was severed.

"Eef yer don' we are goin' t' flip eet over first. Then we have t' tie eet and let eet down slowly t' the waters. Ready?"

The Drum gritted his teeth as Mr. Efficient gave him another “order” it wasn't that Drum had a problem with authority, at least no more than any other street thug. He just had a problem taking orders from beasts who he neither respected nor feared*, unfortunately Drum also had a problem with getting gutted by Mr. Kesey, so he went along with the little street urchin. He probably would have done the same thing anyway. Of course that didn't mean he had to go along with everything that the whelp told him. With this mind Drumein, with a groan erupting form his mouth, flipped the longboat onto it bottom in one swift motion. He hoped idly that the marten had been caught off guard, and perhaps had got his one of his footpaws caught under the weight of the boat.

*Well some part of Drum probably both respected and feared the little marten, but that part's timid little voice was being drowned out by the screaming crowd inside of Drum's head. There were a lot of profanities being screamed. There usually were.


Rijard M. Chaos
Rijard let out a yelp in pain as his footpaw was caught under the boat. "Ouchie ouchie ouchie!" He screamed as he picked the boat off his paw. Grabbing it and hopping on one foot he nearly yelled at Drum, "Whatcha d' that fer?"

He fell on his back while hopping and rolled on the floor. His paw burned with pain that he couldn't ignore easily.


Drumein “The Drum” Doozle
Drum smiled approvingly as the marten jumped about in a little dance of agony, it seemed that he had scored a direct hit on the blighter's footpaws.

"Whatcha d' that fer?"

Seeing as the marten was sending a most accusing glare in his direction Drumein wiped the smile off his face and asked with a sense of what almost seemed like injured dignity.

“Do wha'?”

He held his paws out, palms forward, in the universal sign of 'What? I didn't do nothing!' Drum may have actually pulled off the denial if the marten hadn't suddenly lost his balance. At that point the smile behind his tightly bound lips broke loose despite the sad thoughts the stoat tried to conjure up to smother his glee. All the grog in the world is gone, and momma is at my apartment cleaning up under my bed at this very moment. And momma is alive an well too! The last detail managed to bring his mouth back under control, not just because it was so heartbreaking but because it was actually true.

“Wha' I me'n to say, is di'n't you tell m' to flip the boat over whe' I was ready? Tha' was all I di'!”

Though his mouth was set in grim frown it would be perfectly obvious to even the most naïve onlooker that Drum was not only lying, but was very bad at it.


Rijard M. Chaos
“Do wha'?” The stoat said innocently as he threw out his paws. “Wha' I me'n to say, is di'n't you tell m' to flip the boat over whe' I was ready? Tha' was all I di'!”

The stoat was clever, he knew how to twist the words to make him look good. "Do'n' get smart weeth me lad," Rijard spat in a harsh tone as he picked himself up. "You either knew I meant t' warn me before flipping' or yeer incredibly stoopeed."

The angry marten got to his feet with a nasty look of annoyance and walked across the deck scanning the area. Next to a barrel of water was a roll of rope. Rijard picked the rope up and stomped back to the longboat. He tied a loop to the bow then walked across the ship and tied the stern. There was no pully system around the ship that Rijard could see. The marten was in no mood to do things the hard way, but he couldn't set up a pully himself in time before the fires below deck start for the surface.

Letting out a frustrated and annoyed sigh before explaining their next plan to the stoat, "We have t' peeck eet up over da rails and toss eet over. But no droopin' eet on me feetpaw dis time." He waited then for a response as he tied the rope to a metal hook on the deck.


Rijard M. Chaos
((Auto permissioned by Kesey due to lack of postage and need to finish things up.))

"On me call, one tw' three!" The Kreeholders tossed the boat over the rails. "Oka', ye stays 'ere while I g' check on Kesey," Rijard said as he ran down the steps in search of the captain.

Below deck Chaos could hardly believe what he saw. It seemed that Kesey was gawking at a strange vixen, the romance was enough to make Rijard vomit inside his cheeks. "Oi! Ye tw' love birds best be gettin' off t'is sheep. Caus' the love boat ees abouts ter sink! Now stop yer lolly gaggin' and lets g'!"


Xhavek Mokorai
Xhavek from his position at the helm could just make out the antics of Rijard and Drum, and couldn't help but let loose a feverishly manic snicker. That pair didn't seem capable of putting two and two together unless they came up with five.

"Hurry hurry boyz time'z a-vazting! Zpeaking of vhich time to get my 'package' delivered. Heh heh!"

With that the mercurial monitor abandoned the helm leaving it to twist whichever way it wanted. He judged they were far enough out to let it loose. So satisfied he took up his unfortunate captive once more and lifting Edward atop his shoulders, Xhavek made his way to Drum. The stairs once more gave him a bit of trouble manuevering but eventually he got to the boat and dropped his burden to the deck, letting him thump on the boards.

"Heya Drummy need an extra claw?"


Padraig Kesey
((Terrible autos all around, with much apologies. Must get this finished so we can move on to further threads.))

To Kesey it seemed forever. Time held still for the two twisted wooers, Kesey's paw still tilting Layla's long vixen snout toward his short marten one. A slight sea draft blew around them, ruffling Layla's erratic hair and the flaps of Kesey's moleskin leather jacket. It was a fairy-tale moment. Kesey was not one to believe in any sort of predestination, but at the moment he could have easily stretched himself to believe there just might be some higher power smiling down upon the cross-species lovers.

"Oi! Ye tw' love birds best be gettin' off t'is sheep. Caus' the love boat ees abouts ter sink! Now stop yer lolly gaggin' and lets g'!"

Rijard.

Fire burned in Kesey's eyes as he slowly broke from Layla, the dangerous tensity of his shoulders and the irritated flicking to his thin tail carrying a clear message: Paag mah hoin. "Thank ye, Chaos," he replied shortly, the statement oddly sounding closer to threatening than grateful. "Stick around, en' Ah migh' jest use ye as kindlen'." The threat did not seem to faze the youngster, not that Kesey cared; he honestly didn't give a trout about how seriously his mercenaries took his grumbling. They'd learn eventually.

The past-prime marten suddenly whirled, light fizzing into existence as he swiftly scraped a match against the metal hilt of his shortsword. Holding the match almost ceremoniously centered above his palm, Kesey approached the one open barrel of rum. Time slowed as the rhythmic thunder of Kesey's pawsteps took an almost religious tone. For a moment the light flickered, and Kesey was seen for what he was: a priest, garbed not in white but in the muddied grey of entropy. Disjointed chanting sounded in the distant regions of imagination, the chorus of souls devoted to the third surety of life: not Death, nor Taxes, but perhaps their greatest ally: Chaos.

With the quiet reverence of a temple priest lighting the prayer oil, Kesey touched the match to the dark, pristine liquid.

Instantly the spell was broken as the liquid flared, shooting a fireball into the air. Kesey stumbled back, for the first time taken off his guard. "Leh's gettou' o' here!" he shouted, pushing roughly past Rijard in his haste to ascend the companionway. Not wanting to be caught in the blaze any more than their captain, the two mercenaries hurried after Padraig. Suddenly the obstacles were everywhere: shouting crewbeasts ran in front of their paths, turning with furious curiosity upon the strangers on their ship. A furious battle cry echoed through the burning ship as the trio charged, their blades and arrows laying bare the passageway before them. Crewbeasts cried in pain as their forms twisted before the onslaught, their fallen bodies becoming stepping stones in the mercenaries' haste to escape. In slow-motion sequence it might have almost appeared heroic.

Except for the killing and mutilating and other such gruesome factors.

The mercenaries flew from the companionway just as the stairs crumbled beneath them. Their limbs flailing wildly as a gravity made its claim on the figures, returning them to the deck. Hard. Kesey yelped as his knees protested the harsh manner in which they were united with the wooden ships. Ten, twenty seasons ago he wouldn't have paid it a second thought. But today the signs were everywhere: he was getting old.

Grumbling, Kesey pulled himself to his footpaws. "Move!" he ordered, running after his much younger companions. Drawn by invisible magnetism they all made for the Kreehold duo by the rail, knowing that their salvation waited there. They had almost made it when it blew; a fireball of immense proportions ripped through the rear deck, shattering the glass windows before consuming the oaken rear of the vessel. Fire surged upward through the matrix of windows to swallow the quarterdeck, the higher levels obscured by the intense flames. Even from a distance Kesey could feel the intense heat on his back, permeating his jacket's sturdy protection.

Fire ran like skittering mice through the rigging, lighting up the sky with brilliant lines of flames. The hull was already compromised, the deck beginning to tilt beneath the Kreehold Captain's footpaws. There was no time. Swiftly the captain shoved on the few lagging beasts, sending them tumbling to the longboat far below. Wood crunched painfully beneath their combined weight, water sloshing in from the sides, but it miraculously held. Kesey gave the terrified Heartwood a vicious kick off the edge and onto the pile before jumping himself. The landing was indeed painful, the flesh and fur doing little to soften the many lines of wood and bone that somehow he managed to land on with his stomach, winding himself. He groaned, attempting to roll over and failing to, stuck on his precarious position atop his small merc squad. He could feel every bone prodding him, making his landing anything but a soft one. Whoever said it was good to be at the top of the heap had obviously never gotten there from an aerial route.

With much grumbling and moaning the bedraggled mess managed to sort themselves out, just in time to witness the true fireworks. Like an iceberg-stricken cruise liner the Heartwood Eagle tilted, its bow rising toward the stars like the horn of some dying sea beast. Then, with a great sigh and the bubbling of escaping air, it fell into the harbour, first its masts, then forecastle, and finally the bowsprit disappearing beneath the dark muddy surface of the water. Already shouts and alarms could be heard from the shore, the frantic splashing of oars on the water as emergency beasts attempted to make their way toward the wreckage.

Carefully the mercenaries' longboat steered away from the site, disappearing into the darkness of the harbour. Five silent beasts of varying species watched the scene, moonlight draping their features. Order was restored to Bully Harbour — a new captain, a new crew. The timeless Kreehold Mercenaries.

They were back.
​