Stoatorian Guard Open The Trenches The Prodigal Son Returns

"Where to get a rotten egg on such short notice?" Caden mused as he continued towards the office in question. "Oh. That...that changes things."

There was no longer a door where he had remembered at the end of the hall. Instead there was an alcove bearing several pieces of artwork and a standing suit of armor. A large oil painting depicting a battle from a forgotten age dominated one of the walls. The artist had put a great deal of work into the blood and horrific expressions upon the faces of the dying. Caden pulled his gaze away and checked his surroundings. Was this even the right hallway? It had been some time, perhaps he had misremembered. Within the alcove, if one were to stand at just the right angle, they were lost to view from those in the hallway.

He stroked his whiskers, tail flicking. "I could have sworn--"

He paused and squinted harder at the painting, then at the ornate, gold-flecked frame. "I remember this painting. Used to be in the Captain of the Guard's office. Gates, can you imagine looking at that every day?"
 
Eirene approached the newfound dead end, her eyes scanning the alcove curiously. The art and armor was an interesting touch, presenting just enough to draw the eye to pull it away from... There. A seam, very carefully hidden behind some moulding.

"You know," she commented, "in Hanshiman we have a saying: wu ren feng men, kai men bi yao. It means 'no one seals a door: to open a door is very useful'." She hesitated before admitting, "It is more poetic in my tongue. De point is, de door is still here, we just have to open it somehow." She stepped forward and started examining the armor, looking for any wires or joints in the articulation that might indicate a lever.
 
"Good eye," Caden said. He tapped at his spectacles. "Even with these, I don't see as well as most. Probably wouldn't have spotted that without you."

Stepping back and surveying the entirety of the hidden door from a remove, he titled his head this way and that. "I'm trying to remember how it opened, though there's no telling if they changed the whole mechanism, I suppose."

In her detailed inspection of the armor, Eirene could see the supporting stand bolted to the wall behind the torso. The connection to the stone wall looked solid, perhaps overly so. There were what appeared to be five sturdy bolts driven into the stone to hold the stand in place at what would be rib height were a beast wearing the armor.
 
Back in the hallway, the two guards exchanged glances. They weren't really sure who Eirene or Caden were supposed to be, and were less sure of what they were here to do or, indeed, if they were supposed to be around at all.

Of course, there were tours every now and then, and beasts sometimes got lost or wandered off, but those were usually clueless members of the aristocracy, bored young beasts led around by old-timers who prattled on about a life of service despite never having raised a sword in anger, nor worked the halls of the Ministry of War building. They typically found some beast who actually knew what they were doing or where they were supposed to be and were gently directed back on a proper path after much hot air and complaining about how things had been better organized back in their day.

These two didn't look the sort. One was an athletic beast with the look of a fighter, the other dressed well enough to have been a clerk or a contractor in the Ministry's service, but also built well enough to have carried a weapon herself. In any case, neither looked like they knew where they were going, or how to get there.

The first of the guards, a stoat with the tip of his right ear missing, finally beckoned to the other, a dark-furred ferret, as though to get a move on. With a shrug and a sigh, the beast moved on, rounding the corner to peek into the alcove before presenting herself with an

"Ahem."

Looking from Eirene to Caden and back again, the ferret frowned. She hadn't been particularly stealthy in her approach, giving ample opportunity for them to try and cover their investigation of the alcove, but she had a hunch they weren't just there to gawk at the art and artifacts.

"You beasts lost?
 
Eirene noticed the strange bolts just as her ears picked up the sound of movement in the hall. She stepped back and pretended to admire the battlefield painting. In truth, it was well done; she appreciated the maroon the artist has chosen as the primary color for the blood-stained earth, and the gradations of gray that made up the stormy sky in the background.

She turned, feigning surprise, as the guard approached. "Oh, sorry," she apologized. "We were just looking for de washroom, and we noticed de paintings on de way. Dey are very well done."
 
The loud, repeated chiming of the alarm clock startled Alwyn, sleeping in his stylish apartment in the Trenches, who woke up with a moan and a headache as the midday sunlight shined across his face from the window, raising one paw to his head, wincing at the bad hangover from the night before. Glancing around his modest apartment, he noted it was disheveled, his sheets unkempt and largely off the bed, plates, glasses, and silverware strewn about as if some kind of tropical hurricane had hit them, and more. Gathering a sheet around him as his evening wear was otherwise about, he took a look at himself in the mirror. Tall, strong, and muscular, but with none of the scars than his father or granduncle had*, with a luxurious long fire-orange tail with a white tip. A good-looking young todd with kind green eyes, albeit looking disheveled with his fur this way and that and a bit exhausted.

Who’s a handsome fellow?

He smiled and then walked over to his dresser, putting on his undergarments and dropping the sheet. He took a look towards the small bedstand on it, where a piece of paper was neatly laid out with some writing at it. He frowned-that had not been there last night, for what little he remembered of it. Picking up the letter, he read it.

Alwyn,

Katya, Saruna, and I had a wonderful time last night with you. Sorry if things got a little...wild...and we left your place a bit of a mess. We trust you will understand, and that you also understand that since we had to leave our shifts at the tavern and thus needed to charge you for them to be made whole, to charge for the liquor and food, plus generous tips as a Ryalor would never want to be thought of as greedy or not keeping his word and because I think you will agree we provided excellent service. Please come again to visit the Bowen Arrow anytime you would like.

-Your gracious server, Aila.

“Cort porberi!” He swore gently in Northern Fyadoran. He should have known better than to drink that much around those tavern vixens. They were very pretty and….welcoming...but they could be devious if you did not watch them. Rushing over to his chest safe, its lock knocked off and the lid open, he did a quick inventory of the depressingly small amount of gilders he had left. It then hit him how he had lost in a single evening of debauchery.

Five. Hundred. Gilders.

Closing the safe with a loud, frustrated sigh, he shook his head. Even for him as a lieutenant in the Guard, that was a hit.

That much and I do not even remember a single thing that happened for the expense! I may have had a good time, but what use is it if I do not even remember it? Five hundred gilders, those vixens sure value themselves highly! Why they seem to value their time at Herring prices! Even maybe the Plume itself!

What to do? What to do? He could pull some money from his vineyard near Amarone, gifted to him by the Empress as a reward for his service after his knighting ceremony, but if he did that, his mother would surely know, and then, by extension, his father, that something had caused him to draw down his savings, and he just knew Dusk would investigate further. That and he had to look after Nuori, whose true identity could not be known by anyone and whom he had to secret gilders to until the Brudenells were able to figure out a way to send her money without anything be traced back to them. As for his As for his mother, he could only take so much guilt-tripping in a given month, and he would rather die before grovelling to his father for money, only to get yet another lecture about how he had to grow up and become the fox he needed him to be.

And what would that be? Another pawn sacrificed on the board for a game he or mother will not even deign to tell me? Like Hell. No, I will just have to pick up extra shifts. It will be rough this month covering two rentals, food, and more, but I can do it. I need to get my drinking under control…

Except, he knew, he would not. He needed the alcohol to keep him sane after the stresses of his family, his duties, and what he had gone through. The anxiety that ran through the Rainblade-Ryalors stuck with him, but at least he was able to admit it instead of pretending it did not exist like his father or avoiding the topic entirely like his mother.

“Right…” He sighed, looking at the absolute disaster of the apartment before him. “...time to tell the maids to come early, another shift to do, and sacrifice a day off. Get yourself looking respectable, some bread, water, and report to duty.”

With that, the eldest kit and heir apparent to the Duchy of Westisle hurried to make himself presentable, so that he would be in time for the afternoon to evening shift.

************Some time later*************.

After suitably cleaning himself up and putting on his tan leather coat, white undershirt, tan pants, black gloves and boots, and black belt with gold buckle, he strapped his trusty broadsword in its scabbard to his side, and made his way to the Ministry of War building where he usually kept his armor, poleaxe, and official Guard uniform in his locker, eschewing his own private set of armor he kept locked in his armoire at home. He had made enough examples of the Slups dwellers who managed to sneak into the district without being hounded out by the strong Fogey presence that they had learned not to try to pick a fight with him during the day anyway. He sighed, reflecting on the Empress’s lofty goals. Crime, she said, would eventually go down once the rising tide she was summoning lifted all boats, and he was sure she was right, but he suspected that day was going to take much longer than anyone expected to happen.

Stepping into the Foyer, he noticed Camila was on desk duty today, and he sauntered confidently over to the rat clerk. Giving her a friendly nod, he spoke, gesturing to the duty board behind her.

“How are you today Cam? Going to pick up an extra shift today...and for the rest of the month. Donated a little too much money to charity this week, I’m afraid.” He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Did we get any new recruits? I can relieve Tarnash so he can head home early today, and I am forming up a new squad since being recalled to the Harbor since my old one is still guarding the Brudenells. Do not want to pinch Guardsbeasts from the other ones unless I have to.”

*Alwyn attributes this largely to the fact he makes good use of his armor and extensive training, along with a natural knack for picking his opponents. Some less charitable assessments might say that the type of assignments he had be given thus far had been carefully pawpicked for his experience level by his powerful parents and the Empress as his patron, allowing him to grow without putting himself into too much risk...so far.

@Eirene Liu @Caden S. Freemont
 
The rat arched her brow at the todd. "A pawful of the usual gaggle that we get came through this morning. They'll take some training, but they seemed enthusiastic." She leaned towards him with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes.

"Listen to this, though: not fifteen minutes ago, a marten came through, white as the snow, claiming to be the son of Nuori Sken and the turncoat, Freemont. He had a resume that detailed mercenary work throughout half of the known world." She shook her head, tone disbelieving. "Did Sken even have a son? I swear somebeast is trying to pull one over on me again. Sent him and another beast, an older ferret with the look of a fighter and plenty of relevant experience, to see Tarnash. They're probably in there with him right now."
 
"Alwyn?"

The voice was soft, a gentler tone than most expected from a beast wearing a uniform of the House Ryalor duchal guard. The gray fur of the fox was distinctive, rarely seen outside of northern Fyador, and the pale blue eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his younger 'cousin', such as their relationship had been styled. He chuckled, stepping into the hall and letting the door to the street swing closed behind him. "I thought that was you I saw earlier," Daniil remarked, approaching the fox who was nine years his junior and yet twice as talented in the only ways that counted among House Ryalor. He offered a friendly, familial paw to Alwyn, inquiring, "Why are you in Bully Harbor? I thought Uncle had you guarding the Brudenells."
 
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