Expedition The Urk Expedition

[Kaii Nashirou]

Kaii after hearing he was dismissed, immediately turned on the paw, satisfied dearly with the outcome. His tail had a small wag to it, he was even smiling. It was very unusual what he felt, but for sure he wasn't mad about it.

As he moved to exit, it didn't escape his attention that the new beast that found his way the Minister's cabin was an aspiring poet. One that, from his words, had also nothing but his talent and wish to become more.

Noting to speak with them later, he decided not to interrupt anymore with his presence. The engine awaited and Kaii already wished to see, measure, sketch and (in his mind) dismantle the whole thing to learn how it works.

And he had a companion. A platinum fox that seemed a bit overwhelmed. Giving them a nod Kaii decided against talking much to not intimidate them. For some reason, beasts usually felt that when he was excited. Instead as soon as he left the room fully and started walking down to the engine bay, he just gave him a nod with a grin. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Kaii. Glad to meet someone of my trade for once."

Deciding it was enough for now, Kaii just went down the stairs. Into the work he was both eager and willing to do.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail stood quietly, paws clasped before him, the fresh weight of the captain’s oath still settling in his chest like a swallowed stone. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or nervous. Maybe both. The silence hung heavy for a beat, broken only by the scratch of a pen or the creak of a timber as the ship shifted in its berth.

Then the door creaked again.

Another fox stepped in. Tall, pale-furred, and markedly more composed than Swift felt. The proceedings began anew. Kaii, was it? Swifttail didn't catch most of it. His ears twitched, but the words blurred into a soft drone, his mind caught up in its own tide. He shifted awkwardly, unsure where to stand, his tail brushing once against the edge of a small table before he caught himself and stilled again.

Only when the ritual was complete and a third beast entered did Captain Talinn give a firm nod. Dismissed.

Swifttail gave a small nod in return, crisp but quiet, and turned to leave. Mind still lagging a bit.

As the door opened before him, the other fox offered a brief greeting.

“Swifttail,” he answered, voice soft with the edges of distraction. He gave a polite dip of his head. “See you about.”

And with that, he stepped out onto the deck of the Golden Hide once more, no longer a vagrant, but a sworn seabeast in service of the Vulpine Imperium. Adventure awaited. And for once, he had a place aboard it.

 

[Duke Talinn Ryalor]

Talinn silently watched the young stoat, something of a neutral expression on his face as he did not seem particularly remarkable, that is until he heard that the beast could properly read and write. His ears perked up in interest at that, and his expression softened into something of an encouraging one. Not because Talinn was any great appreciator of the arts, Great Kitsune no, in fact, Dusk regularly reminded him that she was the sophisticated one in the family, to which he had no real defense. His only real measure of knowing whether or not an artist or performer was actually good was the reaction of other beasts to them, or if it were a relatively simple performance. He had not been blessed, or, perhaps, never had the time, to devote himself to the arts-other beasts did that for him.

But what is good about this young stoat is that, much like Silvertongue, it looks like I can assign him to do many of the new reports that need to be done, and, indeed, copying many of the older ones. Having more literate beasts aboard means the paper mites have targets other than me, and I can give them a wider array of chores to do.

Besides, the beast seemed polite enough, if relatively young, but he could work with that. Especially with where they were going, where the casualties could be quite high if things did not pan out the way he expected. More bodies were almost always a good thing when it came to the Navy these days.

“Very good, Mr. Harper, it is always good to have more literate beasts, and the crew always appreciates a beast who is learned in composition,” he paused, voice genuine with every word being true, although he suspected that the type of poems that the beasts of the Hide tended to like were not exactly the ones that this young stoat might prefer to compose, such as the Lusty Amaronian Maid, “may I ask why you wish to sign up on the most illustrious Hide, and if you have any previous sailing experience? Such is not required, but it could help me ensure that you get the proper training.”

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh squeezed his hat a little tighter in his paws. Should he say all that he thought that the Captain would want to hear? Something about youthful patriotism, or following his father’s supposed footsteps? Perhaps those would be easy fictions to swallow. Yet it would not do to begin the story of his life in the Navy with lies. Well… at least there should be as few lies as possible. The truth, which was that the world sometimes reached out to speak directly to Darragh’s poetic soul, was not what the captain needed to know.

“Your ship called to me, sir, in its own way,” Darragh began, trying to be at least… indirectly honest. “I’ve had all manner o’titles, Darragh the fruit-picker, pot-scrubber, odd-jobber. It puts a bit of tin in me paw… er, a few gilders that is, but a poet needs honest work and an honourable name to put in print, y’see. Darragh Harper, Sailor, Imperial Navy, now that’s approachin’ respectable! The Golden Hide’s a ship of esteemed reputation, m’lud, ‘tis no wonder her banner drew me eye ‘cross the harbour.”

Don’t lay on the flattery too thick… but it’s more or less true. The Hide is the pride of the Imperial fleet, even the most landbound lubber knows that. The part where she calls my name in a voice only I can hear, promising to be my poetic destiny…

Darragh dared a moment of eye contact with the stately fox, whom he could see was listening with detached neutrality. The young stoat was used to being cut off by older beasts too impatient to listen to his typical lyrical flow of verbiage. True, Darragh was guilty of getting carried away sometimes, but the Captain seemed willing to give him a fair hearing. He’d been the centre of attention before, stood on pub tables or makeshift stages, more often singing and dancing for a few spare coins than making heartfelt recitals. He tried to channel the confidence he felt then, even as he felt his cheeks grow warm under the Captain’s penetrating gaze.

“I ain’t served no ship before, sir, but I’m sharp on detail and quick to action, if I might make so bold. Perhaps I’m a dreamin’ fool sir, chasin’ the Muse through fire’n’water for words to move the heart an’ soul. But there’s far dafter things beasts chase all their lives, so I’ve reckoned. And the chance to make a worthy account of m’self is worth more’n gilders.”