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.

 

[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.”

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

Talinn watched the young stoat with his full attention so that he could get a better sense of the beast, and, as the explanation unfolded, he saw the full picture. Ah, another one of those younger, naive poet types, out to feed themselves, make a name for themselves, and gain “authentic” life experience to enhance their writing. Those types had not been too uncommon in his long and storied military career, albeit there had been more in recent years with the Empress’s peace over the chaos of the last half-century. Well, he and the Navy could work with that. Those types tended to go two ways, neither of which really hurt the Imperium-they died early into their careers in some kind of altruistic sacrifice for their fellow crewmates, or they lived long enough to become passionate warriors, and, incidentally, pretty decent authors in as far as he could tell, both of which were useful.

Nodding as Darragh continued his explanation, he pulled out yet another set of applications, and began scribbling down the necessary information in triplicate to be sent to War, Misanthropy, and Amarone. He paused as he the stoat finished, a thoughtful look crossing his face before he nodded and offered some encouragement-both genuine, and to get another beast trapped in a naval contract.

“That is not as much of a problem as you might think. We have quite the excellent training program on the Hide to teach you the basics of sailing and combat and get you up to speed quickly. You would start out at the rank of Deckswab-something of an apprentice seabeast-and once you pass the necessary tests, you can be promoted to full Able Seabeast and begin looking into more specialized roles.”

He paused, taking a breath, before continuing.

“Many a beast have made a good account of themselves on the Hide-you definitely picked the correct ship for that. The gilders are pretty good too especially for one as young as yourself. A lot of benefits to being in the Navy as well-free food, state-of-the-art medical care, ability to get preferential loans, and free housing aboard the ship at all times, though you are free, of course, to get accommodations elsewhere in the Harbor as you can, so long as register it with the ship and can be here in a hurry. If that sounds agreeable to you, you look like a good enough lad, and we can have you sign the paperwork and begin your training. The standard contract length is one year, and we’re giving out a recruitment bonus of 2,000 gilders*, with more later on if you decide to renew your contract."

*In this author’s interpretation, around $10,000 USD.

@Darragh Harper replied.

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh could not help himself but beam at the Captain, his tail swishing in excitement. He was getting the distinct impression he had the job, and a dizzying array of benefits that came with it. Having no permanent address, and more familiarity with words like ‘arrears’ than ‘savings’, the Captain might as well have just announced he was making Darragh a Lord. A year of free food alone probably would have sold the often-hungry stoat, if that’s all the Navy had felt inclined to offer.

And just imagine where this life will take you in a year! You’ll probably have biceps the size of melons, and an earring. You want an earring. All the hip and with-it jacks have an earring.

Darragh felt a flutter of nerves as the elder fox began writing on many, many important-looking documents. Papers with official seals and quality print, and they all would have his name on them. It was the necromancy of officialdom, the use of his true name to bind his soul to the ship. Hereafter, he would be Darragh Harper, of the Golden Hide.

What a fine marriage this is turning out to be, there’s even a dowry. What’ll you be blowing all that lolly on then, Darragh me lad? That silky open-chested poet’s shirt you’ve always wanted? Fine whiskey and feasting? Salacious company?!… Actually, you should probably send it to your mum. Goodness knows she needs it, with the Harper household shivering under that leaky roof, and all your siblings needing new schoolbooks. You don’t want to be that kind of poet that abandons his family for Art… worryingly common as a success story as that is.

“Th-Thank you for this opportunity, Captain,” Darragh said a little breathlessly, remembering his manners before he got carried away by his imagination. “I won’t forget your beneficence to me, sir, an’ you’ll find it repaid more’n satisfactorily. Bless me for havin’ met with a fine gentlebeast of virtuous quality, sir!”

In any other beast, perhaps the use of such long words might have been used to mask insincerity. For Darragh though, it was plain that the more he meant something, his secret treasure-trove of eloquence would tumble out.

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

Talinn gave a reassuring smile to the young stoat, internally pleased he had found yet another willing and respectful recruit. It was always better to have volunteers these days over conscripted beasts, and decent ones at that. He might not be a proper soldier and sailor now, but that could be addressed in a matter of months-enough to serve his purpose at least, and perhaps then some. Maybe the young poet would surprise them all at the end of the day. As he finished up the necessary documents, he placed three before Harper, giving him an encouraging nod.

“You are welcome, Mr. Harper,” he replied smoothly and professionally, “all you have to do now is sign on the dotted line, and take your oath of allegiance, and then you will be a proper member of the Hide and a servant of the Empress.”

He offered the quill to the young stoat.

 

[Darragh Harper]

The quill’s scratching seemed to fill the whole room, as Darragh signed his name. He had learned to write his letters from books and papers in cheap print, so his regular form of writing was not cursive, in the manner of well-educated beasts. However, Darragh was familiar with the appearance of signatures, with their grandiose swirls and loops, and he rather fancied that he himself required such a style. His first signature was a bit wobbly, as he was not so used to the quill in comparison with bits of charcoal or the odd graphite pencil. The second and third grew in confidence, though in his excitement, the stoat’s loopy Darragh Harper had ended up floating up above the dotted lines.

This is where it begins, the ship seemed to say. Follow my colours true, and you may yet live to be older than I, and have some of your fine words to say by the end of it.

Darragh’s overcast-grey eyes looked up from the page. He blinked, and for a moment, Talinn Ryalor was gone. There were many foxes in the cabin. Some were poring over maps, others sharpening blades, a few turned to face the windows in silent contemplation. There were other species too, Darragh saw a wildcat, a pine marten, a rat. There was even a stoat like himself. Every beast had the same look in their eyes, the one that Darragh had seen in Talinn Ryalor’s deep blue gaze the moment they’d met.

Every captain of mine has had that look. Good or bad, they have all known what it is to lead. You will never know it - it is not your place in the world. Be content, as the lowest and the last. Ship’s Poet… I don’t think I’ve had one before. Serve me well, and I’ll give you something to write about. This cabin may never be yours, but you’ll have your chance at greatness… that is if you don’t fall off a yardarm on your first day.

A drop of ink dripped onto the page, and the spell was broken. Darragh blinked, unsure for a moment where to put the quill, before deciding the safest option would be to offer it back to the Captain. The lowest and the last… it almost seemed a shame to him to have been born so late, that he could not have witnessed all the Hide’s glory. Were these her twilight years, or was her finest hour yet to come? He hoped dearly for the latter. Darragh had never fancied himself anything like a war hero, as some young jacks do, yet he had to admit there would be something grand in it, if in the stories it was written, Darragh Harper was there too.