Open Imperial Army Barracks/Imperial Condos When Duty Calls Me I Must Go

[Rhana Redd]

Rhana was tired enough that the firm army mattress and pillow may as well have been an angel's bed. She didn't hear Aginpole coming up, didn't wake until he had his paw firmly over her muzzle. She came about fast after that, though a moment's brief struggle halted as she saw the shape of a real weapon under his arm - enough that she went still under him, though tense and ready to fight, free paw inching slowly in the dark for the knife under her pillow.

 

[Perila Z. Mogul]

Tomas punched the marten fondly in the arm, whispered "Good lad," and then the two vixens began stalking quietly across the room down to where the marteness lay sprawled, snoring quietly and clasping her pillow to her chest.
Her front rose and fell peacefully in the darkness, unaware as she was of the oncoming danger. The spite she had caused, intentionally or not, was coming for her.
Tomas tugged Aran onward, and then, upon reaching the bunk, nudged him with her shoulder.
Thalia went around the other side of the bunk, breathing eagerly, predatory eyes glistening in the dim darkness.
"Alright, mate..." Tomas muttered. "Prove ya got what it takes ta run in th' Imperial Army. Take th' first blow. Do this, ye'll be our true battle comrade. We'll defend ya 'til th' end in th' heat o' battle. Make that blow hurt."

 

[Perila Z. Mogul]

Aginpole leaned in close enough to whisper. "Let's talk outside. Don't make me come back in 'ere."
The big ferret then turned and slunk out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

 

[Aran Mateu Jan Vidal]

As Aran Mateu followed the pair to the sleeping marteness, he felt like he was going to be sick. Looking down at her sleeping form only made it worse. She suspected nothing; she'd gone to sleep without a fear of reprisal from anyone in the unit, much less the marten who had given her a ques lhans that morning. Now he was standing over her, a weapon intended to smash her face in trembling in his paw.

You have to do it. If you don't, you're on your own. You'll be the target tomorrow night instead, and every night thereafter. No one will come to rescue the Kharrie in the unit.

This isn't right. She isn't awake, she can't see the threat - this isn't honorable combat.

It's vicious and underhanded. That's what makes the Vulpinsulans strong. It's why they keep winning and we keep losing. You want to free your people someday? You have to become like them.

It's cowardly and cruel. I don't want to be like the monsters, like the Cahn and MAUL and all those who preyed upon us.

If you don't do it, they'll never trust you. You'll always be the outsider, never even trusted to come along on the next war. You'll be stuck on some dead-end post and never see Miklar again.

What would mother and father say?

What will they say when you get drummed out of the unit? When you're 'not soldier material'? Will you go back to making clothes for stuck-up Vulpinsulans again? Just forget that you were raised to be a warrior?

A plaintive whine escaped Aran Mateu's lips, tears streaming from his eyes, as he brought back the sock and swung down. He didn't account for the angle of the brick swinging behind his paw and a jolt went through him as it collided with the edge of the bunk above, the brick cracking as it hit the hard edge. The first blow wasn't that hard, given the majority of the force was absorbed by the initial impact with the bedframe; the next blow, though, he made count, and the one after that, and after that as well. He kept swinging, a sound escaping him like a hoarse wail - flenr favas, a battle keen, he would only realize later, a sound meant to inspire terror as Miklarian forces swept down from the mountains. He swung and swung, unable to see if he was even hitting his target anymore through the tears obscuring his vision and the hatred for himself that clouded his soul.

 

[Perila Z. Mogul]

Ames Gladdenberry jerked awake at the clunk of the brick hitting the bunk above, just in time for the other marten's wild blows to rain on and around her.
She screamed in alarm, and then in agony as several of the teeth in the left side of her mouth were knocked out.
"P-please, STOP! PLEA- Haagggh!"
This was followed by her cheek splitting open, then her nose breaking.
The marteness kept screaming until, shortly after the two vixens joining in, she was so battered and bloodied she was knocked into unconsciousness.
Cries of alarm rang out, the rat recruit in the bunk above Ames hopped out and attempted to stop Aran, grappling with his swinging arm, Corporal Colfax blew a whistle and barked out a command, Thalia was grabbing Aran's arm next and saying "Alright, mate, that's enough, she's had enough,"
Blood soaked the scratchy green bedsheets, Ames lay sprawled and broken, crying and whimpering softly, the covered, wettened brick felt heavy in Aran's paw.
The sting of the sea and the bite in the air as the massive ship heaved across the Sea of Calamities to Pricklee Point, newly-minted troops aboard the hulk of the Tarquin Supership.
The ridges of a vast new continent spread out before them, the legendary Mahsterious Sahthern Cahntinent, where rebellious woodland laborers would soon be brought to heel before the might of the Imperial Army. Easy work, the officers said, even for wetears who'd never slain a mouse or squirrel before. A good first test.
The stench of blood burned in Aran's nostrils, iron tasted on his tongue. The screams and sobs of Ames Gladdenberry melted away into the thunderous crashing of the sea.
(T.B.C....)

 

[Rhana Redd]

Rhana watched him go, silently considering her options. Her bunkmate and his friends hadn't stirred, either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. Either way, she figured there was no point in waking or confronting Fisher. This was something she'd have to handle herself.

Doing her best to hide her knife, she followed the ferret out, ready with every footstep towards and through the door to try and dodge a surprise blow, or to take her knife and do what she had to.