Now comes the time for me to describe the history and layout of Clandon.
As you’ve probably guessed, it is divided into the North, South, East, and West Regions, and a few other places. You may also know that the North and South Regions are ruled by Gulrag Northwind and his army, and the West and East Regions are ruled by two councils. Gulrag is content for now with holding just the North and the South. Let me go into a more detailed description. MAIN REGIONS North and South Regions of Clandon Historians say that further back into the past of these two regions, they have always been entwined, even though they are on opposing sides of Clandon. The kings of North and the kings of South had good relations for decades. Some generations back, they ended up under one king. The two families had intermarried so much that without even some kind of vote or agreement, Lifewind Swiftblade just took the throne, and no one disputed his rights. The two regions were combined into one: Clandoran. For four more generations, there was a peaceful rule of foxwolves with no battles or wars with the other two regions. In the rule of Mc’Kenthon Swiftblade, Gulrag’s father appeared in the furthest south. The wolverine had gathered many followers and quickly took the lower half of the South region. King Mc’Kenthon sent troops to drive them back, but it failed, losing Clandoran half of its army. The army’s leader, also known by Norden, kept coming . . . or would have if his son, Gulrag, hadn't killed him and taken leadership from him. Finally, he reached the capital of Clandoran. In a final stand, Gulrag slayed King Mc’Kenthon Swiftblade, despite the strength given the foxwolf by the Overall King (I’ll talk about that later). He took the throne, assuming the title of warlord. He swept most of the North clean of resistance. However, some remained to fight and continue to attack the warlord’s army in the weakest points of strategic defense. Two nurses with two children of royal blood are said to have escaped and disappeared. Now, we’ll talk about the natural history of the North and South regions. The Southern Region was and is mostly populated by the smaller animals, such as arctic foxes, ermine, and snowshoe hares. Most of the time, foxes stand taller than ermine, and ermine stand taller than hares and rabbits. Usually, ermine and hares are more prone to battle and joining Gulrag’s army at earlier ages, or helping the resistance. The landscape is barren. Few trees grow, but the ones that do are evergreen and live for many years. The rest is nondescript ice and snow. In the summer, there is also usually a light dusting of snow. The Northern region has the larger, more warlike species: white wolves, eagles, and sea otters. The otters are far smaller than the wolves, but tougher. The eagles, and a few other bird species, resent the rule of Gulrag as warlord, so are almost always ready to assist the rebels. You might have seen this earlier at the encounter that Icefurr and Leo Gundar had with the resistance. The plantlife is a little more rich in the Southern Region, but that isn’t saying too much. Mostly, that just means there’s dried grass instead of snow in areas furthest south, where Gulrag trained his army. West Region of Clandon The Western Region has a simpler history than the North and South do. It originated when a faction of creatures, mostly snow lemmings, mice, and arctic rabbits, broke off from the North Region. They formed a democratic council. As time went on, these smaller animals forged alliances with the creatures of the Mountainous Lands, making them far harder to conquer. Every once in awhile, they hold an election for a new Council Spokesbeast. This creature is in charge of directing the council, and therefore holds a bit more power than the other councilcreatures. Fourteen Spokesbeasts have ever been in office, and there are two that I’d like you to remember: Redtail Farleaper, and Ferguson K’Lenon. Redtail Farleaper is of importance to you because he was the rabbit who proposed to form the alliances with the Mountainous Lands and declare war on Eastern Region. He was the eleventh Spokesbeast. By his suggestion, messengers were sent to the Marshall of the Lands to create bonds of trust, and eventually, a mutual defense treaty to protect them in any kind of battle or war. Also under the guiding paw of Farleaper, the first attack to gain land from East Region was ordered. Ever since, conflicts have been constant and perennial. Ferguson K’Lenon is of greater significance. He was the one to begin attacks Gulrag Northwind’s southern borders, and aiding the rebels. He believed that the warlords were a blight upon Clandon as a whole, and they should be subdued. K’Lenon’s son and grandson continued this mission. He took office as Spokesbeast directly after Farleaper. As I said before, Western Region is almost completely populated by arctic lemmings, white rabbits, and mice: the smaller animals. Their birds are mostly terns and puffins. That’s about it for the animals. As to their tendency to battle, these creatures don’t like to fight. However, they do keep a small garrison for those who are actually good warriors. The plant life is far more rich than that of the South and North. The farther west you move, the more evergreens and bushes you find, until there is absolutely no snow at all. East Region of Clandon The East Region has almost the same story as the West: they broke off from the Southern Region, and formed alliances with two other small areas. These other places were Therennia and the Plainsterritories. This way, they were also protected against attack and so were the two others. They also have a council, but no Spokesbeast or anything of the sort. So, I have nothing else of interest for you here. The animals of the Eastern Region are the same as the Western Region, but their birds are sparrows. Their plant life is basically the same as the South Region of Clandon. OTHER LANDS The Mountainous Lands of Clandon The Mountainous Lands, as their name suggests, contain a lot of mountains. They have always been independent, the historians of Clandon say. This area covers the entire west edge of the continent. The Mountainous Lands are also called the Land of Mystery, for no one really knows much about their origin, the military strength of their government, how the government is really organized, or all the types of animals there. There are only a few things that are known for sure. The main animal species living there is the polar bear. This creature’s strength in battle is what makes them such a valuable asset to the Western Region. Instead of being governed by a king, they are ruled by an emperor. Nocreature really knows the rest of the hierarchy. The Plainsterritories of Clandon Again, the name gives away what most of the landscape is: plains. This place covers almost a third of the eastern branch of the Clandonian continent. It’s no secret that the residents of this land are governed by their own warlord. He isn’t as powerful as Gulrag is, but he is strong enough to keep the Plainsterritories to himself. If Kallenian Snapclaw keeps to himself, so will the warlord of what used to be Clandoran. Before Snapclaw conquered the Plainsterritories, they were ruled by a king. However, the Territories were easy to take because the king had no real power over what happened in his large, flat savannah of a kingdom. Usually, the animals living there just kept to their own small villages and townships. The animals of the plains include jackals (like Kallenian), foxes, hawks, and badgers: mostly large animals. The plantlife is mostly long grass and a few trees, as can be expected. Therennia Therenia, interestingly, is not a part of the overall Clandon area, and is never referred to as Clandon. Actually, it’s not even attached to the continent. It’s a large island off the coast of the Plainsterritories and East Region. The animals of Therennia are mongoose, snakes, red pandas, and actual pandas. Due to its size and habitat, the population is dense but fewer than you would think. Still, the alliance with East Region is invaluable to both sides. The island is not governed at all. In fact, all the creatures together make decisions together. However, they do have a militia-based army with full-time commanders. They need it to uphold their mutual defense treaty with Eastern Region and to defend themselves from the likes of Northwind and Snapclaw. The plant life of Therennia is based on jungle trees, ferns, ground plants, and other forest growth. This makes it inhospitable to the creatures on the mainland, who are used to very cold climate year-round, and habitable to the animals who live there. The snakes, pandas, and mongoose could never survive on Clandon, but some do manage to live in the Plainsterritories. ***** There you have it. A description of the history, residents, and government of the different areas, territories, and regions of Clandon, land of ice. I hope it helps you understand the tales of the Rogue Captain. A Note From the Author: Clandon and the Real World Clandon’s geography and climate has no relation to the way our world acts. For instance, you read that the warmest climates are in the east, and the coldest in the north and west. See? It makes no sense to you. However, it makes sense to the residents of the countries themselves, so bear with me.
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Icefurr stood, rubbing his back. “Well, that was definitely not what I’d call a good night’s sleep,” he muttered. He’d had strange dreams all night, and kept waking up due to stones beneath his bedroll. The arctic fox bent down to fold said bedroll. Of course, he hadn’t thought to use his tent last night, either, so he and his blanket were covered with a light dusting of snow.
Just your typical wanderer’s night in the frosted lands of Clandon. He’d been walking for a few months now, watching the borders of the Western Region for any of Gulrag’s horde, or any evil-doers. So far, he’d freed one border village from Gulrag’s horde through slight trickery and defeated a small gang of bandits. The arctic fox shouldered his pack and was about to head off to find somewhere else to stay, when he heard a scream. Icefurr spun around. He heard it again, coming from the south. The fox drew his sword and dropped his pack, footpaws taking him in that direction. He burst into a clearing between some evergreen trees. A pair of ermine were yanking a tattered sack away from an old snowshoe hare. She screamed again as one hit her paw with the flat of his sword. “Somebeast, help me!” she screeched. Icefurr charged out of the trees, wielding his sword and shield. “Let her go!” he commanded. The ermine were so stunned, they did exactly that. One of them peered at him strangely. “Who are yeh?” he asked. “An’ wot kind o’ warrior are yew?” Icefurr hesitated. Then he made a decision. “I am Icefurr Swiftblade, protector of this land! As to what kind of warrior I am, I am one that could easily put both of ye to flight!” A little boasting never hurt, he reasoned. Both ermine drew rusty swords. “Oh, yeah? Then try it!” one taunted. They moved in on either side of him. The arctic fox backed up slowly. Suddenly, he lunged with his sword, catching the one on his right off guard and stabbing him through the shoulder. The ermine screeched and dropped his sword. Icefurr’s shield came up just in time to block the other’s mad swipe. The fox swung his arm around, pinned the blade to the ground, and struck with his curved sword. The ermine clutched at his stomach. He stared at Icefurr’s sword, then his shield. The ermine’s eyes grew wide. His clouding eyes were fixed on the symbol on Icefurr’s shield: a paw and talon clasped over a straight sword. Icefurr had repainted it in red. “You . . . Rogue Captain!” he gasped out, then collapsed, blood streaming out of his wound. He was dead. Icefurr turned to the other ermine and kicked his sword out of reach. The ermine lay prostrate on the ground. “You, get out of here. Tell whoever you work for that the Western Clandon Region is not easy to pillage. I know that Gulrag Northwind rules the Northern and Southern Regions, but this land is protected by me. Go!” Icefurr ordered. The ermine scrambled up off the ground and stumbled away into the open snowfields. Icefurr walked over to the poor hare. She had fainted right away. Quickly, he built a fire to keep her warm. He needed to know what village she was from, before he took her anywhere. Something else was on his mind, though. Why had the ermine called him “Rogue Captain”? ***** The snowshoe hare finally woke up. The old hare slowly took in the fire, then the creature sitting beside it. She warily sat up. “Who are you?” she asked. “Are you friends with those ermine?” She started backing away. “No, of course not,” he reassured her. “I stopped them. Where are you from?” She inched back to the fireside. “I’m from a small town, further away from the border. By the name of O’Halley Township,” she croaked, then coughed some. When she’d regained her breath, she nodded towards him with an air of wisdom. “You’re the Rogue Captain.” Icefurr started. “That’s what one of the ermine said. I’ve never heard the title,” he said. “What is it for?” “You managed to leave Gulrag Northwind’s horde. That in itself is an accomplishment. You’re famous along the border, and even somewhat well-known farther into the Western Region of Clandon. Also, you drove off some of his army from the M’Keefe settlement, and defeated birds and bandits. I just spotted your shield: the Northern Resistance symbol in red.” Icefurr looked at his shield. He’d thought that the rebels were just a small-time operation. Obviously, he’d been wrong. “But I still don’t understand why everycreature would know me! Just those small things wouldn’t make me important!” he argued. The old hare held up a paw. “I’m not finished. Some say that you are the rightful ruler of the North and South together. So do I. Ancient tales speak of an older land, called Clandoran. ‘Twas a united country. Both North and South were one region. West and East were two others, and were ruled by two kings instead of councils. The kings of Clandoran bore the surname of Swiftblade, for their prowess in battle. Their weapons were embued with celestial power, to assist them in defeating evil. They had always been foxes of white . . . although they were half arctic wolf, making them stronger,” she added. “Gulrag’s father overthrew this kingdom long ago, and the descendants of the kings were scattered. Few retained their history. I believe that you were one of those few. Tell me, young one, where did you come from?” Icefurr was stunned. “I . . . I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I . . . I think that I was taken in by the army as a babe.” “Wrong! You are the Rogue Captain, heir to the throne. Once a king, always a king!” The fire exploded into the air. Icefurr shielded his eyes. When he looked back, the snowshoe hare was gone. He blacked out. ***** Icefurr sat up and shook his head in confusement. What had happened. He was lying in the middle of a clearing, covered in snow, and clutching his shield close to him. The events of the day flashed back into his mind. The hare, the ermine, the shield, Swiftblade . . . everything. Once again, he shook his head. He wasn’t a king. Why hadn’t he known about all of it? He’d never heard any of it before. The Rogue Captain? The arctic fox stood. He’d dropped his pack beyond the trees, so Icefurr walked in that direction. He found it quickly. As he bent over to pick it up, something that the hare had said flashed into his mind. “Half white wolf,” he muttered. He looked at his paws. They were indeed larger than those of other foxes. His muzzle was sharper, and his tail was longer. He was taller, too, than the others. “I guess she wasn’t lying,” he reasoned. He looked at his shield. “But now what?” “Now you come with us, if you please,” a voice said from behind him. He turned, drawing his curved sword. A group of sea otters and rabbits stood in front of him. “Woah, now, mate!” the one who’d spoken said hurriedly. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re with the resistance!” He pointed to the red shield. Icefurr slowly lowered his sword. Icefurr Swiftblade stood proudly before his commander as the big ermine pinned a captain’s badge to his silver cloak. “Thank you, General Iceclaw, I won’t let this badge down,” he stated immediately.
“Of course you won’t. If you do, you die,” Iceclaw responded matter-of-factly. Icefurr laughed. He was standing in front of Gulrag Northwind’s horde. The big wolverine had accumulated many vermin to his service in the land of Clandon. He and his captains had trained them until they were far more disciplined than any others before them. Icefurr was a prime example of this, Iceclaw thought. The white fox was strong, with perfect posture and a well sharpened blade. Not for the first time, the ermine general wished that the sword was his. It was curved, slightly blued, with a black leather-bound grip. Icefurr had gotten it off of a fallen rat. It was certainly not of vermin make. Never mind that. The fox was now bowing with his paw clenched at his chest. Icefurr stood, did a smart about-face, then walked off towards his tent through the small crowd of observers. Icefurr reached his tent. All of his equipment and personal belongings were still there, but his regular grey tent had been replaced with a red and black captain’s dwelling. Gulrag’s flag flew from the top, a claw stripe surrounded by blood. Inside, everything was as it normally was. One thing was different, though. During his promotion, some attendants had come in and placed a captain’s map table in the center. On it was a small plan to attack a nearby settlement of warrior rabbits. Pinned to the map was a commission: Captain Icefurr Swiftblade, These rabbits pose a threat to me and my empire. We have control of all of the northern lands, but I’m entrusting this place to you. Capture it, and you may be lord in power there. State Lord Icefurr, has a nice ring to it. Don’t fail me. Although, the records that my other commanders give me say that you won’t. Gulrag Northwind This is what made Gulrag Northwind such a powerful warlord: he commanded real, authentic loyalty from his troops, and actually fulfilled promises. However, his vermin understood the consequences for disobedience. Icefurr was elated with this commissioning. He immediately stood up a studied the map. He would be given command of the IceStrikers division. It had been out of action since its previous commander, Captain Flenrider, had been slayed in battle. Icefurr himself had never seen real battle, but had studied strategy since he was a child, and had quelled slight rebellions in the farther north. Little did he know what the dark side of his overlord looked like. ***** Leo Gundar stood in the front line of his division. They were to meet their new commander. For two weeks, they’d been bored to death with cleaning service, not to mention being kicked around by the more nasty captains like dirt. Icefurr strode out, sporting a black tunic, leather boots, his silvery cloak, and his commander’s badge. “Atten . . . tion!” the sergeant called. Forty pairs of boots snapped together. “I’m assuming that Sergeant Killtarn briefed you all on the commission from Lord Gulrag?” Icefurr asked confidently. “Yes, sir!” they chorused. “Good. Will my group leaders step forward?” Four ermine marched out from their lines and stopped in front of him. “Lead your groups as you were told. No mercy. Flush them out,” he ordered. “Not even the babes.” “Yes, captain!” All of the IceStrikers saluted and moved out of the campsite. Icefurr followed at the back. ***** Leo was proud to be with one of the groups that struck first. They headed off into the growing darkness with two torches at the lead. The warrior settlement was very close, and they soon saw it on the horizon. “Draw!” called both group sergeants. All of the ermine and foxes drew out an identical sword and equipped themselves with a kite-shaped shield. Icefurr was at the head of the other two groups. They were armed lightly, and were coming around to the rear of the settlement. The blinding white fox flicked his paw. Both groups moved forward, splitting up into a pincer movement. The settlement was a large cluster of houses, with ramshackle fortifications of timber and some furniture. However, the rabbit warriors were obviously experienced. Sentries lined the walls. A small tower had been constructed in the center of the camp. Icefurr suspected that there would be listening tunnels. Shouts came from the settlement on the other side of the walls as, presumably, the first strikers hit them hard. Even from his current position, as his paws pounded the ground in time with his soldiers’, he could hear the clash of steel on steel growing in volume. “Now!” he whispered. Immediately, both groups burst into a flat-out run. The fortifications were taller than they looked. Because of this, they lost precious time. One sentry who’d stayed behind noticed an ermine on top and yelled, “More over here!” An archer quickly shot him down. Nobody had heard him. Icefurr leaped over the barricade. “Attack!” he shouted. His troops charged through the huts and straight into the back and right flanks of the rabbits. The warriors in the settlement all carried shields with a strange design on it: a paw clasped with a talon over a straight sword. It was painted in green on all of their weapons and armor. Leo Gundar laughed in vermin cruelty as he defeated yet another foe. That one had been strong. He saw Captain Icefurr charging into a building, and he ran after the white fox to help. Leo and Icefurr both came to an abrupt stop at the same time. By an open hearth stood an old arctic hare and a smaller one, presumably her grandson. “Don’t hurt my granny!” the younger hare squeaked, lifting an iron poker. Suddenly, Leo was hit with a feeling of pity. He didn’t want to kill them. “Captain, I suggest that we don’t kill them, but maybe take them as prisoners? They’re not warriors,” he mumbled to Icefurr. Icefurr’s emotions were in turmoil. They were defenseless, but his orders . . . “I agree,” he eventually responded. Another fox was standing in the doorway. “Don’t worry, captain! I’ll take this one,” he exclaimed. A bloodthirsty creature, wanting a promotion, thought Icefurr quickly. “No, wait!” he started, but it was too late. The arctic fox had rushed forward and slain the babe and his granny. “What . . . why did you do that?” Icefurr stuttered, horrified. “He was an innocent creature . . .” He collapsed by the young babe, blood pooling around the hares' necks and heads. The other fox was confused . . . right up until he was cleanly knocked unconscious by Leo. “Foul creature . . . I never imagined this,” he said. “Captain Icefurr . . . we should leave. I don’t want to stay here. You feel the same way?” the ermine continued. “This is not what I thought it was . . .” “It’s not right,” Icefurr said, half sobbing over the dead bodies. “I thought that we were doing the right thing . . . but we’re different from the others,” he continued, now facing Leo. “You know we are. I am glad we met.” Leo nodded, and began out the doorway. “We have to leave. Now,” he said, disregarding Icefurr’s title as captain. Icefurr stood and screamed, “This was murder, not a rebellion!” He flung his sword at the wall. It stuck. Leo slapped a paw over his captain’s mouth. “Maybe I’m just weak, but I think that this was a horrible idea, and so was your screaming. Let’s go!” he whispered fiercely. The other fox began to stir, and Leo slammed his footpaw in its face. The arctic fox sank back to the floor with a slight moan. Icefurr retrieved his sword and swept out of the house. He left his captain’s badge on the floor. ***** Icefurr and Leo both flattened themselves against the wall as a troop of vermin marched past, presumably looking for them. Leo had heard a minor captain issue an order to find “Captain Swiftblade’s dead body” as soon as possible. So, they didn’t know that the pair was trying to find a way out. Leo looked around the corner. They’d almost made it to the gate. He drew his sword and settled his shield in his paw. When he got out, he just didn’t want any more of this mess. He’d been fine with it for months, even enjoying it, ruthlessly slaying creatures in battle. However, when he’d seen two completely defenseless creatures slayed for no reason, something had snapped. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have killed them under orders. It was that he was worried that if he did, he’d become as bloodthirsty as the fox who had. The ermine returned to the present. Beside him, Icefurr had drawn his sword as well. On second thought, he decided to switch it out for his bow. The pair waited for a few more tense minutes. The gates were soon empty, more or less, except for dead bodies and two guards: one fox, and a formidable-looking wolf. “I’ll shoot the wolf. You see if you can take out the fox before he warns the others,” Icefurr ordered. Leo nodded, brought his shield up, and stepped out into the open just as a black feathered arrow transfixed the wolf. The huge silver creature fell to the ground. He was clutching his neck. Leo ran at the fox. The white fox was so stunned, he didn’t even have a chance to cry out in pain as he was run through by the point of Leo’s sword. Icefurr joined him. He was carrying a shield like that of the rabbits. He’d picked it up, since he had no shield. The moonlight glinted off of the talon and paw symbol. Wait . . . something clicked in the fox’s mind. A talon . . . “Hey . . .” he whispered uncertainly. He didn’t know the ermine’s name. “Leo. Leo Gundar,” Leo replied. He took off at a jog through the gate and towards the open plain. Icefurr quickly overtook him. “A talon. A talon’s on their shields. They had birds.” They both came to a stop. “Where were they?” They both heard a screech of pain coming from the village, and a bird’s call of, “More over there!” “Run!” Icefurr howled. ***** Leo’s lungs were burning. He could hear flapping wings, and battle calls of huge birds, most likely kites and eagles. Icefurr pounded the earth beside him. All that they could see was flat tundra in all directions. Icefurr smelled water. After running for fifteen minutes, he assumed that they were near some kind of body of water. “Keep going! Can you . . . swim?!” he gasped out between breaths. Leo grunted in reply. He could see moonlight glinting off of a stream. He sped up a bit, and Icefurr did as well. The birds were getting closer. “Vermin!” one screeched. There were three of them, Icefurr now knew. He’d slightly turned his head and seen them out of the corner of his eye. Finally, they were at the stream, almost into the forest beyond it. Both dove into the flowing liquid. The quiet underwater was a sudden change from the sound of screeching eagles and two pairs of thundering footpaws. Icefurr looked up, and saw a ledge blocking the moonlight. He signaled Leo. The ermine also glanced up. He nodded. They both kicked their paws, and emerged away from the prying eyes of the birds. Icefurr took a deep, quiet breath. The pair waited until they were sure that their pursuers had flown off, then swam out into the center of the creek. “That was close,” Icefurr noted, still breathing deeply. Leo still didn’t speak and just nodded. They both climbed out onto the bank. Leo, being older than his former captain, was an experienced soldier. He had a small bag with a lightweight tent, and carried flint and tinder. They had a camp set up in no time. As they sat by the fire thinking, Icefurr posed a question. “What now, Leo?” His ermine friend shrugged. “I actually want to move down south and try to find an uncomplicated life there. I’ve been thinking about deserting for months. Maybe just avoid all creatures, in hopes of also not having to deal with the distinctions, ‘good and bad’. I’m neither.” Icefurr thought about that for a long time. Was he a kind creature, an evil animal, or neither? ***** The next morning, the two woke up at the same time. Leo packed up the gear, and he stood before his new friend. “Icefurr, I’m sorry that we cannot stay together much longer. However, I believe that this is where we must part ways. I salute you, Captain Icefurr Swiftblade, my last commander.” He raised a paw to his brow. Icefurr returned the gesture, then clasped paws with the ermine. “Goodbye, Leo Gundar, my final soldier.” They both turned in opposite directions: Icefurr to the north, and Leo to the south. Never to see each other again, but one last time: at the Gates to Afterlife. I have a roleplay buddy of sorts, Jared Sandeye. Here's a link to his own blog.
theeasternking.tumblr.com A small, dirty ray of sunshine fluttered its way down through the deck of a little grubby ship, striking the face of a ferret mother going into labor. Her husband was trying to sleep and shushed her cruelly. “Shut up, yeh groaning ragbeast,” he grunted. The female grabbed a piece of cloth, tore it and bit down to keep down a screech.
Two hours later, she wept over a little cub. She was still puzzling over a name for the little female when a strange orange mark in her fur caught the mother’s eye. Then the ferret looked at her bracelet . . . citrine. “Citrine,” she whispered through her tears. “‘Tis as good a name as any. Your can take my name, too . . . Blackpaw.” “I said shut up!” Her husband stood and pushed her from her bed out onto the deck, then slammed the door. She gasped in pain and fell to the timber, almost dropping Citrine. When she’d recovered, she whispered again. “You and I can live through it all, Citrine. We can . . .” ***** Twenty years later, they certainly had. On the ship, Citrine had grown up as a corsair, following in her mother’s and father’s steps. She was skilling with the knife and bow. Her mother had a better streak in her heart, though, and instilled in Citrine was a deep-rooted aversion to killing. Half of the matter was that she could see how pointless it was. She was smart. The other half was her upbringing. Citrine was one of Captain Greyheart’s top crewbeasts for her marksmanship. He was a one pawed fox, a nasty old creature if there ever was one. One fine, bright day found Citrine and the ship’s bosun, Tippet, standing by Greyheart at the helm. The crew of the ship Redpoison was to try their luck at raiding the southern coast today. Greyheart pointed a paw. “See that mountain?” he asked. He was pointing to a huge cone of stone by the shoreline. Citrine nodded. “‘Tis full of treasure, I’m told, protected by monsterous badgers and powerful fighting hares.” Tippet sneered. “Are we attackin’ it, Cap’n?” he asked in a whiny voice. Greyheart buffeted the little rat’s ear. “O’ course not. Many others have tried. Me, no thank you. We’re goin’ slightly further, to a more grassy plains area, with many small coastal villages,” he explained impatiently. Citrine didn’t say anything. She knew the captain well enough to not do as Tippet had. Two hours later, the lookout screeched, “There!” Citrine grimaced as she watched a pleasant coastal village loom up on the horizon. The black ferret shouldered her bow in dreading anticipation of the coming slaughter. ***** A white auklet screeched in terror as a slingstone came whistling after it, to the jeers of the Redpoison’s crew. Citrine watched them, stone faced. She’d made it this far through the years by killing from a distance. This time . . . this time, she’d been forced to kill a mouse who had been protecting his family. She felt like she was a captive to the whims of death itself. It was all she knew, all she was good at. Now, as she stood looking at the body of the valiant creature whose life she’d cruelly stolen, she sensed it pressing down on her. It was a heavy weight. She could hardly breathe. Images flickered before her eyes: innocent creatures, fire arrows, unsuspecting victims, mothers, fathers, grandparents, they all came down like a flood. She wept bitterly. One of the bigger weasels making sport of the birds notice. “Haharr!” he laughed, then sneered. “Mate’s, look here, the big tough Citrine Blackpaw! She’s blubbering like a fretful hogwife!” They all chuckled, mocking her with silly faces. Instantly, the tall ferret stood, her tears fading. Slowly, they all stopped laughing at her. Her face grew quieter and stiller. They all backed off. Except one. Once before, somebeast had made fun of the black ferretmaid, and she’d done this . . . and more. All of them knew that she was the most deadly creature on the ship. This one, a lanky fox, had laughed it off, saying it was a lucky hit. “What you gonna do, Orange? Huh?” he asked. His paw flipped out an iron scimitar. “Brushfire,” she said quietly. “You should learn that to appreciate a good foe isn’t insultable. I don’t take kindly to stuck up fox-fur hats.” Tippet snickered beside Brushfire, and stopped when he stumbled to the ground. He had a knife buried in his leg. He howled in pain. “Neither does I,” Brushfire growled, and threw another at Citrine. The black ferret flipped over its path, baring her teeth. “Do that again.” He did. This time, the marksbeast kicked it out of the air by the blade. It turned twice and landed, point first, in the sand by Citrine. “My turn.” Brushfire gawked as she spun a knife right out of her belt at his tail. He was so stunned that he didn’t even pull it away. “Aiiieeeee!” he screeched. She walked right past him as he yanked out the dagger, tossed it away, and nursed his injured brush. He was holding in sobs. ***** A slave. That’s all I am. Why? He did nothing to me. Neither did the mouse. A slave. These were the thoughts running through Citrine’s head that night. She was lying, wide awake, in her bunk belowdecks. All of a sudden, she was hit by another wave of grief. The tears streamed down her fur this time. She held in the sobs, though, in fear of her detached father’s rage. He would throw her out, like he did mother, that night . . . Captain Greyheart just overlooked Crygal Deathfur’s abusive ways. He let the ferret mistreat his daughter and his wife, Brighteye Blackpaw. Citrine felt resolve creeping into her mind. She slinked out of bed, making as much noise as a feather, and crept over to her mother’s bunk, beneath her father’s and by a snoring stoat’s. She gently shook her mother awake, then slapped a paw over Brighteye’s mouth before she could scream at the dark shape above her. “Mother, ‘tis me. Be quiet,” she whispered. Brighteye calmed down. “What . . . is it?” her mother asked sleepily. “I’m leaving. Come with me.” Brighteye’s blue eyes widened in fear. “No! You can’t do it!” she almost shouted. Citrine’s paw covered her mouth again. “I can’t take this anymore. Please, Mother, I can’t leave you here!” the black ferret begged. Brighteye shook her head fiercely. Citrine almost sobbed. Her mother had been here too long. It was suffocating her. “Please!” “No . . . I just can’t . . . your father . . .” Brighteye breathed, a hint of a tear shining in her own eyes. “He can’t hurt you if you leave!” “No . . . I want you to go, though!” she whispered, determination entering her own voice. “I can still change your father. You need to leave.” Citrine hugged her tightly. “I love you, Citrine. You and I are different than all the other vermin. Live up to that. Let it roam, my daughter.” “I love you too.” With that, Citrine snatched her weapons and clothes and dashed to the hold ladder. Once out, she made her way across the deck to the edge of the ship. They were some way off the coast, but the sentry was asleep. She left her cloak, buckled on her knives and quiver, and dived into the water. On deck, the sentry started awake for a few seconds. “Wot was . . .” He promptly fell back to sleep. A grog bottle rolled out from behind him. Citrine was an avid swimmer, having been on the seas her whole life. The lithe ferret quickly reached the shoreline. Pointedly avoiding the burnt village, she trudged onward, past the trees and into a large clearing. ***** Three years later, Citrine was a mercenary. All she knew was death and killing, so until she knew what to do with her life, she had resolved to kill only from a distance and be a scout for various employers. This year, she’d taken a job from a wildcat in the north. His name was Gettar Rightwind, and he was only interested in slaving. No killing and a hefty sum made it an irrefusable offer to the black ferret. So far, she’d only looked for the slaves, not actually taken them. Citrine stood now at the top of a hill, surveying another small settlement. It was at the base of the northern mountain range. Sheltered from the harsh winds, it had flourished by a cool mountain stream. Gettar would be pleased. She ran back down the valley on the other side, through the pine trees, and all the way back to Gettar’s camp. Past the slaves’ tent, past the slavers’ tents, and into a larger grey one at the end. Gettar lounged in a portable cot, sucking on robin eggs. When she came in, he nodded in approval. His claw beckoned for her to draw nearer, and his golden fur flashed in the light from the entry. “What have you found?” “A small mountain village, with many young ones and fit squirrels and mice,” she reported. “You do know that I won’t help take them,” Citrine added. Gettar rolled his eyes but still nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. Go get a fish from the cook, and I will personally give you pay later.” Citrine bowed and retreated through the tent flap. ***** That night, Citrine led a small group of vermin to the village. They quietly stole into the cluster of houses, and soon one of them came out of a hut with an unconscious hedgehog over his back. Citrine looked the other way. She was standing at the edge of the settlement by a smaller hut. Soon, each vermin had one of the strongest younger creatures. Citrine was about to lead them back, when an ermine tripped over a flowerpot, making a huge crash. She froze, as did the ermine. “You idiot!” a weasel whispered. Someone opened the door. It was a mouse followed right away by his family. The ermine sneered and, followed by an arctic fox, moved forward to snatch the mouse’s son. The father stepped in the way. “Stop! Stay away!” He spread his paws protectively. Suddenly Citrine was standing in front of a different mouse, in a different village. She felt emotion welling up inside her. What she was doing now was no better. Slave making slaves. “Stop!” she yelled. The ermine looked at her, scowled, and kept moving. Citrine dashed in front of the mouse father just as the fox thrust forward with a sickle-shaped sword. “No!” Everything went black as the vermin made off with their prizes. The last thing that Citrine saw before her eyes closed in pain was an unfamiliar pair of eyes . . . a fox that hadn’t been with her group. ***** Citrine woke up in light. A golden-red fox was beside her, applying a poultice to her side. “Ah, I see that you’re finally awake,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve seen many strange things in my life-time, young one, but never what you did.” “My mother said . . .” Citrine winced as the fox’s soft paw pressed her wound. “She said I’m different than other vermin.” “I know.” The fox stood and walked into another room. “My name is Kenai O’Mage.” “I am Citrine Blackpaw,” the ferret replied. “‘Tis good to meet you. You may stay as long as you need.” “Are you a healer?” “I am.” Kenai came out carrying a tray with a cup of dark liquid and two hard-boiled eggs. “Drink up. ‘Tis good for you,” she advised. Citrine nodded and downed it in one gulp. It tasted slightly like blackberries. “Would you teach me?” she suddenly asked me. Kenai looked at her quizzically. “I mean, the art of healing.” Kenai thought. Citrine hoped that she would say yes. “Yes.” Citrine almost cried. She was to be released from her bondage. Not a slave. A servant of those around her. Not a killer. A healer. |
AuthorI love fiction, fantasy, roleplaying, and reading. Nice to meet you too. All of my tales are little kid-friendly, except perhaps a few stories in the Rogue Captain universe. Those are more geared towards teens. Check with your parents, just in case. Archives
August 2019
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