Icefurr strode off towards South Region. It would take him two or three hours at a run to reach the village. Sundown was coming quickly. The foxwolf sped up to a sprint, but had to settle for a jog, as his armor was weighing him down.
The sun was almost gone from the horizon when Icefurr had the old rebel settlement in sight. His paws barely kicked up snow as he finally neared the edge of the wreckage. Since he had been here last, months ago, the houses had fallen down, the wall was burnt up, and everything was strewn about. Icefurr had to cover his muzzle with his sleeve. The smell -- he didn’t want to think about what it was from -- was horrible, and reeked of decay and terrible things. The Rogue Captain looked around, but didn’t see a soul. Where are you, Gulrag? he thought. He sniffed the smelly air. Just rot, but besides that . . . something else . . . His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a laugh. “Captain Swiftblade, hello!” Gulrag stepped out from behind the framework of a hut. He flicked it, and the whole thing fell down. He was still wearing the same red cloak that he always did, and a chain mail tunic. He carried a massive scimitar. Icefurr looked at it and drew his own curved sword. “What do you want?” “Among other things? Your death. However, that’s of no consequence right now,” the wolverine chuckled. “Right now, we can discuss your probable surrender.” “Why would I do that?” Icefurr growled. He was still taking in the scents around him. “If you do, I promise that I will leave North Region alone.” Icefurr started. This was unexpected; the warlord could still be planning something. He swung his shield around onto his arm. Gulrag looked at his shield, then the surcoat. “Oh! Ha! What’s this?” He pointed a claw at the foxwolf’s chain mail. “How quaint. A badge of rebellion, is it?” He paused. “Well, what say you?” Gulrag stepped closer. Icefurr stepped back. “No.” Gulrag’s face became a mask of fury. “No? NO?!?” He took a huge, round black shield from his back. It made Icefurr’s diamond shield look small. However, Icefurr noticed something. Gulrag was, indeed, thicker than Icefurr and very tall, but Icefurr’s wolf ancestry caused him to stand at the same height as the wolverine. “If you won’t give up, then you WILL fight!” the wolverine yelled. He swung the scimitar in circles above his head, then brought it down in what would have been a killing stroke if Icefurr hadn’t jumped out of the way. The foxwolf looked about hastily. Ermine, wolves, hawks, and even a few otters surrounded him. He was to die this day. “Doranfather, help me!” he breathed. Suddenly, a shout came from the snowy hills behind the Rogue Captain. Blue and green and silver and white all flashed behind him as rebelcreatures poured down into the village. “No!” Gulrag cried. “You said that you’d come alone!” Icefurr looked around, then jumped at the wolverine. “I’m never alone!” He jabbed with his sword. Gulrag deflected it with his shield. “I will make you alone!” he screamed. His scimitar thrust towards Icefurr, catching him in the footpaw. The foxwolf smiled. “I have something that you don’t, Gulrag, something that you can never have!” The Rogue Captain suddenly looked much taller than Gulrag. The wolverine backed away, the clamor of battle almost drowning out Icefurr’s voice. “I have a Father.” “I killed him!” The wolverine’s fury was evident. “No! He cannot be killed!” Icefurr’s voice was rising in power. Disregarding the wounds being inflicted on him by the warlord’s creatures, he pushed towards Gulrag. “Aah!” he suddenly breathed. A fox cackled behind him, with a spear in his paw. It was thrust through Icefurr’s back. An otter struck the fox down, but the damage was done. Icefurr sank to the ground. Strike the ground, Rogue Captain. Icefurr could hear a voice speaking to him. “Doran?” he whispered. Yes. “He is Doranfather! Father of all . . .” Something flew out of his mouth. "Akthali Doran eqtana rithna!" With one final burst of strength, Icefurr drove his sword down deep into the snow, ice, and earth. Gulrag screamed, “NO!” This had happened before; scars twisted down his back, evidence of another king, in another battle, with another sword. He ran, paws pounding the cold ground and scimitar batting away creatures in his way. A blast of white-hot light rippled out through the air in a circle around the dying prince. The enemies of Doran’s creatures shrieked in pain as their bodies disappeared, leaving nothing but armor and weapons. Gulrag was last. His back twisted in agony as the light tore across his hulking muscles, burning his fur and sending him to Darkdoor, where all persecutors of Doranfather’s children went. “Nooo--!” His scream was cut off as he vanished. Icefurr had no time to wonder at what had just happened. His blood was almost run out, and his eyes were getting misty. “Captain!” a voice yelled, and Jennter ran to his commander’s side. “No, no! Why? Why did you do it? You knew it was a trap . . .” The big wolf couldn’t stop a tear from running down his cheek. “Doran’s . . . will . . .” Icefurr’s voice trailed off. “Months . . . of fighting . . . we did it . . . Leo? Where have you been, you old soldier?” Jennter started. What was Icefurr saying? “I’m . . . alone here except for you . . . no, Doran . . .” The brave young foxwolf stopped again, and his eyes misted over. TO BE CONTINUED . . .
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Icefurr woke to the hushed voices of a pair of otters outside his door.
“You tell ‘im, mate!” “No, you tell ‘im!” The foxwolf crept to the door, put his mouth to the keyhole, and whispered along with them. “Tell me what?” “Oh, tell ‘im that the force we sent out . . .” The otter trailed off. “Oops.” Icefurr slammed the door open. “What happened to them?” “They haven’t come back.” Jennter was walking down the hall towards them. “We sent them out two nights ago to help the smaller forces on the border of Eastern Region. We still haven’t heard from them.” The wolf pointed for the otters to leave. They both nodded, their chain mail jingling as they left. “Have we sent anybeast after them?” Icefurr asked. He was only dressed in a light tunic, so he closed the door as Jennter kept talking through the door. “No. We’re planning to today,” the wolf said through the door. Icefurr pulled on his mail and surcoat, then slung his shield and sword over his back. Then he added a pair of tough leather boots, a helmet, and strong steel gauntlets to the gear. He opened the door. “I’m going with them.” The foxwolf brushed past Jennter and walked down to the hall. “He cares too much,” Jennter muttered. “He is a good leader.” ***** About two hours later, Icefurr was jogging beside a troop of wolves and otters, the stronger rebels. Above them flew five or six kites and eagles. They were there to watch out for trouble, and stop any if it came too close. “Which way now, Captain?” an otter asked, running up beside the foxwolf. Icefurr pointed north and east. “The village is that way,” he shouted, and the whole company made a slight turn. The Rogue Captain did some quick mental math in his head, and estimated that they’d arrive in another hour or so. He was exactly right. Judging by the winter sun’s position, no more than an hour and a quarter had passed by the time they sited small roofs and smoke from chimneys in the distance. “Speed up, and not a sound,” a wolf ordered. He was a lieutenant. Icefurr nodded in confirmation, and the rebels broke into dead run. When they reached the village, they all skidded to a halt. Nothing was left. The roofs that they’d seen were falling apart, and the smoke was smoke from a huge fire. It had died down, but was still burning. Icefurr looked around at the carnage. Dead bodies of sparrows, lemmings, and mice littered the ground, draped over fences and inside ruins. The group walked through the evidence of destruction, averting their eyes from the more horrific scenes. Finally, they came to the biggest building in the complex. It was round, and had burned down completely. Icefurr could only distinguish its outline, and what lay inside . . . the foxwolf retched. The wolf lieutenant, Santena Ironpaw, backed away in terror. “Who would do this? It looks like they were . . . locked inside . . . and burned alive!” All Icefurr could distinguish in the mess were the shields: all blue and green and silver and white. Piercing one of the shields was an arrow. Icefurr yanked it out and took a closer look. It was silver, fletched with red: one of his own. It matched exactly the arrows in his quiver at his side. Rolled around it was a piece of yellowed parchment. Santena walked up behind the Rogue Captain, taking deep breaths. He was obviously younger than Icefurr, maybe seventeen, and hadn’t seen much bloodshed. “What is it, Commander?” the wolf asked. He looked at the arrow, then at the quiver at Icefurr’s side. “It’s one of yours!” The message read thus: “King” Swiftblade. So, you’re this Rogue Captain. I thought you dead months ago. Oh well, nobeast is correct all the time. Meet me where you left, at sundown tomorrow . . . alone. If not, then I won’t stop until I kill you and take all of Clandon. Gulrag Northwind, Warlord of Clandon Icefurr led his troop back and didn’t tell anycreature else until the next day. ***** “What?” Jennter was angry. “He expects you to go alone! I can’t let you! You’re too important to Clandoran.” Icefurr ignored him as he pulled on his mail and clasped his helmet with gauntleted paws. His sword glinted in torchlight at his side, and his shield swung back and forth on his back. Jennter stayed the Rogue Captain’s paw as he reached for his boots. “At least take somebeast with you,” he begged. He was bigger than Icefurr, but knew that he couldn’t stop the foxwolf if he was determined. Icefurr had been raised to fight. “There’s only one creature that I would agree to have at my side in battle with Gulrag, and he isn’t here. I’m going alone,” Icefurr said, and moved out into the dormitory. The rebels were all talking, but went silent as their commander passed. “Where’s he going?” O’Malley asked Keefe, who was beside him. Icefurr was out of hearing range, almost out of the cavern, with Jennter behind him. “I don’t know, but wherever it is, Mc’Kallen’s not to happy about it,” the fox answered. “Who would you bring?” Jennter asked, now giving up all hope of persuading his commander to stay. “My final soldier.” With that, Icefurr swept out of the hidden entrance to the cavern, which was screened by bushes. Jennter got a face-full of leaves for his trouble. Gulrag Whiptail sat in his tent, brooding over how to infiltrate West Region. It should have been easy enough, but . . .
“Your Honor!” A fox dashed in and fell to the floor in front of the warlord. “What is it?” the wolverine asked impatiently. “We’ve been driven out of another township!” “How?” “We don’t know! It was late last night, and the guards were all paying rapt attention. Then, all of a sudden, silver and red shafts started coming down at us! After we’d lost five creatures, somebeast released two huge piles of timber that we’d collected for building the wall around the village. Almost a score more animals were crushed, and seven more were injured badly. The rest who hadn’t been killed ran off. “I went back to see what had happened once everything had quieted down. Nocreature was there, and the only thing I found was this, pinned to a wolf’s chest.” He pulled out a bloodstained arrow, shining with silver metal and fletched with red feathers. It was thrust through a piece of parchment. Gulrag snatched it and glanced at the paper. This was all it said: The Rogue Captain is coming, and bringing with him a new age . . . one of Clandoran. Gulrag howled in frustration. “These infernal rebels! And their ‘Rogue Captain’! Who is he? Who by Deathgates is this creature?” “They say that he’s the king of Clandoran . . .” “I know that! But who? Who is he? Who . . .” He trailed off. The fox watched nervously as a slow smile spread across the warlord’s face. “Your Highness?” “Go get Commander Reckson.” “Yes, Mightiness!” The fox backed out of the tent and scampered off to find the commander spoken of. ***** Commander Reckson was the wisest wolf in all of Gulrag Northwind’s army. The wolverine often came to him for advice, so this was nothing new to him. He followed the fox into the tent, brushing the flaps aside and standing boldly in front of Gulrag. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes. You know Crigon Retchonit?” he asked. “Aye!” The wolf smirked. He knew everyone in South Region. “She knows the old ways? Of the kings that I killed?” “Aye!” Reckson replied again. “Go learn everything you can about the Foxwolves,” Gulrag ordered. The commander turned to go, but was stopped by the warlord’s voice again. “Reckson.” The wolf turned around to sharp claws and a powerful paw lifting him bodily by the neck. Reckson’s eyes grew wide and he tried to say something. “Don’t overestimate your influence in this army.” The ruthless ruler dropped his commander and pointed, standing over the wolf. “Go!” Reckson’s breath rattled in and out, and he stumbled out of the tent. His pride was gone for now. It was Gulrag’s turn to smirk. He sat back on his throne, lounging in his red cloak. ***** Icefurr sat at the end of a long table in an underground cavern, laughing at the story of the most recent escapade. “And then,” an arctic rabbit from North Region explained animatedly, “O’Malley over there let those logs go, screaming something strange that sounded like, ‘Klinkaboodleay!’, or something. Just that made the soldiers turn with looks like this!” The rabbit contorted his face into a sarcastic representation of a stunned armybeast. Icefurr and the others around him laughed even harder. “But when the logs came down at them, they looked like this!” This time, somebeast snorted water out of their nose onto a nearby hare, he was laughing so hard. “Good work, O’Malley!” Icefurr called out among hoots of laughter. “That’ll get them thinking twice about Western Region!” Since he came to the rebels, he’d assumed a sort of leadership position. Previously, they’d been overseen by a wolf by the name of Jennter Mc’Kallen. He’d immediately given up his position to the Rogue Captain. Icefurr found that it was easier for him than he’d thought. They were all gathered in a cavern complex on the intersection mark between North, South, and West Regions. It consisted of a mass dormitory, dining hall, kitchen, and strategy room. This room contained diagrams, models, and demonstration weapons of all kinds. Now the rebels were all gathered in the dining hall, eating dinner and listening to hilarious and exaggerated accounts of what happened at Conollan Township. Somehow, not all of them seemed completely true. “Oi, Keefe! Don’t get snot all over my tables!” the chef yelled good-naturedly at the poor fox who’d snorted water. Once he’d recovered, Keefe called back, “Don’t worry! The only thing with snot on it is Ryder over here!” The hare was, indeed, covered with a nasty mixture of mucus and water. In return for the comment, he gave Keefe a big, wet hug. All the fighters, the otters the most, roared with merriment. Icefurr looked around him. I did the right thing, he thought. Not only was he accepting his destiny, he had new friends to do it with. The fox had changed, too. He could see that just by looking in the mirror. He wore no longer his silver cloak and travel stained tunic, but now sported a bright chainmail tunic and a surcoat of silver and red. It bore the crest that he’d been given by Jennter when he joined as a knight of Clandoran: the rebel sign in red halfway through the surcoat, then Gulrag’s symbol the other half. Icefurr had requested it. He’d made it clear that it was very important to him that he not just forget his past, so Jennter soon agreed to his chosen crest. The Rogue Captain was starting to feel tired, so he retreated to his private chambers next to the dormitories. Then, the foxwolf got down on his knees. He bowed his head. And started to pray. The rebels had taught Icefurr quite a few things about old Clandoran. One of these was this: Clandoran wasn’t only ruled by a king, but the king answered to the highest power -- Doranfather. Clandoran was named for him. Doran was an ancient word that meant all. Therefore, Clandoran literally meant Clan of All. In the same context, Doranfather meant Father of All. Doranfather, or more often referred to as Doran, had created everything. This was who the Rogue Captain was honoring at this very moment. Icefurr finished and rolled over into his bed. He was out like a light. ***** Gulrag was woken from his sleep by a screech from outside his tent. He stumbled out of bed, grabbed a random spear from the corner, and flung open the flaps. “Who disturbs me?” he growled. Reckson held his paws over his ears as an old ermine screamed behind him. “Death cometh to this place!” was what she said. “Doom! Death, death!” “Silence, old crone!” Gulrag commanded. She shut her mouth, but shook her paws and the bangles on them. The warlord turned to Reckson, who was standing further away in the darkness. “Who is this? Crigon?” “Aye, lord. She told me all, but then followed me here screaming about death,” Reckson said, moving out of the shadows. “Meet me in my tent,” the wolverine commanded. “Captain Deathwing!” A huge eagle swooped down from a perch in a nearby tree. “Have three of your guards watch this ermine. Make sure she doesn’t leave.” Deathwing nodded and screeched, calling a group of mountain kites. Gulrag turned and walked back into his tent. Reckson stood in front of him, paw on lance. “What did she tell you?” “She told me that the Foxwolves answered to the Doranfather, and he was who gave them their power. You know of this, lord. Your back . . .” “I know!” Gulrag spat. “Mention it again, and I will impale you on your own lance.” “Yes, lord.” Reckson backed away. “A name! Give me a name! I vowed to never know the name of the king I killed, but it shan't matter. By Ending, tell me!” Gulrag picked the spear back up. “Swiftblade! Mc'Kenthon Swiftblade! That was his name!” Reckson said hurriedly. He stumbled backwards away from Gulrag, tripped, and scrambled out of the tent door as fast as he could. Gulrag put down the spear. “Icefurr . . .” Gulrag sneered. “The runaway. So, he’s this ‘Rogue Captain’. He thought for a moment. "That explains a lot,” the wolverine mused out loud. . . . check this out. Here: www.theeasternking.tumblr.com
It's short, but important.
The otters were, indeed, friendly. “Aye, mate, we’re from the resistance. The branch up north,” the first one said. “What do you want me for?” Icefurr asked. “We want you to join us!” another one said. On his back was strapped a shield of different colors than the ones that the Rogue Captain had seen in South Region. Instead of silver with a green design, it was blue with the same design in white. Arctic colors, Icefurr realized. North was the coldest out of all the regions, with the exception of the Mountainous Lands. “Join you? I have nothing to do with North or South Regions. I won’t join you against Gulrag. No matter if I’m a prince, or ruler of Clandoran, or anything. I’m done fighting with this issue. I’ve made up my mind. If anything, I’m fine with being the Rogue Captain,” the arctic fox said. He felt exactly as he spoke. He just wanted time to himself. “Mate, there’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it,” the leader said. “At least come wid’ us.” He nodded in an easterly direction. “We’ve got a roaring campfire and food.” Icefurr thought for a moment. Finally, he came to a conclusion. “I’ll come. If I’m not helping you, then I won’t ask what you want me for, but I’m starving,” he chuckled. He slung his pack over his shoulder, picked up his Rogue Captain shield and sword, and followed the pack of otters in the direction pointed out earlier. After about half an hour of trekking, they’d arrived at a small camp, near the border. Another group of otters sat around a bonfire and roasted some fish wrapped in pine bark. Icefurr sniffed the air in appreciation. The leader of the otters, who Icefurr now knew to be named Whiplash, yelled. “Alright, otters, off your tails! Rogue Captain’s ‘ere!” All of the sea otters stood by the fire and spun around. “Aye, so ‘e is!” one cheered. “Clandoran and the Rogue Captain!” The rest of the rebel fighters replied heartily. “Clandoran and the Rogue Captain!” Each raised a battle axe and blue shield. Icefurr just laughed. These were jolly otters. He wouldn’t mind being at least friends with them for a while. He sat down at the invitation of Whiplash, and also accepted a stick with a bark-wrapped fish. A perch. “Where’d you get these fish? This is West Region. Lakes and ponds are in Eastern Region,” he commented. Whiplash just winked. “We’re otters. What’d you expect?” He bit into his fish and ripped the bark off with a chunk of soft white meat. “Aye, that’s good!” Icefurr followed suit. The perch was delicious! He quickly devoured his. For two more days, Icefurr stayed at the camp, making friends with the otters but still refusing to join the resistance. “I don’t want more problems,” he’d say gently. Or rather, as gently as he could. Finally, on the second morning, Whiplash took him aside. “Mate, we need to talk.” Icefurr was hesitant. “Er . . . yes?” The otter took him aside, away from the others. “You can’t abandon your people, or your heritage. It isn’t done that way.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying, Swiftblade, that we need you, and you can’t run from that. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want problems. Problems will come to you. If you don’t come, then we’ll be without a head and will never conquer Warlord Northwind,” Whiplash said firmly. “Come with us. Please.” Icefurr’s mind was in turmoil. They needed him . . . but he didn’t want to need them. He wasn’t even okay with being the Rogue Captain anymore. Maybe he could just disappear in the Mountainous Lands, or the Plainsterritories. But then he would still be running. “Okay . . . I’ll come.” He turned to the otters. “Clandoran!” “Clandoran and the Rogue Captain!” they chorused, and cheered, waving their axes. |
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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