Band of Exiles
In which our melancholy tale begins and our soon-to-be and unknowing heroes argue in the rain.
Cast Of Characters, in Order of Appearance:
Rasp- an unfortunate fox; cast out of his horde at a young age because of his mangled and horrifying appearance and raspy speech (thus his name) after being accidently dropped in a fire.
Larimar- a feisty and always angry shrew whose whole family was killed after she befriended a fox that betrayed them. She searches the world for something she knows she'll never find again.
Celsian and Cinnabar- two twin otters who left their Holt; Cinnabar seeking happiness and usefulness in the world despite his blindness and Celsian out of concern and love for his brother.
Tamarind- the third and final otter in our motley bunch. A tragic event in her childhood causes her to rhyme in all of her sentences. Or at least try to.
Sargas- a mysterious ferret who is a master of the deadly long bow and keeps his past hidden from all.
Tage's Song
Beneath a canopy of green
Where shadows dim
And countless sins
In silence surely fade and die,
No longer do my eyes see lies
But truth shining clear.
And the fear I carried-
It's buried now
In a tomb beneath the hills.
Laughter grows, waxing stronger,
As the days just seem to get longer,
Blurred together-
One endless mass of sun-
In that place where shadows dim,
Where I lost hate and fear
Sorrow and tears,
Those countless sins
Beneath a canopy of green.
For many, spring is a good time. The world is just starting to wake again; bringing flowers, and warmer weather, and food- so much that it's said one particularly glutinous hare (or rat, depending on who you ask) ate himself to death in half a day. But if you aren't one of those lucky creatures who have a roof over their heads and a warm bed to return to, spring is miserable. Better than winter by a long shot, but still, plain miserable- especially when it storms, and the sluggish river running through Mossflower overflows, becoming something a bit more than sluggish.
For the unfortunate beings still trapped outside, there is no place to hide from the slashing rain which cuts through everybeast; washing everything away except cold, wet misery. Trees still don't have enough leaves to provide adequate shelter, caves are few and far between, and all of the good places inside of hollow tree trunks have been taken by the stronger creatures; ones with weapons, or good intimidation skills, or muscles, or all three of the aforementioned attributes, plus some.
A flash of lightning followed by an even bigger rumble of thunder lights up a raggedy camp hidden in the center of a patch of thorn bushes, where no creature would ever think to stumble into for shelter, or anything else, for that matter. Blankets and cloaks are draped over the sharp bushes, doing little to shelter the six creatures which huddle underneath. They are a motley and unexpected mix: three otters, a ferret, fox, and shrew.
They are the unwanted, the mutilated, the ones who see the world differently; not fitting into the perfect, safe lives they were meant to live, cast out from all they know, having to rely on each other for survival. This is their tale. It's not a pretty one, not a tale meant for dibbuns before bed, or to fill sleepy, sunlit afternoons, or to be told as entertainment in great, echoing halls. This is a tale filled with hate, and death, bloodshed, and betrayal, needless violence, and the cold lonely darkness of a pain that bites deep inside, stretching past fur and into the soul until the true reason for its existence there is forgotten. This is a tale of mind numbing grief, and heart stopping joy; of countless contradictory opposites. This is a tale of what happens when very different lives collide for one purpose and one purpose only; survival (though maybe later on, after all of the worst is over and done, they'll stick together for a bit more than mere survival). This is a tale to be told in the unmarked graveyards of murderers and traitors, where hope hangs rotting on a gallows tree. This is a tale to be told when the end really seems like just the end, even though the end is just another roundabout way of saying the beginning.
So, read on if you dare, my friends. Close your heart and take the deceivingly easy step into a life where having a heart can mean getting killed and eaten by creatures stronger and faster, and crazier, than you are; and I'm not just speaking figuratively here. Fly on the highest clouds, or swim in bottomless pools in the deepest, darkest caves. It matters not who you are. We do not discriminate. Your past, and the journey you took here, is in your past, just dust in the gales that are our lives. All that matters is that you are here, and even that won't matter in a few moments, moments that seem like years. And years like seconds. And seconds like eternities.
So close your heart- and join us in the shadows.
…
"Gerroff my tail, ye blasted…" A hoarse voice rasps in the darkness just over the pattering of the rain.
"I'm not on your mangy tail, you…." This voice is much louder and clearer then the first voice, and angrier, less tired.
"Rasp, Larimar, both of you be quiet! Yor bickerin' is causin' me ears to just about fall off, I'm sure none us can see anything right now… uh, sorry, Cinn."
"Celsian, calm down. Everyone knows I'm blind. You don't have to tiptoe around it." The two voices are similar, though the second one is slightly more refined. They are brothers, twins in fact, Celsian (the younger), and Cinnabar. They'd left their Holt almost one and a half seasons ago, Cinnabar leaving because he felt he was useless there, looking for happiness, and Celsian because he knew Cinnabar needed someone to look after him in the real world outside of their sheltered Holt.
"Tiptoeing is sneaky and makes you look cheeky."
"ARGH! Shuttup! Quit rhyming, sheesh, you…" Larimar was a particularly bad tempered shrew, especially when it came to Tamarind, who always rhymed (no matter how badly), and the third otter in our little gang of misfits along with Celsian and Cinnabar.
"I don't think she can help it," Rasp cuts off Larimar's rant at the perfect moment, stopping her flow of insults. No one remembers the name that he was given at birth, not even Rasp himself. He'd been dropped into a fire at a young age and thrown out of his horde a few seasons later, because of his scarred appearance and rough voice, which is where he got his name, Rasp. The other horde beasts were under the impression that he brought them bad luck, and the fact that he was a sneaky fox and the son of a seer didn't help his reputation very much.
A sigh comes from the far side of the small clearing in the center of the thorn bushes, where another figure crouches huddled in a near to soaked cloak. A dark-furred paw grips a long, simple, but deadly, bow in a tight fist.
"It's going to be a long night if you don't all be quiet. Someone keep watch, the rest of you either spread out or calm down and accept that nobody is doing anything on purpose." No one can see the clenched fist and the bow in the darkness, but the icy and distant tone of the voice certainly gets the message across; behave or I will shoot someone.
"Indeed, indeed," Tamarind choruses, before going silent. Sargas, the ferret with the bow, pulls his cloak and hood tighter around himself and appears to go to sleep.
Thunder rumbles in the distance as the creatures stare at each other for a few moments, before following Sargas' example, all except for Cinnabar and Tamarind.
"I'll keep watch," Cinnabar starts, wanting to be helpful; even though he knows he won't do a very good job, him being blind, and all.
"No, I'll keep watch now. Sit. And I'm sure I won't botch it. How can I when I have good eyes in my sockets?"
"…who's being cheeky now!?" Cinnabar can't help but be amused
"Argh! Shuttup!" Larimar's voice bites through darkness.
Nobody speaks again until morning.
…..
Pardon Tamarind's terrible rhyming! I can't rhyme if my life depended on it!