A Falling Hourglass is a collaboration between six authors; each with their own designated character. Some of the characters will live. Some of them may die. After eight rounds, the story will come to an end. As always, be sure to let us know what you think and leave a review!
Under the Bridge
By: Laurence Copeland
They lied to me. They all lied to me. Laurence kept his weight on the cane to keep himself on his footpaws. From the moment he left the arena, he began to feel queasy. I've been tricked, I've been misled.
This whole time, Marshank had been harboring enslavement. All under the guise of honor, glory and entertainment. Nobeast wanted to open up. Nobeast discussed it. They all swept that ugly truth under the rug like it was not a big deal.
Back in Helmsford, his homeland, there would be annual fighting tournaments in his town to look forward to. Laurence was raised to appreciate and respect the art of combat. For a nation always in the midst of a war, it reminded beasts of the honor and passion found in battle. But The Culling? The Culling was a bastardization, a shadow, of all those youthful fighting tourneys and swordplay matches.
The mercenary was back in the Windy Bastion dormitories. He sought refuge in his assigned alcove, where only a plain bed and weapon rack awaited him. Laurence rested his trembling body against the cot, and reflected on the terrible situation he found himself in.
Just what would my mother think of me? And my brothers? What would they say, if they saw me here in this place? Hot tears cascaded down his cheeks at the unbearable thought. They would disown me. All of them would.
The events of The Culling replayed in Laurence's mind over and over again. Crying, wailing, shrieking, dying. Why didn't I do anything? Why didn't I do anything. The same question repeated over and over, drowning all others that beckoned his mind.
I saw the entire event take place right before me. And all I did was sit back and watch the show! I'm no better than Cain, or Ansley, or anybeast else in that crowd. A sob escaped from his lips and Laurence responded by covering his face with a pillow.
There's nothing I can do for this place. This problem is bigger than me. It's bigger than any single creature. The sound of laughter snapped the mercenary from somber musing.
Peeking over the thin, mobile canvas obscuring his living quarters, Laurence could see a pair of his roommates appearing. Iwan the fox was plastered in a wave of blood from ears to footpaws. He was eagerly recounting a moment from The Culling.
"An' then I took my knife and threw it! I couldn't believe it when I actually got somebeast wid it!" explained Iwan. Still-fresh blood speckled thewallas he reenacted the motion of throwing the dagger. "Got some lass in th' face. Didn't kill 'er, but it gave me time t' finish 'er off!"
The pair of bloodied volunteers were so busy talking, they didn't see Laurence until he was right behind them. The first volunteer was knocked out from a single punch. Iwan's lightning-fast reflexes saved him from a mighty blow aimed at his head.
"What's wrong with you, eh? Have you gone mad?" said the fox. He raised a knife to defend himself from any further attack.
"You killed innocents! All of those creatures were slaves!" roared Laurence, body shaking with unhinged ire. "And you killed them without a second thought!"
"Hey now... It's not my fault they got captured an' brought here. I'm jus' doing what I get told t' do. Besides, it serves 'em right fer gettin' caught," said Iwan with a shrug. Laurence resisted the overwhelming desire to attack the fox a second time, and instead ran out the hallway.
Where he was going? The mercenary didn't know. But he could stay there any longer. He would have tried to slay both of the murderers.
Plunk, plunk, plunk. His cane and his footpaws led Laurence to the winding stairwell with a hole in the side of the wall. Huge drifts of snow had started to pile up, and Laurence needed to watch his step so he wouldn't fall on his face.
Sondern was still missing. The only friend to see him through, ever since the beginning. According to Ansley, the monsters of the Crucible were making 'modifications'. What did that even mean? Were they destroying it and reforging a new blade? Laurence hoped for Cain's sake that they weren't.
Cain Seftis. Laurence knew that the wildcat was the source of all the misery and death here in the Crucible, he was orchestrating the entire thing from afar. The mercenary now knew where he was headed. He would pay a visit to the office of Cain.
The otter tried to imagine what his plan would be; would he try and reach a diplomatic solution with the Lord of the Crucible? Perhaps filling the wildcat's stomach full of sword would make Laurence feel better about the horrors he saw. Revenge was always a great way to make one forget all about their loss. That one was a lesson from Father, before he took a nasty spill down a flight of stairs and forgot who he was.
No. Laurence would not stoop to the same level as these savages, he resolved, while hobbling toward the plain wooden door before him. He tried to walk past the trio of sentries guarding it, but the ringleader addressed him before Laurence could get by.
"What do you think you're doing, otter? State your business." The speaker was a blue-vested female squirrel. She had been beautiful, once, but a scar slit across her cheek stymied her appearance.
"I'm here to speak with Cain. It is very urgent that the two of us speak-"
"Lord Cain is no longer here at Marshank. His current whereabouts are none of your concern." She cocked her head to the side. "You look very familiar, otter. Do I know you from somewhere?"
Laurence vehemently shook his head. "No, you don't. How long will Cain be gone?"
"Now I remember- You're the Frostfang! I should thank you for your impressive victory. Thanks to you, I should be ten silver richer." She gave a vicious glare to the timid weasel standing behind her and he flinched.
"Half o' Marshank had their money on the Mauler. I wonder how much coinage coulda been gained from bettin' on the Frostfang instead-"
"That's not who I am." Laurence turned to leave and ignore any further diatribe from the sentries. They probably weren't at liberty to tell him how long Cain would be gone.
Once again his footpaws were on the move. And this time, he knew exactly where he was going- to the nearest exit right out the Crucible.
They were betting on my fight. This enslavement indoctrination that the Crucible has, it goes far beyond the Crucible. This is a problem entrenched within the establishment. This isn't just the Crucible- this problem involves all of Marshank.
Another turn down a hallway and more stairs, and eventually Laurence found himself back in the main entrance hall.
If I stay here, this place could change me. It's not too late for me to leave.
By this time, many of the guards who had left to go see The Culling an hour earlier were back, and lining up in their places. No. No, not that way. The otter looked around in every direction for another way. He figured that if he tried walking out the front door, some of the bluejackets would try and stop him- then he would have lost his only chance of leaving this place.
In the corner of the room, a party of slaves and contractors. They were busily working on the enormous hole that Laurence had seen just days earlier. A great idea, but in this hall there were too many wandering eyes. He figured there must be another way.
"Fates. Show me the way." whispered Laurence. A sudden epiphany hit him after a moment of reflection. The stairwell Higgs showed him, there was another giant hole there. If he waited only a couple more hours until nightfall, there wouldn't be anybeast to stop him from leaving.
The otter watched from an open window. Moments after the sun was completely gone from sight, he bustled over to the room with the spiraling staircase and clambered as fast as he could to the top.
More guards. By the blood. Laurence figured he need only wait a few more moments and eventually they might make the rounds. When they didn't budge after a few minutes, Laurence used the snow drifts on the stairs and formed a snowball to throw over their heads and into another room nearby. Both of the sentries scurried away to find the source of the sound.
Now with his chance presented to him, the otter darted through the open hole in the wall. A scaffolding was perched outside. He nearly slipped and fell to an early demise on the forming ice upon the wood planks.
Laurence was high up- he could see nearly all of Marshank from his position. The winds were loud and persistent here. Darkness enveloped the landscape like a thick fog. Torches lined the lower walls of the Crucible.
Escape was imminent now. If he used the rope in his pack against one of the wooden support beams, Laurence would be able to reach the ground below.
I can disappear, just like I've done before. Nobeast will ever know where I went.
Overwrought, his paws fumbled as he tied a thick knot in the beams.
Somebeast needs to do something. Those slaves are being held here against their will.
Breathless, Laurence tugged on the rope to make sure it was tight enough to support his weight.
No. There's nothing I can do for them. It's too late for them, but it's not too late for me.
The otter stood to his footpaws. He looked down below at the tranquil scene. All of his instincts were warning him to leave, run away and never look back. But his conscience gnawed at him from within.
Those ten survivors of The Culling- they might've avoided their deaths today. But they will die in the Crucible. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the following week. But someday. And it won't be on their own terms.
Laurence's thoughts flickered to last week, when the strange creature in the medical wing verbally attacked him. The collar on its neck, it was the same as those slaves in The Culling. He must have been trying to warn me about this place! The fur on the back of Laurence's neck stood up at the epiphany.
He turned and looked up at the Crucible. Impassive, unmoved, all-encompassing. Nobeast was going to help those lost souls. But Laurence could. And I will.
~.~.~.~
Deep within the suffocating stone halls of Marshank, the Drag was cold, dark and rank.
Gromo the rat guard was on sentry duty. He carefully curled his claws around the end of his blue vest and encircled his form as best he could. Once again, he'd received the short end of the stick. He was stuck covering a double shift when his replacement had conveniently fallen under the weather. It was miserable work, but somebeast had to do it. And that beast -by way of blackmail- was Gromo.
After a few more beats, the massive rat straightened his hunched form and began a routine march down the hallway. Only a few steps into his walk, the rat heard noise from behind.
The hulking rat had no time to react before a blow landed on the side of his neck. He raised a paw to the offended spot only to find strong arms wrapped around. Gromo did not bother with struggling, he knew it was of no use. He embraced the darkness overcoming him.
Laurence let the rat's unconscious form fall gently to the floor. He snatched the ringed keys tucked in the guard's satchel and took in the surroundings.
In front of the mercenary was a metal-barred door, and beyond that was a hallway lined from end-to-end with cells.
He looked back down at the guard and raised his footpaw over the sentry's neck. Not here. Not this time. Way too messy and loud. Not enough time.
Laurence flicked through each key and tried them on the locked door. Only after trying all the others, he used the last key that did the trick.
Laurence kicked open the door and shot down the hallway, quick as his footpaws would let him. He stopped before the first cell on the left. Four creatures were sleeping inside; one in a makeshift cot and the others on the cold stone floor.
Once again, the otter went through the same song and dance, switching between keys before settling on the correct one. As he opened the cell door wide three of the prisoners came awake, facing the otter with wide eyes.
"You're free. All of you! You're free to leave," said Laurence, paws outstretched. "Escape, while you have the chance!"
The three prisoners said nothing. The fourth one, a ferret, did not rouse from sleep. Laurence repeated the statement again. Still nothing.
Finally, one of them stood their footpaws. A small hedgehog slowly approached the otter out of the cell. He grew close to Laurence, so uncomfortably close. The prisoner's gaze was fixed on the exposed neck.
Without warning, he slammed a fist into his stomach. Laurence was bent over double, trying to catch his breath again. He looked up in time to see another fist connect with his snout, the raw force knocking him to the ground.
Laurence instinctively raised both paws to protect his face from further harm while the two attackers began to kick him relentlessly.
He felt a kick slam into his injured leg and once again the knee was falling into a thousand pieces. The slash of claws, and the flesh on his paw became exposed.
"What is the meaning of this!" roared a gravelly voice. Everybeast turned to see the speaker. It was the ferret that had been sleeping in the cot. "All of you get back in your cell. Now."
All three slaves swiftly returned to their cell without another word. Body aching all over, Laurence feebly tried to pick himself up from the ground. A distinct sound of pawsteps approaching caused the otter to flinch. With his good paw, the ferret picked up Laurence by the jacket collar and slammed him against the wall.
"What are you supposed to be. A citizen looking for a thrill? Some thief who took a wrong turn? A volunteer with a moment of compunction?" When Laurence didn't respond, the ferret slammed him against the stone wall a second time. "Answer me."
"I'm-I'm a v-volunteer. I was trying to help you escape from here-"
The callused claws around Laurence's throat tightened. "Do we look like we need saving to you?"
Tears welledup in the otter's eyes. This was not how the breakout was supposed to go. "Look, I don't think- You don't understand- I was trying to- I was trying-"
Something akin to a hypnic jerk emanated from the ferret. His voice railroaded over the otter's with ease, "Evidently, you don't think at all. Just blindly follow whatever that conscience of yours tells you to do. A creature of impulse does not subsist here."
Laurence finally found the courage to look the prisoner in the eyes. Neither of them spoke for some time. The sounds of whispering from another cell was the only objection to the inordinate silence.
"Go home, volunteer. This place has no need for whelps." As he spoke the ferret loosened his grip, and Laurence collapsed to the ground in a heap.
The prisoner picked up the keys from the ground and placed them inside a pocket of the otter's jacket. Laurence watched from his peripherals in stunned fascination as the ferret closed the door behind him.
Despite his better instincts, he looked up and was granted a good look at the interrogator's appearance- tall and covered in black fur, with streaks of gray in between. A torn surcoat matching the fur with a dark tattered cloak almost reaching the ground. The left arm was resting in what looked to be a hastily made sling. But the single observation that chilled Laurence right into the bones: atop the ferret's skull, a silver crown painfully sown into place.
Laurence felt the life come back to him when the sable-eyed gaze looked once more in his direction. He scrambled to his footpaws and lurched toward the exit. His body bellowed with every leaden step. Every ounce of resilience was utilized to get through the raised heavy metal door and close it.
~.~.~.~
Bleeding, bushed, and blue, the walk from the Drag to the dormitories lasted until morning's light filtered through the cracks and holes of the Crucible. He received odd looks from the early risers and sentries making the rounds, but nobeast said anything.
The otter barely stifled a moan as he raised a paw to open the dormitory door. Inside, Laurence could see all the other volunteers, still fast asleep. Dreaming of Fates-knows-what. Perhaps they dreamt of their former lives before becoming a volunteer in the binding servitude of this place. Or maybe they were blissfully reliving one of their participations in The Culling. There was no way for Laurence to know for sure.
Laurence stood completely still, boring holes into the closest sleeping creature. He could slit the throats of every wrongdoer present. Before the thought could turn into action, he continued on past the sleeping beasts to his bed.
The welcoming sight of his bed brought him to a halt. Atop the clean sheets was a green envelope with 'Frostfang Copeland' stenciled on the outside. The contents revealed a short, handwritten letter:
Frostfang Copeland,
Congratulations! You have been invited to an exclusive feast, taking place on the evening two days from now! Our reason for such a grand celebration, you ask? To honor the brave survivors of The Culling, of course!
Be sure to dress in your nicest attire, and please leave weapons of any kind in your rooms!
Signed,
Hale Seftis, Acting Regent of the Crucible, Administrative Director
P.S., you are contractually obliged to make an appearance.
Unwrapping the cloth, Laurence's breath hitched at the contents. It was Sondern.
The family sword looked to be in one piece, but either dipped or coated in a frosty blue color. Laurence realized the smiths had fashioned the weapon to match a giant icicle. If one stared long enough you could make out the shape of the original blade within.
And what infuriated the mercenary more than anything else? Only the end was sharp enough to inflict damage. Laurence could do nothing but fume at the foregone decision. Now, Sondern was no better than a glorified rapier.
"Oh, Sondern. What have they done." whispered Laurence with tears in his eyes. "I can barely recognize you."
Laurence sat upon the bed, gently lifting the sword into his paws. "Shh, shh, it's okay. I'm here now. I'm here." He stroked a paw across the altered edge of the blade. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too." He drew in a ragged breath and held the blade tighter. "I don't know what to do. This place isn't what I... it's not... it's just evil. I never should have come here..."
He winced. "No. No, I'm just as bad as everybeast here. Sondern, I killed a beast inside that arena. That's why they changed you. I can't even tell you if that creature was a slave or not. I didn't even stop to check. I didn't care."
His tears struck the iridescent blue of his sword.
"It's all my fault. There were so many warning signs, I just didn't pay attention. I never pay attention. So many signs right in front of me, and I missed them all." Laurence brought the sword away from him. And leaned it against the pillows. "No. I can't change. Not like you did. I can't let this place change me." He pushed the weapon further away. "I can't let them do to me what they did to you... I should've ran when I had the chance."
Memories of all the loving faces from his past flashed before his eyes. Laurence made the same mistakes, over and over again. "I don't know what to do."
He watched the blade slowly slide off the bed. While grabbing the hilt of Sondern, once more the otter observed the weapon within. Sondern was not truly changed. The blade was still there.
Laurence himself would need to change, if he ever hoped to survive.