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!

An Ending Beginning

By: Ander

What was I thinking, telling him? Trusting him? He has a large ego if he dares to... to knowingly scorn the idea of our friendship, which is so tangible, so real!

Ander slammed his paw down on his violin, a gnarled frown stealing over his face.

My first real friend...whom would rather stay here and die than risk coming with me. Does he not trust me? Have I done him some unaccountable wrong? Or does my appearance make him jealous past his dealing?

The weasel sniffled and buried his face in his claws, unable to deny the obvious truth. Bechtel was not only devoid of sight, but he could not see anything about Ander that he felt was worthwhile enough to stay at his side. Would the bat even mourn if Ander's plan failed?

"It's because I'm a vermin," he whimpered aloud, "That's why Beck does not like me."

He sat up straight and peered around the cell and at Bechtel's empty bunk. The instrument laid on his lap. Ander had been allowed time to practice a song that August was particularly fond of, but the weasel sighed and plopped the violin behind him. He no longer needed it.

Tonight, once he was free, he would be able to get himself a better, newer violin. Besides, why take it? It wasn't as if it would help to do much of anything save slow him down. Plus, when climbing down the tower...no, there was certainly no need for a violin.

Ander rose and wiped his burning eyes on his sleeve. Would Bechtel want something to remember him by? He could certainly leave the instrument on his friend's bunk, if the bat didn't want to forget him all together.

You're kidding. He would not want this.

Ander placed it where his former friend slept all the same, and then crept over to the exit. The sun would soon set, and all activity in Marshank would slow to a crawl.

He fumbled in his pocket for the folded up schedule- containing the listings of each sentry and their shifts. Ander had spent most of that afternoon editing the shifts to give him enough time to escape.

Exiting his cell, Ander made his way out of the Drag and into the upper levels of the Crucible. Since he was now a performer, his name was taken out from the roster of the Elder's Pyre Tournament. The new marking of three lines intersecting on his slave's collar gave him the ability to roam the halls, so long as it was during the daytime and not at night or during tourney fights.

Ander came out into the expansive Hall of Champions and started to approach the main bluejacket barracks when he came across a familiar face: the tattooed fox gladiator that tried to kill him in the Culling.

He appeared to be surrounded by his adoring fans, signing autographs and accepting gifts and care packages from them. Ander noted with enthusiasm that the vulpine's face was locked in a frown and his frame was littered with bruises. Several bluejackets that were supposed to be on guard were amongst the crowd.

Ander ended up stealing past them and into the main barracks. Most of the blue soldiers were either in the mess hall eating their grub or out patrolling the hallways.

With quick movement and precision, the weasel dodged past a trio of bluejackets deep in conversation. He dropped off the sentry's ordinance on the Deputy's desk and scurried through the back door.

Afterwards, Ander hid himself inside of a large crate near the stairwell leading back down to the lower levels. He began to wait until nightfall.

To pass the time Ander watched the accompanying shadow on the far end of the crate slowly crawl up the wall until completely gone. What is wrong with Beck? Did I make a mistake by lowering my guard and befriending him? No, impossible...

The sound of heavy footfalls and clinking chains passing through attracted his attention. Somebeast walking openly in the halls, this late at night? Once the sound began receding, he peeked out. He caught a glimpse of dark fur, tattered cape, black surcoat and gauntlets. Silver crown sewn into the skull. It was the surly ferret from that day Ander first arrived to the Crucible.

He did not have a guard accompanying him, and Ander knew for a fact that the ferret did not have permission to come and go as he pleased. But the weasel shook away his concern; the situation did not pose an issue. He walked away in the opposite direction, anyways.

Ander made his way into the labyrinthine lower levels, and toward the collapsed wall, the one he knew still required reconstruction. Nobeast knew about the possible entryway, Ander felt certain about. Just Bechtel and himself, the only two creatures in the entire Crucible.

But the sounds of overlapping voices ahead instilled doubt in his mind. There was not supposed to be anybeast down here, Ander changed the schedules to leave the halls with the secret exit unguarded for the next hour. Rounding the corner, he saw a pair of sentries lounging nearby, backs against the wall.

No... this ruins everything, they're not supposed to be here. Ander contemplated on simply waiting for the next time an opportunity arose, but who knew when that would be? The weasel took in a deep breath, and instead surged forward. Past the two guards and towards the exit.

"'Ey, wot d'ye think yer doin'?" said one of them from behind. "Y' aren't allowed down 'ere!"

Ander heard the pawsteps behind him and quickened his pace. He heard the pawsteps gaining.

Just a few more feet, and I'll be home free- Heavy paws grabbed him by the shoulders and tackled him straight to the ground.

"No! Let me go! No, no! You can't do this to me!" screamed Ander, trying his hardest to wrest free from their hold. "You can't do this!"

One of the guards laughed cruelly as he tightened his grasp. "Hahar, hope y' like living in darkness, cause a liddle 'scaper like yerself deserves nothin' but the lower dungeons!"

Ander's eyes widened at the revelation. Everything was hitting him at once. The lower dungeons. Where creatures were left to disappear, or die, or to be completely forgotten about and fade into obscurity. His death sentence.

The weasel saw who stood behind them, watching with disdain. August the hedgehog only shook his head while tutting, not saying a word.

"Please, Aug, don't let them take me to the dungeons, Aug, I swear I'll behave... please... Aug... I'm begging you!" The hedgehog did not respond. He made eye contact with the weasel for a couple seconds before turning and walking away.

The obese rat bluejacket gave a chuckle. "Don't worry, liddle 'scaper- we'll have some fun with yer before we leave y' to rot in the dark! I'll make sure you never try to 'scape ever again! Hahahar!"

Once the two guards were finished with placing him in shackles they roughly brought him to his footpaws, before escorting him away from the collapsing wall.

Down into the lower levels of The Drag.

Where no light shined through.

No company to be kept.

No food or water given.

Ander distinctly remembered idling at the top of the stairs, trying to stall for as long as possible. It didn't work, of course, and the two sentries prodded him down the stairs with their spears.

Into the overwhelming darkness and out from the light.