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!

War Prayer

By: Laurence Copeland

"'You came to the right creature. I will not fail you'. What in the Fates was I thinking?" grumbled Laurence while he was crossing over a frozen riverbank. I wasn't thinking at all. That's my problem.

Snowfall was coming down fast, and while there was no wind -Thank the Fates- the snowy white earth seemed ready to swallow him up. He clambered on top of a nearby rock and surveyed the landscape. Only when he was certain that he was headed the right way did he jump back into the snow below.

The plan had been simple; he was supposed to travel to an apothecary on the edge of hand the letter over the the apothecary shopkeep- an elderly volemaid. How was she expected to make it to the Seascar in one piece? She ended up paying him four copper coins to deliver the letter in her stead. So he made his way to the Seascar. He was looking for a courier, who would find Vikkars' army and deliver the letter.

Reaching up halfway to his knees, Laurence found it tough to lift his legs out and over. Small patches of blood were trailing after the otter. His left footpaw still bleeding from a shard of glass he stepped on in the apothecary. And to make matters worse, his torch was slowly dying.

Much to his relief the mercenary could take solace in all of the dancing lights ahead of him. He could sense the nearby presence of his destination, the Seascar- the meeting to take place behind the ship's hull, overlooking the coast.

The Seascar was an infamous tavern, built into the hull of an ancient ship once sailed by a legendary pirate captain and his crew before it was run aground. It now remained a blemish on the stretch of tundra coast nearby. According to numerous sources, it was south of Marshank Settlement and southwest of the Crucible.

Laurence had no idea what to expect from the clandestine meeting. He was worried with upsetting Vikkars- the ferret made it very explicit that his instructions were to be followed down to the letter. The old vole was supposed to be the one who met with the courier. But surely there was no harm in Laurence being the one to deliver the letter, was there?

The Seascar was an impressive sight. The entrypoint of the tavern was a hole in the ship's hull. The small pediment obscuring the front entryway of the ship did little to prevent snow from getting inside. On the former deck of the ship was a string of connected tents and compact buildings.

Laurence warily eyed the dozen seafarers and traders loitering about the entrance as he trudged through the bank of snow over to the backside of the seaship. A pair of rats in a heated argument came trudging outside, prompting the otter to speed up his pace moreso.

There was nobeast out there, but after a second glance the otter noticed another creature keeping a low profile behind a large rock and arctic willow bushes.

"Once the lark finds himself in a hurricane-" said the voice from behind the rock.

"He finally awakens." Laurence gave a quick wave. "Hello there. I take it you're the courier I'm supposed to be meeting with?"

The hefty stoat courier stepped out into the open. "Aye, that I am."

Laurence scanned him over for any weapons or signs of hostility and saw none. But still he kept on guard. The courier was wearing a thick, all-consuming coat. It was not impossible for him to be hiding a weapon in his front; the stoat looked a bit portly to be a courier.

The otter stepped forward and approached with caution, letter outstretched. The courier accepted the sealed letter and pocketed it inside the layered frock coat.

"You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?" said the stoat, cocking his head to one side. "I can't place my claw on it, but I recognize your face..."

Uh oh. The otter gave what he hoped was a noncommittal shrug before stammering his reply, "It must b- I hear that all the time. I guess I have one of those faces, you know-"

"Ahh, now I remember. I know you from the Crucible arena posters, you're the Frostfang!" said the stoat. His eyes narrowed, arms crossed. "Which makes me wonder, why somebeast who has so much to gain from the Crucible is willing to throw it all away."

The words left Laurence's mouth before he could keep them in check. "Take another look at me: I'm not from here, this place isn't my home. Marshank is plagued with a multitude of problems. The first one that comes to mind is the enslavement of innocents. And that's only the tip of the awful iceberg."

"You're right, I am sorry for the suspicion. You can never be too careful, you know. I want to thank you for meeting me here. Together, we are fundamentally changing Marshank and the Crucible for the better."

The mercenary's spirits were lifted at the stoat's genial nature. "Yes, indeed we are."

Without another moment to spare, the courier turned face and marched to the northwest with a steady pace.

Laurence observed with a sense of pride before speaking into the winds. "Right then. So I suppose a couple celebratory drinks at the Seascar are in order..."

He started to work around the back of the ship's hull towards the front. Change was finally coming to Marshank. And soon I can say that I've made Marshank a safer place.

Safely underneath the wooden pediment and out of the harsh weather, Laurence unbuttoned his jacket. As he finished a familiar face by the entrance caught his eye. The mercenary threw out a wave to the bluejacket. "Hey! Ansley!"

Ansley took a final puff from his pipe before pocketing it. "Laurence! What a great surprise."

"I didn't know you would be here." said the otter with enthusiasm. "Let's go and find some seats inside."

The interior of the Seascar was quite the spectacle; dozens of shipyard workers and constructors were lined up in seats by the counter facing harried bartenders. They were all jovially singing a sea shanty.

Ansley and Laurence took up a pair of seats next to a quartet of bluejackets watching the processions from the bar.

"Comrades. I'm sure that by now you've heard of the Frostfang by now." The other bluejackets raised their glasses.

One of them, a brawny weasel, leaned forward in his seat and added, "You know, thanks to you, business is booming around here. Everybeast loves a good rebellion storyline."

"Rebellion storyline? What does that mean?" said Laurence.

"That's the angle you were going with for your character background, right? Rebelling against the Marshank norms, as a way to attract audience members to all your fights? It hasn't been done in the Crucible for quite a long time. Creatures 'round here seem to adore the act."

Laurence ignored the passionate emotions flaring up and responded with a simple, "Sure. It's just an act."

While the bluejacket guards talked amongst themselves, the otter tilted his head and scanned over the heads of other patrons to get a good look at the other side of the ship. Near the back wall was a row of foliage growing from under the ship's boards.

"This place is wild," he yelled over the ruckus, "Do you come here often?"

Ansley nodded. "Aye. Not so much anymore, though."

"First round is on me. Name your drink." The mercenary raised the gold coins locked in his claws.

"I stopped drinkin' as of last week, actually. Drinkin' has been a serious addiction of mine for many years. And even though it took many months of weanin' and deliberation, but I finally did it. So ah, thanks fer the offer, but no thanks mate."

Laurence nodded while he flagged down a barkeep. "I respect that. One of my uncles died from a drunken stupor. Addiction and reliance runs in the family, sad to say. Same thing with my father. Then he took a tumble and now he has water in his brain. Or, at least he did, last time I saw him."

"How long has it been since ye saw your family?"

"Eleven seasons now, I think. It'll be twelve once spring comes around."

"I know you aren't from here, so just so you're aware, winters stay a bit longer up here in the northlands than it does down south. Yesterday was the start of the new year, so perhaps another eight weeks of snow left."

The start of the new year...? The mercenary took a moment to tally up the math in his head. Has it really been three weeks since I first arrived to Marshank with Bertram and the caravan? To Laurence the memory of his arrival felt distant. Almost foreign, as if from a lucid dream. That was a long time to be stuck in one place for Laurence.

He refocused his gaze away from the pair of brawling mice and to the mug in his claws. Laurence raised his drink in the air to nobeast in particular before chugging the contents.

"Copeland. There's something I need to tell you about."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"There's... no easy way t' put this, so I'll just say it. I've been using you as a way t' get a raise. An' a promotion too. The bluejackets of the Crucible have the option to become trainers in between their guard shifts. So it started out as a way to make more money, but I like you, Laurence. So I am only going t' be honest with you from now on."

Laurence chugged the refill almost as quickly as the first. "Doesn't surprise me. Everybeast here has been screwing me over, one way or another. But I appreciate the honesty, friend."

The otter brought his half-empty container closer to Ansley, who stared at it for a moment of confusion before giving a laugh. The stoat mimicked the action of bumping a mug against Laurence's own.

For a moment the two unlikely friends sat there in silence. They took in the convivial atmosphere while all the creatures around them engaged in scattered dialogue.

Laurence began cracking his claws when Ansley started again. "So. Are you nervous about your big fight against Kahmabutcha tomorrow?"

"Not in the slightest. I'm going to destroy that arrogant zealot," said the mercenary with a smile.

A couple glasses more and many conversations later, Laurence made his way back to the Windy Bastion in the Crucible. The world was swaying and rippling before his eyes, but he didn't mind. The only thing Laurence consciously noted from the returning trip was the countless grim-faced sentries staring him down while he would passed by.

The solemnity came back to the mercenary once he reached his living quarters. Lying on his bed was his oldest remaining friend, Sondern. He began tucking the iridescent sword under the covers and spoke in a quiet, friendly tone.

"Everything's coming together now. Finally I have seen what my purpose is here, Sondern." Laurence himself got under the covers after shedding his thick jacket and folding it up. "I can say that I've made a difference. Or at least, that I actually made an attempt. And even if there was not-"

"Oh fer cryin' out loud, not this act again... Quit talkin' to your sword, mate! It's an inanimate object. Some of us are tryin' to sleep over here!"

He shot the divider between him and his closest roommate an angry scowl, but at their insistence Laurence fell into silence.

~.~.~.~

He was back home. Back in the Copeland Estates, in the Copeland Manor.

Both of his brothers, Shadder and Royen were there. Father in healthy condition. Mother, present as well.

Each of them sat in their assigned seats around the dining room table. Laurence followed suit and took his familiar place at the end of the table.

Shadder was regaling the others with another tale of the war. Most creatures clammed up after experiencing warfare, but Shadder had the peculiar habit of running his mouth. Laurence always suspected that this was a coping mechanism of his. He lost a lot of close friends during the War.

Royen peered at the elder brother with wide eyes, a spoonful of food halfway to his mouth now stopped dead in their tracks. He hardly spoke- only when the undying, unanswered questions begged him to.

Mother glanced to and fro in every direction. Her unabated matronly nature was never at rest. She told Shadder to not chew with his mouth open, prodding Royen to eat more so he could grow big and strong like his elder brother.

Father had the same look in his eyes like they always did. The contents on his plate were long gone. His claws were steepled, eyes staring holes into the placard above the fireplace, where the Copeland family sword once laid.

Laurence caught wind of the lull in the conversation, and took his chance to change the subject. Nobeast turned in his direction. Again, he tried, and again to no avail. Somebeast made a jest about one of Shadder's war buddies losing their ear to an arrow, to uproarious laughter.

The mercenary was a ghost. Long forgotten, ever lost. He lifted his voice as loud as able. But his family never caught wind.

~.~.~.~

The sounds of the living world compelled him to snap his eyes open. Just a moment ago, somebeast closed a door. Voices in the hallway outside. The sound of a torch being snuffed out.

On the other side of the wide room, rays of sunlight filtered through the window. Laurence gave a big yawn and began to stretch out his limbs. Today is the big day.

Laurence mentally noted that it would be in his best interest to seek a counsel with Vikkars sometime before the evening- if anybeast knew how to dissect and discover another creature's weaknesses, it was the Prisoner King.

He donned his jacket and headed out the dormitory double doors toward the gladiator's mess hall.

It's not snowing today. A welcome relief. The mercenary looked through the lines of windows as he filtered past. Only an empty white canvas greeted him, no snowfall.

In the mess hall, Laurence sat alone and ate in silence. The typical, the average meal experience for the otter in the Crucible. All around him were the all-too-familiar faces.

Iwan was cautiously glancing in the direction of Laurence every so often. The fox was cognizant of all the daggers that the otter was glaring his way. He has no idea that what he is doing here is wrong. He's a psychopath.

Laurence's temperament brightened significantly when he saw that the fox was mottled with cuts and bruises all over. He must have lost his fight to that one prisoner. Two-Face.

Sitting approximately one table behind him and to the left, Laurence could hear the loud and harsh voice of his enemy. Kahmabutcha. The heathen was boasting over his facile bracket run. Keep talking, scumbag. I'll make you eat those words later tonight.

While in the midst of a mouthful, a lean woodland otter in a homespun tunic sat himself down next to Laurence.

"Good morning, friend! The name is Darby. Can I interest you in a wood pigeon egg?"

Laurence stared at the creamy white oval uncomfortably close to his face. "None for me. I'm already eating here."

The newcomer made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I certainly hope you will come around, friend. Everybeast knows that breakfast is the most important meal of the day! How do you expect to win your tourney match tonight?"

"I'll manage. Now please, leave me."

As the peculiar otter trundled off, Laurence watched with utter confusion. Who was that guy? I've never seen him in the Crucible before... Is he a gladiator? Perhaps he was one of the many spies in Marshank. But then why would he approach Laurence so brazenly?

The mercenary soon forgot the bizarre exchange, when he caught sight of a certain black-furred creature with beady eyes peering at him from the other side of the mess hall. Laurence could see he was moving his mouth but couldn't tell what they were saying from so far away.

Laurence stood to his footpaws and marched toward the unsettling prisoner. They did not move or flinch, only staring in defiance as he closed the distance.

"Bechtold, right? I have been meaning to talk with you."

"Oh, the mighty Frostfang has graced me with his presence," the bat muttered, prodding at his uneaten food. "Come to gloat about your wins, or describe all the clever ways you'll slaughter me? Don't bother; I've heard it all from your fellow butchers already." He shot a savage look back towards the volunteers.

"No... I'm not here to do any of that." Laurence was stinging from the bitter words but he did his best not to show his emotions. He continued, stone-faced, "I wanted to thank you."

Surprise broke the disgust from the bat's face. "...what?"

Laurence's mind fluttered back to the conversation he had with Vikkars yesterday. An army on the horizon. A tidal wave of change. The otter dearly wished he could shed light on what was in store for the future, but everything about the plan hinged on total secrecy.

"Nobeast told me about the true nature of this place when I first came here. They did not think it was important enough to mention the atrocious treatment of other creatures. So I just wanted to thank you for being the only one who was real with me from the start."

The bat stared for a long time. Laurence twiddled his fingers together, then moved to get up from the table.

"It's Bech-tel, by the way." Bechtel puffed his chest out slightly. "And you're welcome." He seemed to think for a moment, then smirked. "For what it's worth, whether it's an act or not, your whole defiance routine is doing more good than you know."

"Right. Bechtel." Laurence began speaking again, the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "Well, this place will certainly be changing soon enough-"

Behind the both of them, a bluejacket sharply connected two iron pots until everybeast grew quiet. "Breakfast time is over now. All of you volunteers, get to movin' out of here!"

Bechtel and Laurence both took the opportunity and went their separate ways.

~.~.~.~

Another stab and hack. Laurence narrowly avoided the two swinging blades, dodging right. He brought Sondern down and knocked the sword out of his opponent's claws.

The two opponents jumped back from the falling weapon. The otter went for a swing and Sondern contacted with the opposing dagger.

Laurence backpedaled and realized far too late that there was a footpaw in his path, and he fell. The snow softened his impact, but his enemy leapt on top of him.

The dagger came down.

"I concede, I concede," said Laurence bitterly, holding his paws up in defeat.

His training partner, Drugaen Vikkars, picked himself off from the otter. "That was awful. You made your move too early and left yourself exposed." He sheathed the weapon and scowled. "Do you not remember anything I taught you? Choose your moments wisely. Don't strike at the first opportunity. Wait for the right moment."

Laurence picked himself back up. Voices of onlookers and other gladiators did not go by unnoticed. He ignored the whispers and faced upwards. The sun is at its peak. I have but only a few more hours until the fight. "Right. You're right... I need to be more patient. But what they did to Sondern, they rounded the edges of the blade-"

The Prisoner King snapped at the all-too-familiar lamentation, "Yes, I am enlightened on what happened to your sword, you can quit reminding me of that."

All of the murmuring voices in the courtyard slowly tapered off, and Laurence turned to see what happened. The Crucible Administrator, Hale Seftis, had made an appearance.

The once animated wildcat was standing beside the crumbling statues. He looked only a shell of his former self: face pale, uncontrollably trembling, leaning hard against a wooden cane. Behind the administrator were a pair of armed soldiers.

"Ah. Mister Vikkars, Mister Copeland. Good afternoon to the both of you," croaked Hale.

Laurence jumped at the irregular voice. What was the wildcat doing out here? Wasn't he bedridden from the sickness?

As if he had read Laurence's mind, Hale added, "I was starting to go mad from being cooped up in that old infirmary for so long. Seeing you beasts fight does a Seftis good, you know."

Drugaen Vikkars gave a nod but said nothing. Laurence only crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

"Mister Copeland, it looks as if there is something you are dying to get off your chest. Would you care to enlighten us?" asked Hale while raising an eyebrow, a faint glimmer of his old self resurfacing.

Laurence blamed Hale personally for being stuck in this terrible place. Hale Seftis was the one who knew of the mercenary's disgust for indentured servitude, yet still handed him that contract and offered the job. The administrator was now on the training grounds, no more than five paces away from the Prisoner King and The Frostfang.

"Yes. I do have something to say." The wildcat animatedly cocked his head to the side, which only further aggravated Laurence. Is he playing games with me? "Is everything a joke to you?"

"Not quite, Laurence. All of your behavior and actions, I take to be the most serious of businesses." Hale waved his guards back. "We can speak in private, if it would suit-"

"Why did you let me sign that contract, huh? You knew I was going to be such a problem for the Crucible- that I hate how this institution is run. You knew..."

Hale smiled. "My, this is quite the ethical dilemma you have found yourself in." At Laurence's scowl, the smile disappeared. "Yes. Of course I knew you weren't aware of the Crucible's ways. I knew that you would hate me for it." He steepled his paws atop his cane. "And I also know that you have a righteous heart. Tell me, Copeland, now that you are here, do you wish to leave?" He shook his head. "No. Now that you know what's going on, you can't leave."

Laurence turned his gaze to the ground. Even though the wildcat was partially right, he made a conscious decision to take every word out of Hale's mouth with a grain of salt. The last thing that the mercenary wanted was to be taken advantage of.

"You lied to me. You lied to me! On that day you recruited me, you said whoever comes through those Crucible doors is here because they want to be!" Face burning, the otter jerked a claw toward the Hall of Champions.

Hale sighed. "Laurence, you need to work on asking better questions. You asked if everybeast that walks through that door, Cain's office door, is here because they want to be."

The otter gave a growl and made a fist with both his paws.

"I have a job to uphold. Even the more unsavory aspects. My points still stands, however; you are here because you choose to be. And we're all the better for it."

Laurence was just about ready to launch another accusation at the wildcat when a sturdy pair of arms encircled him from behind.

Who in the Fates... He turned to face the assailant. It was none other than his eccentric potential suitor, Wander. She was resting her chin on his right shoulder.

"Oh Laurence, how I have missed you! Are you happy to see?" said the barmaid with her biggest smile.

"I'm- I'm kind of in the middle of something important here."

She looked at Hale, who watched with a blank expression. And then to Laurence, a face of rigidity. "That's not important. Look at my new dress, Laurence! When you saw how much I liked my last dress I went and got another one. It got really warm outside, right?"

"Wander..."

"Ah. The Frostfang's sponsor. Interesting stories I've heard of this one." Hale paced his way to Wander and offered out a paw. "Your new dress complements your eyes splendidly, madam."

She shook it, whispering to Laurence excited exclamations of just who stood before them. The mercenary only twitched his whiskers in response.

"Oh, Copeland, before I forget: your fight with Kamba is today. Most exciting. If my doctor will allow, I will most certainly be in the audience. My only request is that you don't trounce our good friend Kahmabutcha too bad, hmm? He seems to be quite the fan favorite around here." His eyes flicked to Wander. "Rivaling perhaps even your growing entourage of fans."

No way. I'm going to trounce that golden savage. "We'll see."

Before the wildcat could respond, a sudden fit of coughing seized him. He leaned hard against his cane, clutching at his chest with trembling claws.

"Alright, reunion's over. Administrator Seftis has put enough stress on his body for one day." A burly guard took Hale by the arm and escorted him back in the direction from whence he came.

Watching them leave, Laurence still couldn't believe that somebeast had poisoned the Administrator of the Crucible. Weren't there bigger fish to fry? His mind turned to the feast from ten days ago. Captain Whip of the bluejackets was there. If a prisoner had been the one to use the hemlock, why didn't they poison the leader of the slave drivers?

"Finally! I have you all to myself," Wander's voice whispered. She traced a claw around his ear before he pulled away from her. "Reunion's over."

This had gone on long enough. Laurence needed to say something. He cleared his throat and spoke in a calm, measured tone. "I'm sorry, Wander. But I am afraid that there's something... not pleasant I should tell you. I- I can't be with you. There are responsibilities and duties back in my homeland that are waiting for me. I can't get married out here. I am really sorry, Wander."

"Oh." She looked down at the snowy earth.

He placed a paw on her shoulder. "Are you going to be okay?"

She shrugged, "Well. Yeah. I am sad right now, but Ma always says that even though I might be sad right now, once enough time passes I will eventually be happy again."

"That... is pretty true, actually. Time heals all wounds." said Laurence. "We're always going to be friends, Wander, but I don't think we would be a good fit. I don't- I don't think I am ready to settle down yet."

She looked up and smiled. "Yes. Friends. The greatest of friends! Friends who tell each other everything, I always wanted those."

"Ah. The curtailed brother is gone." The otter's hackles raised at the taut voice. He almost jumped from the shock. Leave it to Vikkars to put anybeast on edge. "I hope there is no need to remind you that we work in clandestine."

"No worries. I said nothing about the impending-" A chill ran down his spine when he realized that Vikkars no longer had a ball chain around his right leg. "... nothing too damning. Where- where is your ball?"

"Gone." Vikkars' eyes flitted to the barmaid resting against the shoulder of Laurence. "Send your courtesan away. She doesn't need to be here for this next part."

Both otters turned to face each other. "Er, I guess this is goodbye for now, Wander. I'll come see you again soon. I promise." Laurence awkwardly accepted the hug she gave him before adding, "Oh. And like always- don't forget to bet on me for this next fight."

"Goodbye, Laurence! Please don't die. Yet."

Only after Wander was done saying her goodbyes to the both and was out of earshot, did Vikkars finally turn his dreaded gaze back onto the mercenary. "You are aware that she has a mental deficiency, right?"

Laurence only sighed. "Yeah. I figured as much."

"Come walk with me."

The two began to stroll away from the eyes of the gathering crowd in the courtyard, to the edge where a halfway-toppled garden archway preceded a row of frozen hedge bushes.

"Cain Seftis returned to the Crucible this morning. Several days ahead of schedule. The plans will have to be hastened. Your objective from last night, the task was completed?"

"Aye. The letter was delivered." Laurence nodded and gave what he hoped was an affirmative smile.

The scowl on the Prisoner King's face deepened. His eyes narrowed, brow brought downward. "You disobeyed my orders."

How in the... How does he know that? Laurence raised his paws and began stammering. "You don't know that."

"Your face told me everything I needed to know."

"Well... maybe I didn't follow them exactly down to the letter-"

"I gave you one job, and you botched it." He growled through gritted teeth, voice coiling tighter with every syllable. The chains on his paws rattled.

"Look. I'm really sorry about that, Vikkars. I am not going to do that next time-"

"There will be no next time." The ferret turned to leave the courtyard, with his tattered cloak billowing from the sudden heel turn.

For a moment Laurence considered chasing after Vikkars. What would be the point of that? The two of them were not friends. Were they?

A cold sweat begged to be tended to. By the Fates. I think we are.

~.~.~.~

The mercenary was brought to the same armory from before. It looked exactly the same, as every other time. This was his fifth time to be standing in the room.

And not unlike the other occasions, Ansley was also there, leaning against the same open spot in the wall.

"And as always. If ye wanted, ye can spare your opponent by making a gesture to the presiding Lord of the Crucible. Jus' thought I'd let you know."

Laurence did not respond. He looked over the metallic, circular shield before him. Would a shield be a good choice? He was not accustomed to using one. Most of the time they only ended up adding more weight to carry. No, he would instead make do with using both paws for Sondern.

One major change from his previous fights was the thin layer of chainmail and the chest plate he chose to wear for the deathmatch. Ansley recommended it to him after witnessing Kahmabutcha's infamous agility firsthand. The mongoose was faster than Laurence, but not as hardy or steadfast. If the otter could get through Kamba's defenses, then it would be a quick fight.

The mercenary considered on standing in front of the door to signal that he was done choosing his arms, but he relented. Laurence took the circular shield from the dummy and slung it across his back. To beat the enemy's speed he would use a greater defense.

He was ready for the fight.

Like all the other times before, Laurence stood in front of the ancient wooden door. While he awaited for the presiding Crucible Overseer to call his name, his mind wandered. How long had this door existed? Did the original owners of the Crucible ever walk through it? Why did everybeast care so much about status in their society?

"...And coming back to raise hell once again, it's the ex-soldier coming from Helmsford: The Frostfang!"

The reverie was cut short when the doors suddenly jerked open.

The reverberating cadence of the crowd erupted into the usual mix of cheers and hisses at the sight of the Frostfang. Regardless of how the audience felt about him, Laurence could tell that all the stands were packed for the first time.

The sky was decorated in hues of pink and orange. There was no snow fall this time.

Dotted around the Crucible arena were wooden poles. At the top of each pole was a torch designed to illuminate the darkened fighting grounds.

Already standing in the center of the arena was the opponent, Kamba. Bundled in a light swaddling of clothes, his face and arms were decked in war paint. A pair of daggers twirling in both paws. This was not the first time Laurence sized up Kamba, but it was the first time he did so under such scrutiny.

Laurence closed the gap but stopped to maintain a safe distance. He raised his sword high in the air before bringing it back down into the earth.

"By the blood of my father and mother. By the blood of my brothers, blessed be the followers. Fates. Give me aptitude, give me insight."

He glanced over to where the interim Crucible Overseer, Deputy Wimmick, was sitting. The stolid rat noted that the Frostfang was finished with his infamous war prayer- and he waved a claw. The fight began.

Without warning the mongoose charged forward with impressive speed. The curved dagger almost made contact with Laurence's belly, but the otter was able to bring his shield down in time. The second dagger clanked with the shoulder armor.

Just as quickly as he advanced, the mongoose retreated. The pullback on Sondern took too long and the swing missed. Once he was a safe distance away, the two opponents circled around one another.

To throw the mongoose off his rhythm, Laurence began to approach closer. Kamba responded by taking a few more steps back. Is this how they fight in the savanna? Running away like a coward and conceding territory?

The process of Laurence advancing, and Kamba retreating continued until the mongoose was able to maneuver around one of the many poles around the outer edges of the arena. The Frostfang swiped at his enemy, but the torch pole blocked the blow.

Kamba danced in and out of the larger opponents range, taunting him in a foreign language. It didn't bother Laurence. All noise was drowned out- the gaunt form of Kamba was the only cynosure in his focus.

Another swing, another miss. The enemy in range once more while the sword's end was contacting with the ground. Laurence backpedaled and threw out the gauntlet on his left paw to absorb the blow. He forced Kamba back once again, arm throbbing from the reverberations.

Kamba staggered, but did not fall. Laurence had no time to react when dagger in Kamba's right paw careened towards him. It left a gruesome cut along the edges of his jaw.

Laurence ignored the discomfort at the hot feeling running off his face and threw out another slash with Sondern. Again he missed. The force of the blow snapped the torch pole between them in half. Kamba took his opportunity and darted left, away from the corner of the arena.

The Frostfang whirled around, anticipating an attack, but none came. He refocused his attention ahead and saw Kamba standing behind another torch pole.

"Come closer, nonbeliever!"

The mercenary obliged. Sondern in both paws, he charged forward. He realized too late to see the trap Kamba had set. Once Laurence was in range the mongoose slashed down the nearest torch pole and threw a handful of some powder on the ground where the fire torch landed.

Sparks and smoke flushed out and upwards, temporarily blinding Laurence. Knowing he only had moments to react before Kamba would cut him open, the otter tossed his shield in front of him. His quick thinking was rewarded with the sound of a gust of breath prematurely exiting, from practically inches in front of his face.

Once Laurence was able to remove the smoke from his irritated eyes, he could see the winded mongoose some distance away... weakly starting to get back on his footpaws.

This was his moment! He reeled back before lunging forward with everything he had.

Kamba rolled to the left while the sword slammed into the earth where he once laid. Pulling out a third dagger he stabbed Laurence in the ankle. The otter yelped and limped out of range before the mongoose could yank the weapon out.

As Laurence tried to create some distance, Kahmabutcha trailed after him. The situation he found himself to be in unintentionally beckoned the thought of Vikkars stalking Aveline- waiting for his moment to strike. He gave a painful, wheezing laugh at the bleak memory.

He let Sondern loose from his claws and purposely fell backwards to the earth.

Seeing his chance, Kamba rushed forward, armed with another dagger in his left paw.

Laurence hit the earth hard and felt the stitches across his stomach come loose and let fly a salvo of blood. His claws grasped the dying torch beside him and Laurence slashed upwards.

The falling mongoose howled in agony as the wood and fire connected with his claws. He dropped the knife and fell on top of the otter.

Laurence punched his enemy in the face while Kamba's claws raked the mercenary's neck. Two particular claws came carving down his throat and exposed a long secluded part of Laurence to the outside world. He couldn't muster up the strength to scream.

The two began kicking and scratching in an almost darkly comical fashion while they rolled over the torch- again burning the golden mongoose.

Taking his chance, the otter wrapped both claws around Kamba's throat. He pressed down with all the force he could. The enemy stared wide-eyed at the Frostfang, lips moving but nothing coming out.

For Laurence, every breath he took was in utter anguish. His vision filtered in and out now, the fusillade of frozen blood caking the right side of his face and blinding the right eye.

His mind was flickering with images. Wander's friend painting on the storage room walls- standing over his first kill in the great war- three wayward souls leaving their homeland- his father falling down that flight of stairs and lying prone on the floor- Laurence could feel his grip wavering, despite all of his willpower.

Kahmabutcha pried the trembling claws loose. Laurence fell over to the side hard, each proceeding breath harder to come by. Why is everything so distant.

He watched for what felt like countless infinities as the conflagrant Kamba picked himself off the ground and walk countless miles toward the fallen otter.

A powerful force connected with Laurence's chest. The roars of the crowd were muted to a low, monotonous buzz in his ears.

Kill me… I failed... my family... please kill me.

The last thing he saw was the face of another living creature, upside down. They were contorting their face into a familiar expression while a series of words registered.

Another powerful blow, and everything faded into black.