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!
The Long Defeat
By: Laurence Copeland
Soon the moments turned into hours, and hours into days. With every passing day, the weather became a constant, winding snowfall. Each time around mid-noon the flurry arrived, like clockwork. The days were growing longer again.
Two more of his followers perished in the frozen tundra early on- a frail volemaid and a lame otter. Laurence saw to it that they be put to rest and given the proper respects. Not so much for his sake, but to keep up the morale of the troops. Nothing killed the momentum of a rebellion quicker than leaving the dead to rot when it could be avoided.
Knowing they did not stand a chance surviving in the wilderness, Laurence led the party back toward the Crucible. The very last place they ever wanted to see, but also the last place anybeast would ever expect to find them... or so he hoped.
Before leaving the marshes he ordered the group to scour the location for any sustenance they could find. Thirteen creatures and only seven weapons between the lot of them. No food, not a drop of water.
While vaguely recalling at one point standing atop a plateau on the side of a mountain, Laurence felt the thrill and rush of being tasked with a fighting force and a purpose one more time. The entire situation he found himself in, he considered a worthy challenge. One he would gladly accept.
Always close to him, Ansley the former bluejacket bore the same chains August once did. In recent times he sported two black eyes and a broken claw, but at least he still lived- all thanks to Laurence's efforts.
Mid-morning they reached the same hill banks overlooking north of the settlement which Ansley and his soldiers escorted them through. From there they spotted an army to the west. Vikkars' army. Laurence recalled with a grim insight sending out a pair of scouts to investigate the tentative situation within Marshank Settlement. Hours later they returned, with news of abandoned shacks and tents, businesses broken into and lifeless streets.
Drugaen Vikkars. The otter ringleader knew that if given their chance, the Snow Brigade should assassinate the Iron King. The ferret proved time and time again he did not hold the best interests of the common Marshank settler at heart. He only cared for his own interests.
Laurence felt that this whole situation came about from his own doings, and before he could leave this place in confidence he would need to fix his mistakes. Taking advantage of the dubious opportunity the Snow Brigade moved into the forsaken homes for their base of operations. His outfit's spirits seemed to be lifted greatly with newfound shelter and food.
Former prisoner Tope Benwrath proved to be an excellent deputy. Young, athletic, and content with following orders, although whether this was due to a blinding commitment to the cause or from a blissful ignorance remained to be seen.
Laurence could not help but notice the peculiar arrival of dozens of bluejackets in the following days; most likely given orders to keep a tightened hold over the settlement no matter the cost.
One particular morning, Laurence struck out on a lonely walk to collect his thoughts when he nearly ran straight into a patrol of bluejackets. Ducking behind a clothesline, he watched as they appeared to check the surrounding homes for signs of life.
Crack. Door hinges coming apart and falling to the wayside settled over the landscape.
Groups of them stormed inside while a few more waited outside in the cold. One of them returned outside with a protesting homeowner, thrown to the side as his goods were carted out and distributed amongst the soldiers.
The otter departed from his spot in unison with a loud clatter from a thrown pebble.
And the otter would return. With a sword in his paw and a tidal wave of others, ebbing and churning for a justice- quite unlike the Crucible's.
~.~.~.~
Blood. More bloodshed.
The unexpected happened, when a hidden letter borne from one of the blue clad corpses became found- addressed to Laurence stenciled on the front.
Frostfang,
It has reached my ears that you still draw breath. I shouldn't be surprised. You could never do anything right in life; of course you can't die correctly.
And what now, Copeland? Is it back to that pining notion of reforming the Crucible? Saving your fellow vagrants? Will you storm these halls and bring revolution to the North? Your naiveté is sickening, even in your absence.
But you are nothing if not predictable. Some other glittering trifle will catch your eye, and you will run. Is that not how it has always been with you? You are a beast of simple means, and simple beasts always return to their habits.
These creatures of Marshank will hang. I have planned it, and so it shall be. Before I assume my rightful place among these commonfolk, do the one thing in which you have some skill. Run. Run far away. Cling to that ever elusive temptress, and remember this land as an unpleasant dream.
Because if you stay, I will find you. I will string you up in the city streets until the cold suffocates your cries and your blood paints the stones. There you will remain, an eternal effigy to folly and futility.
I am always watching. I am always listening.
-Drugaen Vikkars, the true King of Illmarsh, reigning Lord Regent of the Crucible.
Laurence did not go on another lonely walk for the rest of the week.
~.~.~.~
This was the right thing. This was necessary.
The sounds of twine and straw coiling and tightening before shooting up.
Four bluejackets- strung up by the neck and swaying in the cold breeze as they kicked and tore at their throats.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. His Father's own timeless adage.
All the others turned away, unused to such brutality. Laurence did not drop his gaze.
"What do we do with the rest of the bodies?" said somebeast from behind.
"We burn them."
We did much worse to stay alive all those years ago during the war. This is just intimidation.
They might have taken the life of one rebel, but Laurence saw to it that none of the offenders survived. His followers gathered around to watch the grim procession while the bodies were lit up. They all knew what had to be done.
"This is jus' sick. What is the meaning of this?" gasped a voice behind him. "This is wrong."
They were already dead, you numbskull.
"They were already dead. Burning the enemy's deceased is not considered a war cri-"
"I ain't talkin' about that. It's about lynching them while they're alive. I thought ye called yourself a hero? A hero would not do somethin' like this."
Laurence turned around to face the speaker. The stoat stood tall, eyes filled with disbelief. The otter felt surprised at the disapproving behavior, but tried to retain a neutral expression regardless.
"I'm not a hero. I'm Just trying to do something right by these folk."
Tope Benwrath hooked his claws into his outfit. "An' your way of doin' right by them is killin' our enemies in terrible ways?" He shook his head. "All that you are doin' with these tactics is fueling the enemy's need to hunt us down. And when they do finally catch us, there won't be any mercy."
The crackling of the fire between them filled the uneasy silence. The members of the insurgency looked around at one another.
After waiting long enough, Laurence responded. "They indiscriminately capture and enslave creatures from off the streets. They torture and maim anybeast who tries to leave. What makes you think they would show mercy to us? To any of us?"
"There won't be no positive change comin' from all this. I've heard you talkin' to the others, how them bluejackets are lesser than any other creature. Make 'em easier to put down like they're only ferals."
The otter's eyes crackled. "If you have a problem with my methods, then you can leave."
An unanticipated threat. Tope eyed the general direction of empty wilderness, and mumbled something before he fell silent. Yeah, that's what I thought.
Laurence made to walk away when August bustled down the nearby hill and skidded to a stop before him. "Copeland! There is a new development on the frontlines."
The otter gave an order for all of the lingering insurgents to scatter. He followed the hedgehog five hundred yards away, to the top of a snowy hill where another rebel waited them.
The two newcomers went prone against the snowy ground, alongside the scout. "Sir. There appears to be a courier leaving the horde, and heading towards the Crucible." Following the pointing claws, he could see the outline of a creature trundling alone into Marshank. The archer spat on the ground before continuing, "He's come and gone from the army before. Should we take them out? If we do, it could sever communications between the army and the Crucible."
Laurence studied the disparate form in the distance, clutching a thick coat tightly around a skeletal frame. They looked awfully familiar. As if Laurence knew them from somewhere. A former gladiator, perhaps? Or somebeast he met on his travels outside the Crucible...
The sound of a cord pulled back regathered his thoughts.
That settler he met on the night before his fight with Kamba- The fat stoat. They were using him to deliver letters back and forth, realized Laurence.
In the midst of his epiphany, August muttered into Laurence's ear, "Hmm, I know that one, Copeland. Courier Wick of Marshank. He's one of us-"
Laurence turned his attention to the scout on his right. "Take him out. Do it quickly now."
The archer shifted uncomfortably under the rebel leader's gaze. "But even if we prevent him from delivering their-"
"That's an order."
More hesitation. But only for a split second. The archer pulled back the cord, and let fly. The arrow struck Wick in the chest and he collapsed to the ground. Contents from his mailbag tumbled out.
"We could have just captured him. There was no need to kill him!" said August through gritted teeth.
"Now go and see what letters he carried."
"But that's within eyesight of the horde-"
Laurence slammed his fist into the ground. Both rebels jumped at the sudden movement. His burning eyes locked with August's. "That wasn't a suggestion. Now get to it, or you can leave my outfit."
The sound of crunching ice. The archer took off as swiftly as the arrow as the snow launched in different directions. August remained, now standing to his footpaws.
"I respect you, Copeland. But I don't agree with these methods of yours." He held out his paw. The otter begrudgingly shook it. "Leaving our own for dead? Killing innocents? I'll be leaving Marshank for good tomorrow morning, hmm."
Think what you will of my methods, hedgehog. Change will not come otherwise.
But would change come at all? The rebel leader wished so. There were no welcoming arms for him and his followers in Marshank. All the remaining locals turned them out into the cold. These lands and denizens fought and struggled with him at every turn.
Following in August's pawsteps he moved toward the granary where most of his soldiers preferred to take refuge. Perhaps some food in his belly would do him some good.
~.~.~.~
Laurence might have taken to bed early that night, but sleep did not come easy.
His excitement for impending conflicts saturated his mind and kept him awake. It had been far too long since the last time he fought in a good full-scale battle, the otter regarded.
As of earlier in that day, his forces now covered most of northern Marshank. Tomorrow they would advance to the south.
Earlier that night the otter chose to position himself on a smattering of straw and hay. Above him the the smashed window let the white noises of nature loose into the granary. Undercutting the whispers of wind and crackling of the fire- quiet, low voices from behind caught his attention.
Before long the rebel leader realized the voices, one high-pitched and nasally -August- and the other steady and accented -Tope Benwrath. What was August doing back here? And what were they talking about? A mutiny, perhaps? Laurence rolled over to face the now subdued muttering and made to look as if he were fast asleep.
When the two felt certain he would not stir again, they continued.
"...Ye recognize me? Ye remember where I come from?" asked Tope. An unprecedented vulnerability came with the questions, catching the eavesdropper by surprise. "Where my family came from?"
"Hmm, I remember. From Southron. By the edge of the Mottlewoods." A long pause, enough to make one wonder if perhaps they left the granary. Finally, the voice of the hedgehog responded. "How... how did you survive the sickness? The Dryditch Fever?"
"Young squirrel lass -another medic- heard about our condition. Days after ye an' the others left she paid a visit. She gave me a potion, told me t' drink it twice a day, but not before me brother Ennis died. Left the followin' morning an' I never saw her again."
"I'm so, so sorry, Tope. Believe me, I truly tried my best to keep your family alive-"
"I hated ye. And the other healers, too. When ye left us to die from the sickness."
August gave a choked sob. "And- You don't- you don't still seem to hate me, at least." Silence. And then, "You don't still hate me?"
"Well. My claws ain't wrapped around your throat, are they?"
Shuffling and repositioning. The otter could hear quiet sniffling from the hedgehog while presuming that Tope settled down for the night.
Laurence couldn't believe his ears. Tope's family, all dead? The stoat could not be any older than twenty-five. And he knew August from before the Crucible...
The otter felt an uneasy sinking feeling in his stomach. What if he came back home to his kingdom, and his own family was dead? Stop. Don't even think about such things.
The turn of events brought fresh concerns for the stoat. Although they never addressed it as such, the two wayward souls learned to rely on one another to see things through.
New insight took control, and Laurence still felt himself unable to fall asleep that night.
~.~.~.~
The following morning. The rebel leader sent out the only pair of rebels he could find in the granary to go check on the army's location, to see if they moved during the night.
Leaving the deathly silent building behind, Laurence took to the streets and surveyed the landscape for any new developments. Yet still he found the neighboring streets to be empty, to his acceptance.
With the start of the brand new day, two developments took hold: nobeast could find August anywhere, as if he vanished into thin air- and for lunch one of the two scouts managed to find and slay an Arctic Eider, which gave them their first good meal in a very long time.
Everybeast in the Snow Brigade thinned dramatically since their excommunication from the Crucible. But nobeast thinned out more than Ansley the former bluejacket.
He turned to the stoat beside him in chains. "Those dead bluejacket comrades of yours, the ones from yesterday, they must be doing their job and scaring off the others from coming over here..." said Laurence with a laugh, "I knew it was going to be a good idea."
"Please," whimpered Ansley. "Just let me-let me go. I'll run far away from here and the others will never know."
Laurence shook his head. "But they would know. You know I can't do that, Ans. I'm sorry mate, but if they are going to take me seriously I need you here with me. Besides- if I let you run off, who's to say the army won't find you and kill you? ...or one of your former friends in blue, mistaking you for one of us?"
The chain on the haggard stoat's neck bobbed as he tried to hold back tears. "Please, mate... you won't always be there to protect me from your rebels... they don't ever have to know..."
Giving a stiff smile, Laurence snapped his claws. "Listen, mate. When the opportunity presents itself, I'll free you myself. I promise. You always said you wanted to see the rest of the world, right?"
Ansley's chains clinked together with each fervent nod.
"So we'll explore the world together, right? So when the time comes I will free you and we can leave this place togeth-"
Before he could finish making his case, the two of them caught sight of Tope Benwrath appearing from behind an abandoned inn. When the young stoat caught sight of them he ambled closer, stoic expression on his face.
"Laurence." said Tope before clearing his throat, "We need to talk."
Uh oh. The otter stood tall and brought his face to an inscrutable expression in order to brace himself for the unpleasantries about to take place. "So let's talk, then."
The stoat's eyes flickered to the slave in between them, groveling on the floor. Laurence opened his mouth to ask if he wanted Ansley to be sent back to camp when Tope spoke. "I jus' wanted to- to apologize, fer questioning your orders. When we started this rebellion, we decided you'd be the best in leading the troops, since ye've seen battle before. So. Jus' thought I would say that."
Laurence clapped a paw on his friend's shoulder and afforded a smirk. "I knew you'd come around, Tope Benwrath! That I could rely on you to have my back when the time came."
"There's something else I've been needin' to tell ye-"
"Listen, I need you to walk Ansley back to the granary. Lock him up there, I'll need to go on another scouting mission-"
"-Two other members of the Snow Brigade left with August."
Laurence blinked. "What?"
"It's jus' you, me, Terkin, Gyffa an' Imber left. All the others are gone."
The rebel leader shook his head violently. "No. No, that's not true. I just saw Ymenia and Lief standing guard outside. Ha. Yes, they were standing right outside the granary..."
Now Tope shook his own. "Ymenia and Lief have been dead for almost a week, Laurence. They froze to death during a scouting mission... remember?"
Laurence felt the heat rise to his face.
"Listen, I'm starting to get concerned about ye, mate. All this talk of seein' dead folk- it's scaring the others. An' the way ye been movin' all stiff- an' no emotion with your face-"
Tope whispered more of his concerns but he did not hear them over the loud winds picking up. No. They can't be dead.
"So you're calling me a liar- yes? Is that it? Listen to me- listen. I know they're alive. I saw them minutes ago. You know who is dead? August. Yes, he's dead as a doornail. And just like your brother En- Ennis."
Realizing his admission too late, the otter raised his eyes to meet Tope's. Pain and disbelief marked them, and the sinking feeling returned to Laurence's stomach.
He turned and fled from the roadway, leaving the two stoats behind.