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!
Don't Shoot Me Down
By: Laurence Copeland
The Following is a Substituted Post Written for Ander
Ander followed in his new mentor's wake, trying his best to keep up and remain silent.
Judging by the direction their path took them, the weasel figured they were heading for either the Hall of Champions or the Upper Offices.
They ended up walking out into the open halls of the former, and the ferret king did not linger, instead bustling toward the room with the spiraling staircase at the other end. Ander took a moment to take in the new sights; the gladiator banners all roughly torn down, no more wandering denizens or new travelers, and perhaps most frightening- over the massive front doors, a warning -written in blood- for those who tried to leave or escape.
Still the same old Crucible and same old inhabitants. But with a different master.
Not again. The sounds of lashing whips and intermittent screaming coming faintly from somewhere caused Ander to quicken his pace. That's not happening, never again.
Ander kept his thoughts to himself, including questions about where they were headed. He knew better than to ask Vikkars anything- if there was one thing the ferret was good at, it was making somebeast feel small and worthless. Time after time, Ander watched creatures confront him, and it never worked. They ended up looking stupid, and that was if they were lucky.
Before long they ended up in the Upper Offices, and Vikkars stopped before a blue door. A pair of grim-faced bluejackets stood on both sides of the entryway. They did not stop the former prisoner when he stepped forward and pushed open the door.
Ander followed Vikkars inside. In the corner of the room behind a desk and clutching his head: the Crucible lord, Cain Seftis.
"Rise up, Seftis. I have more prerequisites on our treaty for you to sign." No response. Vikkars slammed his fist into the desk near the wildcat's head.
Cain stirred, and his claws accidentally swept several wine bottles onto the floor. He eyed the two new arrivals through squinting eyes, before growling in displeasure. "Leave me be. Can't you see I have much important work to do?"
"Your vices can wait. Read over the newest clauses and then I'll leave."
"I can look over them." Ander's eyes trailed over to the far end of the room. An unfamiliar silver-furred wildcat leaning on a cane faced him and Vikkars. "Leave them with me, and I'll sign whatever needs to be signed."
Vikkars gave a harsh laugh. "A signature from the Administrator of the Crucible? Do you really think I want the second-rate scrawlings of an infirm sibling?" He waved a claw at the frail figure. "Go back into the shadows and keep quiet. You are of no use to me any longer."
Hale laughed, though his eyes sharpened as he returned the ferret's stare. "Were you always this forgetful, or did the hooks in your scalp rob you of reason?" He swiped his claws against his chest. "I still recall signing the order to have that rejected sconce stapled to your head. That alone should be reminder enough of how much impact my 'scrawlings' have."
The laugh died within the ferret's throat, and the sound transmuted into a hiss between his fangs. "When the time comes, you will die. I will make sure of it."
"Yes, I'm sure. I'll be waiting for it." He reset his paws upon his cane and leaned against it. "Until then, shall we carry on with your 'clauses," or are you really going to sit there and posture at me?"
Snoring cut through the terse silence. Ander turned to see Cain Seftis fast asleep again. How does that one sleep through all this racket? The weasel mused, almost wishing to be in the wildcat's unenlightened position.
The door behind them slowly creaked open. Ander recognized the newcomer as Kahmabutcha, the crazy volunteer gladiator. He tried to shrink behind the towering Iron King as the mongoose sauntered inside.
"Ayah! Seftis, ees who I wun to see. Te news on Marshankah, yeer favrit fighter ees back."
Hale turned to the bluejacket who entered with the mongoose. "What's he saying?"
"The Frostfang and his cronies have attacked our soldiers again. This time in the Atonement District. Hanged four more of our own, and the worst part of all is we have no information or any idea where they're hiding."
"They are hiding in the abandoned buildings, where else would they be?" Hale snorted. "It's a simple matter of flushing them out."
"We'll get it done, Administrator Seftis! On me mum's grave, we'll get it done. Lost one o' my close friends to him last morrow. Met him in the flesh once, I did, dumb as a rock, that one! We'll find him in no time."
Vikkars turned to face the lowly bluejacket. "You would be foolish to underestimate Copeland. He might be woefully ignorant of all else, but he's still an experienced battle commander."
The bluejacket quailed under both the piercing gazes of Hale Seftis and Drugaen Vikkars. "Er, I ain't doubtin' any o' that, Master Vikkars. It's jus'... how are we supposed t' find all o' them in so many buildings?"
Hale stacked his claws atop his cane before turning to look at each of the faces around him. "One way or another, each of us have our reasons for wanting Copeland dead. So let's make use of our most worthwhile instruments, wouldn't you agree, Vikkars?"
The ferret in question narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Hale took it as a sign to continue. "Kahmabutcha, you claim to be a renowned tracker and hunter in your homelands. And nobeast knows Laurence's fighting style better than yourself, given you beat him once already. Why don't you finish the job and take him out?"
Kamba nodded vehemently and launched forward, almost knocking Ander to the ground. "Ayah, yeew speakah te troof. I ees great warrior in homeland! In firelands, little ones haf no name. All te ledders in monkoozer name stand for one unbeliever I keel." He drew one of his daggers and cut into his palm, making a fist. "Ven I keel te Frostfang, I weel add another ledder to my name!"
The reply met with silence, and Ander almost made a sound of disgust at the blood hitting the ground before it caught in his throat. I must be seen, not heard. He reflexively rubbed at the bruises on his neck.
"Another corpse, another letter! Yes, all quite interesting. But surely you cannot go all alone- foot soldiers are needed to back you up once you do find them. A score of bluejackets should suffice, no?"
The Iron King slammed his fist into the nearby desk, waking Cain from his stupor. "There is no way in the name of Faek I'll let that happen-"
"But you will-"
"If this proves to be a trick-"
"Vikkars. Place your hatred aside for a moment and think rationally! We don't want this rebellion out in our stomping grounds as much as you do. Kahmabutcha cannot go alone. Safety in numbers, hmm?"
No response again. Hale turned back to the mongoose and gave a lethargic nod. Kamba bowed himself out of the room.
"As for you," Hale began, turning to face the bluejacket escort that remained, "Go and find Wimmick at the front entryway and tell him to join up with Kamba and the others when he is done addressing the… growing mob outside our gates."
The lowly bluejacket followed out the door after the mongoose.
"Now, then. Where were we?" Hale clasped his paws together and gave a smile.
~.~.~.~
Ander chewed in silence while watching empty cups and plates come and go.
The indentured servants of the Crucible's cooking staff bustled about, trying hard to keep the table clean and their new master happy.
At the far end of the table, in a tall regal chair easily out matching the others in height, sat the new Crucible Overseer. The ferret was dressed in a simple dark smock and leather jerkin, with metal greaves and gauntlets. He spoke of the future, and his plans for it.
While he spoke, he studied the faces of each creature at the table, especially the vixen sitting to Ander's right. She did not return the gaze.
"Yes. You will continue to paint, but not for these Crucible scullions, but for me!" To emphasize the point, Vikkars stabbed a hunk of woodpigeon meat with a curved knife and popped it in his mouth. "I require somebeast with an eye for detail to paint banners and flags. I want everybeast to feel their blood run cold at the sight of my symbol… the Drugaen family crest, adorned with thorns and a sword through the skull of a woodlander."
Still the fox said nothing, and instead chose to toy with her food. Ander noticed her cradling a medallion around her neck with her other paw. I remember her... she used to come to the Drag and paint the walls. She looked happy then... it seems she finally realized what a terrible place this is.
When it looked as though she almost caught wind of his gaze, Ander flicked his eyes to the far corner of the room. There, a single chair facing the wall in the corner. Bloodstains marked the wall and on the floor, small pieces of… Oh dear. The weasel turned his attention back to the table.
"Your silence is disconcerting, Miss Rendai. I was hoping to hold a pleasurable conversation."
"I-I don't want to work for- for you."
"Let's make a deal. Surely you have somebeast you would like to see pay a price for their behavior towards you. I can make it happen."
The expectant pause was broken at the sounds of quiet laughing in the corner of the room. The ferret turned to face the squirrel servant holding his sides.
"What's the joke?"
Hearing the booming voice, the squirrel named Dain turned to face Ander, Vikkars and the rest of the aristocracy of Marshank.
"Er… I'm sorry for disturbin' all o' ye…"
"Come closer and tell us the joke, scullion."
"R-really?" Dain closed the gap and stood a couple feet away from the table. "If you insist, m'lord." He cleared his throat. "What sits at the-"
"Closer, scullion. My hearing is not so good these days." Vikkars tapped the side of his skull with the knife in his claws, never changing his blank expression. "I want to hear what was so funny."
Dain stood beside the edge of the table, very close to the new Crucible lord. "A'right. What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches?"
Vikkars pursed his lips tightly and narrowed both eyes. "What."
"A nervous wre-"
The short dagger pierced through the squirrel's jaw. His eyes widened and he coughed, soaking his attacker with a current of blood. A couple creatures in the audience screamed as Dain collapsed to the floor and tried to crawl away.
Vikkars was upon him in an instant, stabbing the servant over and over with the tiny dagger, his thunderous laughing carving over the screams. Only after the victim stopped moving did he stop ravaging the body.
"Finally, somebeast with a sense of humor around here! What a funny joke!"
Everybeast looked onward in fright at the bloodsoaked mustelid, cleaning the blade on the deceased squirrel's tunic.
Just as quickly as the smiling and laughing came, it was gone. Vikkars' face turned back to a scowl and he looked at Ander right in the eyes. "Help me escort Miss Rendai out. We're going for a short walk outside. As for the rest of you, think about what you have just seen."
"Y-Yessir," Ander croaked, turning green. "Right away."
~.~.~.~
Night settled over the arctic landscape, and a freezing fog blanketed the Crucible courtyard. Snow falling in every direction.
Two bluejackets both hefted an unconscious, hulking fox between them. Ander was tasked with following them while escorting a bound and terrified vixen with a bag over her face.
Vikkars awaited them in a regal throne chair, overlooking the flat and open yard center. Upon seeing the group arrive, he pointed to the opposite edge of the yard. "Over there." When Ander attempted to follow after them, Vikkars placed his claws against the weasel to keep him in place.
Walking further down, the bluejacket soldiers set the fox down against the snowy stone floor.
"Place this on the ground next to him."
One of the bluejackets took the quarterstaff from the ferret's claws. They faced the leering ferret. "Now wake him up."
He gulped. Looking down at the creature before him the bluejacket cautiously poked at the sleeping creature with the stick. After a solid minute of using the tool to prod the creature, finally the fox started coming around.
"Salutations, Sorel Rendai! Glad you could join us." said Vikkars.
Standing to his footpaws, the fox took in his surroundings while crossing his arms against his bare chest. "What. Is. This."
"Your moment of judgment is here. Pick up the staff."
Vikkars nodded to Ander, who removed the bag from the vixen's face. Again she tried to wrest free from the weasel's tight grip but failed. For a moment, she stopped moving, and her gaze locked with the that of the other fox across the yard.
Another prisoner, this one with both paws completely bound and defenseless, was brought out from the entryway behind Vikkars.
"Your choice, Rendai: take the prisoner's life, or he'll take your own."
Sorel's face tore through a multitude of emotions. Ander watched with horrified curiosity- or was it a sick fascination?- as the fox slowly picked up the quarterstaff. The vixen in his grasp finally stopped struggling and gave a muted whimper.
A terse silence followed, and Ander could hear each step in the snow toward the other prisoner. It took all his self control not to lift his paws and block out his eyes. He's not going to kill him... is he?
Standing before them, Sorel raised his staff. The air trembled and the sky erupted with the sounds of wood smacking flesh. Hit after hit, over and over again. The bound prisoner could do nothing but accept their fate, and Ander watched as Sorel Rendai chose his own.
The weasel turned to see his mentor, leaning forward intently in his chair, watching with a wide-eyed macabre enthusiasm.
"Please… we must stop him…" Ander faced the vixen wrapped in his claws, "Things'll only grow worse if we don't. He's-he's a monster..."
A bluejacket jabbed her in the stomach with the butt-end of his spear and she fell to the ground in agony. Feeling his hackles rise, Ander saw the vicious looking burn marks along her forearms. It's a nightmare. Ander clamped his eyes shut. Nothing like this could truly be real.
Finished with his despicable task, the heaving Sorel dropped the bloodied staff on the ground.
Vikkars clapped. "A cold-blooded monster! What a grand display of exact barbarity! Your basest, truest nature has shown itself. Consider me impressed." The ferret smirked. "But because you killed an innocent outside of the Crucible arena, and therefore must pay the ultimate price: death."
The vixen on the ground cried out again, and a bluejacket kicked her in the side.
"Lock him up with the rest of the monsters, in the lower level dungeons." Ander watched while the bluejackets took the fox away. Vikkars stood to his foot paws and addressed the vixen on the group. "Miss Rendai. I hope you enjoyed the show. Accompany me for a short walk."
"I-I think she's had enough trouble for one day…"
The words hung heavy in the air.
Vikkars turned to face Ander, and the weasel's blood ran cold.
"What? Oh, all I mean is- she just saw her husband m-murder somebeas-"
Ander saw the metal gauntlet far too late. The force of the blow knocked him to the snowy ground and a fusillade of blood came oozing from his mouth and cheek.
He feebly clutched the injury and felt the weight of an iron boot press down against his chest. Ander gasped for air as the words cut over him: "Don't question me again."
"Ah- ah…" The weasel could not register the words. He held his face with both paws, trying desperately to keep the skin from splitting. My face... my beautiful face… "I'm sorry."
Vikkars turned away, walking into the snowy fog. Cuprica Rendai unwillingly followed, a pair of bluejackets touting her.