The otter had gone against her husband's wishes and had sought out the fox. The flyer was one of rough design, with a very crudely drawn head of a fox at the top. In large, bold lettering it read:
TO ANYONE IN NEED OF THE FOLLOWING:
1.) Ridding of beasts
2.) Finding of a certain beast
3.) Finding of multiple beasts
4.) If something is in need of stealing
DARVIN BRUNSWIK IS THE FOX TO DO IT.
Is to be contacted/found at "The Broke Stoat Tavern" to discusses the details of job. Payment can be up front or recieved upon completion of job.
Her husband was never fond of any vermin, and when she had presented the flyer to him one afternoon, he had dismissed it immediately. She knew as soon as his powerful, piercing gaze had looked down at the roughly drawn fox head, he had made up his mind. He was very un-trusting of vermin, and with good reason. Her husband had a very dark past when it came to vermin, she could tell that the first day she had met him. The way he looked at the wandering vermin bands of traders and entertainers told her as clear as day. He had a look in his eye, a glint of spite and hate whenever he would pass a stoat or rat in the forest or at the market. She had asked him to come out with it on multiple occassions, but he always shoved her away.
Even when they had gotten married and had their daughter, he still refused to tell her of his dark secret, that horrible even in his past. She understood that he hated vermin and even telling her of what happened wouldn't change his outlook on life. And as she looked around at the tavern- At the grumpy fat rat that sat behind the bar, the completely drunk pack of stoats that sat packed in one booth on the other end of the room, and finally at the towering warrior that loomed over her- she could understand why. Most of these vermin seemed... not nice.
The only thing she had heard about vermin in stories and tales as a child were of their evil deeds. Most of them were that of vermin attacking the legendary abbey of Redwall, or of their species attempting to breach the mountain fortress of Salamandastron. Of course, those tales always ended with the vermin being vanquished by the woodlanders!
"You Darvin?" The fox nodded, and she tossed the parchment down in front of him. "Good."
This fox was tall, so tall that he could have stood eye to eye with her husband. And, as he reached down to unfold the parchment, he could have also held his own in a fist fight with her husband. A strong hand reached down to pick up the paper, and as she watched the fox lift it off the table and closer to his face, she heard a deep, rasping voice ask,
"Gotta name?"
"Wilma." She swallowed as her eyes drifted to her left, and she felt her nerves begin to tingle. She had just now noticed the huge sword that sat leaning up against the wall outside the booth, just in arms reach of the vermin that sat before her. It was a long blade, longer than she was tall, and was resting out in the open outside it's sheath. The cross gaurd of the blade was longer than her forearms, and she couldn't see any beast save for a badger weilding it.
She flinched as the fox's other hand tapped on the table. Her eyes snapped back to him, and the fox grinned. She stared back into the yellow eyes that shone like two lanterns in a sea grey, the bright eyes seeming to shimmer with a glow of excitement as the fox asked in a coy manner,
"Nice sword, don'tcha know?" The wide, sharp tooth filled grin quickly flashed back to a nuetral emotionless stare as he inquired about the job, the otter sighing quietly in relief as the eyes went back to the paper. "What kind o' job is it? Find n' retrieve, er find n' kill?"
The otter simply stared at the fox as if she had not read the flyer. It was hard for someone of her up bringing to even begin to imagine beasts of such nature. "find and kill" Was enough for the kind otter to simply turn and leave, but now she feared that in doing so would just insult the vermin before her.
Her eyes slowly drifted back to where the massive blade lay resting up against the wall as she answered.
"Find and retrieve." The fox flipped the flyer over and dug a piece of charcoal out of a satchel when she said that, and the otter saw him write "notes" at the top.
"Her name is Lylla, and she is a young river otter, my daughter, about nineteen years of age." As he quickly jotted down the information, he asked her a series of question concerning the beasts physical appearance.
"Any tattoos? Birthmarks? Physical deformites?"
"No! She's as beautiful as me." She heard the fox blow air out the corner of his mouth before continuing.
"Physique?" The otter hesitated when he said that, and the fox looked up from his paper to see that the maiden looked rather uncomfortable with the question. She eventually answered, albiet stuttering in the beginning.
"W-well she's..." She could feel herself start to blush. It was odd, having to describe a family members body to a stranger, and she especially didn't want this fox going after Lylla! So she went with the basics. "Oh she's about four foot six, just barely coming up to her fathers hips, in fact she's one of the shortest ones at the abbey!
"Abbey?" The fox interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh!" The otter suddenly realized that she was a considerable distance from the abbey. "Redwall Abbey, run by a whole bunch of mice?"
The fox apparently had no clue what she was talking about, because after a few seconds of blankly staring he went back to his paper and jotted down what she said.
"Uh-huh. Anything else note worthy about er'?"
"No, mister." The fox nodded, and upon looking over the information he had written he stuffed it into his satchel along with the charcoal stick. He then sighed as he saw the barkeep glaring in his direction, and upon noticing the drunk pack of weasels stumbling out the door he realized it was closing time.
...
"Crak!" There was a loud pounding on the ricketty shed's door, and the ferret groaned as he shoved a blank canvas off of his chest, rolling off of the mattress. Crak was an artist, and as most vermin artists were, he was very unsuccessful. It wasn't that he was a bad artist or anything, no, most of his pals at the bar thought he was pretty good.
"Crak, wake up!" Whether they were drunk or not while he showed them, he didn't know. But as he stumbled to the door he began to regret staying up painting. He opened the door and found his friend since childhood, Darvin, standing in front of his home. He squinted as the light shined past his shoulder, before noticing the flyer he had drawn up for the fox.
"What." He jabbed his finger at the fox doodle on top of the flyer. "The hell."
He leaned in closer to the ferret, who began to meekily smile despite the menacing growl that had begun to resonate from within the fox.
"IS THIS!" Upon saying that the fox slapped the paper to the ferret's chest, who stumbled back slightly as the fox shoved him. Stooping down underneath the door way Darvin entered the shack as the ferret looked the paper up and down.
"What's wrong with it?" The fox threw his arms up in the air as he heard that, and found himself pacing the small room, yelling,
"What's wrong with it? What's wrong with it?!" The fox let out a loud snarl, before snatching the paper from the ferret. "The damned fox up there's what's wrong with it!"
The ferrets confused face only made the fox more frusturated.
"I'm a bounty hunter Crak! I kill people! I ain't hostin' a party!" The ferret took the paper back, inspecting it more as he rubbed his chin, and nodding said,
"Yeah. Yeah now I see your point." The fox slumped down into a chair that sat next to the door, the wooden chair creaking loudly as he sunk down into it. Moaning he rubbed his eyes, having drunken a little too much last night. As the ferret held the paper farther from his face, squinting at the flyer with a quizzical look, Darvin shook his head in dismay.
"Why are we friends?"
"Is it my charming good looks?" The ferret asked without looking up from the paper. The fox smirked.
"Has to be. Nothin' else good about ya!" The two of them laughed before the ferret grabbed an eraser, the fox nodding with satisfaction as he started to erase the doodle. "Everything else was fine."
"Aw, thanks. Hand writing takes SO much effort!" Now Crak shook his head in dismay. "Ain't no one around this back water hell knows what art is!"
The fox looked around the shack at the many paper sketches and painted canvases that littered the walls of the small shack. He understood why the ferret had moved down to the coast line a mile away from the town, because he was right. Everyone around here was either a fisherman or a farmer, and most of them were tightly nitted in family traditions.
The ferret picked up a canvas and placed it back on the easle, the blank white canvas an odd sight in the swirling colors and portriats that covered the walls. Darvin felt bad for him, because he did have good artistic tastes, it's just that he was in the wrong environment to express it.
"So, Crak?" The ferret looked towards him after blowing the eraser shaving off of the flyer. "I'm gonna be headin' out again."
"You workin'?" The fox silently nodded, and the ferret sighed. "Darvin, yer the only thing even close to family I've got ere'."
The ferret walked up to the fox, who sitting down was eye level with him. Darven stared at the stained shirt Crak always wore when he painted, each stain a different bright color. He smirked as the ferret looked into his eyes, which were glistening with concern.
"Don't go dyin' on me. Please." The fox stood up, and walking to the door stooped down to leave, but the ferret grabbed his wrist. "Ya hear me you big dumbass?"
"Yeah I heard you ferret fuck." The fox yanked his wrist free, and standing up straight as he entered the sun light, he grinned. Looking back at the ferret he nodded, before stating boldly, "I didn't die when I fought that wolverine. I didn't die when I stole that boat from those shrews. And I ain't certainly gonna a die from trackin' some otter pup!"
The ferret sighed, staring down at his bare feet as he tried to think of something to say, before he shrugged and yelled,
"Well ge' outta here then! I have work to do!" The door slammed shut and the fox stood there on the coast line, and couldn't help but smile. Crak was the only beast he ever trusted on this miserable world, and the same went for Crak. The two of them were inseperable, and Darvin promised he would visit him whenever he would go on a job, and when he would get back.
The fox never went back on a promise. That was the one conviction he had. And when he had left that tavern last night with the otter wife, he had promised her he would return her child to her safe and sound. And that is what he intends to do.
Here is chapter 2! The next chapter I will be focusing on the daughter Lylla, so stay tuned! Read and Review! Chapter may not be frequent day to day updates sadly, due to work being a real pain in the ass!