3
Lord Benegal eyed the sea, in all its unexplainable extent, through the east window of the highest tower of his central bastion. Morning light shone through the window, highlighting the ermine's frame, and a small portion of the falling snow made its way inside his room. He trembled in the cold. A fertile community of vermin thrived in his small kingdom, protected by Benegal and his army, surviving off of the luscious knowledge of the rainforest fruits. The ermine blinked sea-air from his tired eyes, preventing it from causing him any more fatigue, and stared down towards the shore through the stone window, some tens of miles off. A small multicultural township of the so-called "righteous" beasts had been born there before the siege of the mountain Heratussondra, had been exchanging blows with his own kingdom recently. The siege that had included his former ally Destadon had initiated those beasts' attacks. He quaked with anger (and dread) from the mental image of Destadon's mug. He wanted that inferior ermine dead before his premeditated life of affluence and royalty was inclusive. Destadon's head was to be pinned upon a stake atop his tower until the eyes dispersed, the skin was eaten away by faithful insects, and the blood ran dry. And there it would still remain, like a dreamcatcher for Benegal, warding away all of his outlandish incubuses of late.
The ermine turned around, towards the weasel captain who had only just (and soundlessly, at that) arrived in his chamber. The walls were dark and reflected little light, but the open skylights pouring in sunlight helped the newcomer make out the ermine warlord, with his malicious green eyes that pierced the night like a cat's. "Yes, what brings you here?" Lord Benegal demanded, almost wholly concentrating upon the form in front of him, apart from the jerky movements the orbs in his head made as they went upon their route. Knowing the Lord's mood to be highly impulsive, the captain phrased his words as neutrally as he could choose them. "The um... the gatekeeper's been err... reported missing, sir. Think he disappeared overnight, but we... Don't know who did it."
Benegal glared at the captain for a while more, then sighed and began to pace around his room. After a few seconds he shot an ominous look back at the captain. "Well? You know what to do, gather the troops and arbitrarily allocate the task to a strong, worthy creature! Before..."
The doorway was no longer taken up by a weasel. Benegal laughed spitefully down the stone stairway. Most everything in Fort Exodus was stone. The laugh reverberated throughout the entire upper levels, chilling all who labored there.
The head of Krisskus, the once-was ferret gatekeeper of Fort Exodus, was bound to a certain spear that belonged to none other than the most famous otter of the coastal forests. His name was Dencen, and he had founded the small village due north of the mountain of Heratussondra. His village had been a major trading factor with the mountain kingdom. until, of course, those ermines had razed its insides with their brutal tactics, causing an avalanche that wiped out every creature within its walls. Dencen dearly wished the offending creatures dead, and he meant to illustrate this for them before their very eyes.
He was keeping morning watch. He had slept until all others' cycles were up, then stood as last sentry in the balcony of the central tower. This building was cheaply constructed; made of wood from the surrounding forest and apt to catching aflame if a major battle ever did occur. And Dencen was sure one would before long.
He straddled a javelin, the symbol of a hawk's beak engraved into its side, and stood up from his stool seat. He preferred to stand; it was less likely to sleep while in the position. He walked to the side of the balcony and threw his arms down upon the rail, putting his head down for a few seconds but then returned his hateful gaze to switching in between the two castles, each surrounded by its own thriving town, each an icon of wholesome malevolence, like twin pustules upon an otherwise perfect topography, but each labeled differently: the one to his left was called Ileson, and to his right was Fort Exodus. They stood on opposing sides of the mountain that had once been so magnificent and ruled by a commendable hero of the lands. Now the mountain was as uninhabitable as the underside of a glacier.
Dencen shivered. The thick layer snow jacketing the ground and canopy of Soulforest, the long woodland area in the far north that stretched from afar to the coast, had been unusually deep this year, not that it was ever warm in this region to begin with. He looked towards a large boulder nearly entirely covered in snow out of pure tedium. For a second he swore he saw the great form of some huge beast behind it. He leapt to his feet, and it was gone. Quickly raising his javelin, he hesitated before he made an oversight. It was often said that the light rebounding off snow could cause mirages. But he was completely convinced when he witnessed the gigantic lynx, perfectly camouflaged and walking gracefully on all fours, striding easily across the blanket of snow, indifferent to the blade-wielding otter above him. It maintained its equanimity as Dencen rushed atop the rail, balancing his weight deftly by relying solely on his leg muscles, and waved the javelin on high. "You!" he shouted in a somewhat raspy voice, a strange characteristic of many of the village's residents. His shout had attracted attention, and a young squirrelmaid, along with two shrewguards, came barreling up the ladder leading to the terrace. The squirrelmaid, whose name was Hayless, wore a thick hide cap and coat, and brandished a small sling and a sack of stones. However, the shrews, Wailtz and Grook, had made very little progress up to the deck, as they were continuously quarreling about who should get the pike and who the spear. In their view, the longer was infallibly the more powerful. Hayless glowered down on the two, who immediately cut short their disagreement as her cry rang out fiercely: "Shut up!" Then they took whichever weapon was nearest to them and began to squabble on who would get up the ladder first.
The squirrel Hayless shook her head in acceptance and took her first glance at the enemy below. Her eyes widened for a few seconds, blinked several times, then went narrower than Dencen had ever seen them. The fierce wildcat's head slowly, oh so slowly until it seemed that all of a sudden it was looking directly at them. Hayless saw this through the dim light. "Can it speak?" she asked quietly. "Not from what I've been able to tell so far," Dencen told her. "...Which isn't much."
He then shouted down to it, "You can hear me, so can you understand me? Get away from here, we don't want to have to do innocents any harm."
Teeth like sickles emerged from the mouth of the lynx, and it began to make a hoarse growling sound, much like a laugh. After several seconds of this noise, the beast calmed down and sat on the ground, then quickly rethought this with a slightly pained expression and got back to his feet. "I cannot be innocent," it said in a deep voice. "For I have sinned as well." It gave them a crooked glance. "As you have."
Hayless nearly laughed, convinced that the beast posed no immediate threat. "What, is he trying to pretend that he has some hidden prophecy of imminence? If he's trying to win himself a new eyepatch, he's doing an admirable job." She loaded a stone into her sling. "Maybe it's what he ought to have..."
Wailtz, having just reached the summit of the expedition ahead of Grook, stopped her. "'Ey, yer doin' no good fer us by killin' 'im. Prolly got some secret army or sum'pin back in dem woods, waitin' fer us ter launch some attack."
Grook, always willing to disagree with his companion, found this relatively preposterous. "An' how'd a lonely like 'im get some great army of the likes o' the Lords in these 'ere woods? All yer speculations're laughable!" And, complying with himself, he fell to the ground and began to demonstrate just how funny it was. Hayless and Dencen watched them perplexedly. Concerned at this lack of attention, the lynx blasphemed each of their mothers and received a hail of stones from an enraged Hayless. Several of them impacted on the beast. One hit him directly under the eye. He took flight, nursing his wounds along the way back to the safeguard of the woods. After him, the incensed squirrelmaid screeched, "Next time it's your eye!"
But the escapade had not yet been concluded; it had only commenced. Dencen was watching the edge of the chaparral and, after some time, turned to Hayless, who had decided not to celebrate her minor victory. "Quite a reckless move," he said. "Go awake Eris, he may need to see this."
Hayless frowned at the woods for more moments, then turned and went to rouse the badger.
Lord Benegal eyed the sea, in all its unexplainable extent, through the east window of the highest tower of his central bastion. Morning light shone through the window, highlighting the ermine's frame, and a small portion of the falling snow made its way inside his room. He trembled in the cold. A fertile community of vermin thrived in his small kingdom, protected by Benegal and his army, surviving off of the luscious knowledge of the rainforest fruits. The ermine blinked sea-air from his tired eyes, preventing it from causing him any more fatigue, and stared down towards the shore through the stone window, some tens of miles off. A small multicultural township of the so-called "righteous" beasts had been born there before the siege of the mountain Heratussondra, had been exchanging blows with his own kingdom recently. The siege that had included his former ally Destadon had initiated those beasts' attacks. He quaked with anger (and dread) from the mental image of Destadon's mug. He wanted that inferior ermine dead before his premeditated life of affluence and royalty was inclusive. Destadon's head was to be pinned upon a stake atop his tower until the eyes dispersed, the skin was eaten away by faithful insects, and the blood ran dry. And there it would still remain, like a dreamcatcher for Benegal, warding away all of his outlandish incubuses of late.
The ermine turned around, towards the weasel captain who had only just (and soundlessly, at that) arrived in his chamber. The walls were dark and reflected little light, but the open skylights pouring in sunlight helped the newcomer make out the ermine warlord, with his malicious green eyes that pierced the night like a cat's. "Yes, what brings you here?" Lord Benegal demanded, almost wholly concentrating upon the form in front of him, apart from the jerky movements the orbs in his head made as they went upon their route. Knowing the Lord's mood to be highly impulsive, the captain phrased his words as neutrally as he could choose them. "The um... the gatekeeper's been err... reported missing, sir. Think he disappeared overnight, but we... Don't know who did it."
Benegal glared at the captain for a while more, then sighed and began to pace around his room. After a few seconds he shot an ominous look back at the captain. "Well? You know what to do, gather the troops and arbitrarily allocate the task to a strong, worthy creature! Before..."
The doorway was no longer taken up by a weasel. Benegal laughed spitefully down the stone stairway. Most everything in Fort Exodus was stone. The laugh reverberated throughout the entire upper levels, chilling all who labored there.
The head of Krisskus, the once-was ferret gatekeeper of Fort Exodus, was bound to a certain spear that belonged to none other than the most famous otter of the coastal forests. His name was Dencen, and he had founded the small village due north of the mountain of Heratussondra. His village had been a major trading factor with the mountain kingdom. until, of course, those ermines had razed its insides with their brutal tactics, causing an avalanche that wiped out every creature within its walls. Dencen dearly wished the offending creatures dead, and he meant to illustrate this for them before their very eyes.
He was keeping morning watch. He had slept until all others' cycles were up, then stood as last sentry in the balcony of the central tower. This building was cheaply constructed; made of wood from the surrounding forest and apt to catching aflame if a major battle ever did occur. And Dencen was sure one would before long.
He straddled a javelin, the symbol of a hawk's beak engraved into its side, and stood up from his stool seat. He preferred to stand; it was less likely to sleep while in the position. He walked to the side of the balcony and threw his arms down upon the rail, putting his head down for a few seconds but then returned his hateful gaze to switching in between the two castles, each surrounded by its own thriving town, each an icon of wholesome malevolence, like twin pustules upon an otherwise perfect topography, but each labeled differently: the one to his left was called Ileson, and to his right was Fort Exodus. They stood on opposing sides of the mountain that had once been so magnificent and ruled by a commendable hero of the lands. Now the mountain was as uninhabitable as the underside of a glacier.
Dencen shivered. The thick layer snow jacketing the ground and canopy of Soulforest, the long woodland area in the far north that stretched from afar to the coast, had been unusually deep this year, not that it was ever warm in this region to begin with. He looked towards a large boulder nearly entirely covered in snow out of pure tedium. For a second he swore he saw the great form of some huge beast behind it. He leapt to his feet, and it was gone. Quickly raising his javelin, he hesitated before he made an oversight. It was often said that the light rebounding off snow could cause mirages. But he was completely convinced when he witnessed the gigantic lynx, perfectly camouflaged and walking gracefully on all fours, striding easily across the blanket of snow, indifferent to the blade-wielding otter above him. It maintained its equanimity as Dencen rushed atop the rail, balancing his weight deftly by relying solely on his leg muscles, and waved the javelin on high. "You!" he shouted in a somewhat raspy voice, a strange characteristic of many of the village's residents. His shout had attracted attention, and a young squirrelmaid, along with two shrewguards, came barreling up the ladder leading to the terrace. The squirrelmaid, whose name was Hayless, wore a thick hide cap and coat, and brandished a small sling and a sack of stones. However, the shrews, Wailtz and Grook, had made very little progress up to the deck, as they were continuously quarreling about who should get the pike and who the spear. In their view, the longer was infallibly the more powerful. Hayless glowered down on the two, who immediately cut short their disagreement as her cry rang out fiercely: "Shut up!" Then they took whichever weapon was nearest to them and began to squabble on who would get up the ladder first.
The squirrel Hayless shook her head in acceptance and took her first glance at the enemy below. Her eyes widened for a few seconds, blinked several times, then went narrower than Dencen had ever seen them. The fierce wildcat's head slowly, oh so slowly until it seemed that all of a sudden it was looking directly at them. Hayless saw this through the dim light. "Can it speak?" she asked quietly. "Not from what I've been able to tell so far," Dencen told her. "...Which isn't much."
He then shouted down to it, "You can hear me, so can you understand me? Get away from here, we don't want to have to do innocents any harm."
Teeth like sickles emerged from the mouth of the lynx, and it began to make a hoarse growling sound, much like a laugh. After several seconds of this noise, the beast calmed down and sat on the ground, then quickly rethought this with a slightly pained expression and got back to his feet. "I cannot be innocent," it said in a deep voice. "For I have sinned as well." It gave them a crooked glance. "As you have."
Hayless nearly laughed, convinced that the beast posed no immediate threat. "What, is he trying to pretend that he has some hidden prophecy of imminence? If he's trying to win himself a new eyepatch, he's doing an admirable job." She loaded a stone into her sling. "Maybe it's what he ought to have..."
Wailtz, having just reached the summit of the expedition ahead of Grook, stopped her. "'Ey, yer doin' no good fer us by killin' 'im. Prolly got some secret army or sum'pin back in dem woods, waitin' fer us ter launch some attack."
Grook, always willing to disagree with his companion, found this relatively preposterous. "An' how'd a lonely like 'im get some great army of the likes o' the Lords in these 'ere woods? All yer speculations're laughable!" And, complying with himself, he fell to the ground and began to demonstrate just how funny it was. Hayless and Dencen watched them perplexedly. Concerned at this lack of attention, the lynx blasphemed each of their mothers and received a hail of stones from an enraged Hayless. Several of them impacted on the beast. One hit him directly under the eye. He took flight, nursing his wounds along the way back to the safeguard of the woods. After him, the incensed squirrelmaid screeched, "Next time it's your eye!"
But the escapade had not yet been concluded; it had only commenced. Dencen was watching the edge of the chaparral and, after some time, turned to Hayless, who had decided not to celebrate her minor victory. "Quite a reckless move," he said. "Go awake Eris, he may need to see this."
Hayless frowned at the woods for more moments, then turned and went to rouse the badger.