Boring Legal Stuff: Sonic the Hedgehog and all related characters are the property of SEGA, DIC, and Archie Comics. No, I didn't ask to use 'em. Not like they'll ever notice, anyway. Corwyn Darkstripes and Co. are my copyright, and I ask that you tell me before you consider using these characters. So far, the only non-licensed character that isn't mine is Bookshire Draftwood. He's the property of David Pistone, and I'm sure he doesn't mind the brief mention in this story, even if I didn't ask him.
Foreword --
And Round Two begins. The slice-of-life presented in the first story takes on more weight. Hey, I'm sorry, but it's not in my nature to just follow someone's life without making it more epic than "Get up, work, eat, sleep, repeat." And to preempt all your comments on this story, yes, I know that second scene is completely befuddling. It's supposed to be. You'll understand later, I promise. That said, enjoy.
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"So, you went though with it after all, eh?"
Corwyn turned from his work, frowning at the voice that sounded from his doorway. "Harley, don't you ever knock?"
The smirking feline walked through the door, shaking her head. "I never thought you had it in you, kiddo. Congratulations. Although I should technically follow through with my threat, since you did chicken out and leave the painting on her porch."
Corwyn glared. "You never said anything about giving it to her personally! How did you know about that, anyway? I didn't see you over by her house!"
"Kid, it's the talk of the entire town! Nobody has any clue who made that picture. The only eyewitness says she just saw a raccoon, so Bookshire's a suspect, but the rest of them seem to think one of the gods left it!" Harley laughed and shook her head. "Idiots. But I will give you points for a good delivery. And speaking of which..." She grinned and set the bundle she had been carrying. "You must have forgotten what day it is. I have presents!"
Corwyn's eyes lit up. "Harley, you remembered! I thought nobody knew my birthday was coming up!"
Harley laughed. "Well, if you actually talked to people... Anyway, this is mostly your regular shipment. The present is in there, though, but you have to get over here and see it for yourself." She looked around the small house. "Mind if I sit down?"
"What? Oh, Goddess, Harley, I'm sorry. Please, sit over there," he said, motioning to an overstuffed chair in a corner. "I'll get some tea on." With that, he hurried off to the kitchen, leaving his friend to gaze in wonder at the paintings lining the walls.
"Corwyn, you jerk, you've been holding out on me!" She shook her head, then turned to regard the painting he'd been working on when she arrived. It seemed to be another of those cave-paintings, but something was very different. She peered at it, trying to remember what was so familiar about the figures, but couldn't for the life of her figure it out. "Hey... What's this you're working on?"
"What? Oh, that," he said, poking his head out of the kitchen. "I know, it's weird, isn't it? I don't usually do a series like that, but something just..." He paused, trying to find the right words. "It didn't seem finished. So, comes this one." The kettle started to whistle, seizing his attention. "Whoops... Back in a moment."
While Corwyn poured the tea, she stared at the unfinished painting. It was barely more than a sketch over the paint wash, but she could discern five figures. Two seemed to be horses, and the one on the left could only be a dragon, but the two near the middle... "Hey, who are those two flanking the horse in the middle?"
He turned to look at the figures she was talking about. "Oh, them. They're... birds of some kind, I think. I won't really know more until it's farther along." He fell silent, gazing almost meditatively at the canvas.
Harley frowned. "Hey... this isn't like you. You know more about what you're going to be doing than anyone who sees it. Why all the mystery?" There was something unsettling in the way his eyes had lost focus. And the rapt, amost vacant expression that was on his face was definitely unnatural. "Corwyn? Knothole to Corwyn, are you there?"
"Huh?" He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness that seemed to invade his mind. "Sorry... I was trying to think of what I'd be doing next."
She regarded him warily. "I'm not sure I should give you that present..."
He laughed. "You do that, Harlequin Connors, and you will get cut off! Now, what do you have for me?"
She sighed, and grabbed the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a collection of paper packages. "Well, I figured you might be running low on your binder, so I picked up something I'd heard about over the other side of Boulder Bay. It's powdered seaweed, actually, but it's supposed to make a terrific gelling agent. I figured you could play with it and see if it works. If nothing else, you could always eat it, I guess. And a trader who does the Great Unknown route saw your paintings, and almost offered his left arm for the two I could part with." She laughed, remembering the way she'd very nearly traded him out of his fur. "I settled for a few bundles of pigment I knew you hadn't been able to get for a while. And that fur-wrapped bundle is your present."
Corwyn turned the tied bundle of fur in his hands, trying to feel out what it could be. Though the wrapping hid its dimensions for the most part, it felt very heavy and thick. And rectangular... "A book?"
"Not just any book, kiddo. It was my last delivery date that gave me the idea." She grinned, watching his eyes light up as the fur fell away. "Maybe now you can quit taking up our dear Princess' time."
"The Ancient Writings of Mobius: Observations on the Time Before Time," he read, his face alight, "Harley, this is great! How in the world did you find something like this?"
"The Wolf Pack is famous for keeping histories. They think that someone needs to remember what happened before. So, I decided to give them a better deal on their usual spice shipments in exchange for a look into their libraries for a single book." She'd never say that she'd given them almost half their shipment free, but Corwyn was one of the few people she liked enough to take a cut for. Hell, she thought, when it came down to it, he treated her like a person instead of a vending robot, and she could count the number of people who did that on one hand.
"Harley... I don't know how to thank you..." He hugged the cat tightly, making her squirm in her seat.
"Get off, get off! Paws and claws, I have a reputation, boy!" She chuckled as he let go. "No need to get all mushy on me. Just do what you're good at, and give me a cut of it, and we'll be even."
He smiled and nodded. "Speaking of which, I assume you want this month's bounty."
She shook her head. "Naw, this old pirate's got more than enough in her hold this time. Call it my other present."
"Harley... I can't do that. You've got a business to run."
"And your color runs are a sideline, boy. I can afford to go without pampering myself for one month. But I'll be waiting to see what you have next time I come around." She chewed on a claw thoughtfully. "Which won't be until winter, unfortunately. I've a long trip around the horn to the other side of the continent due, and I can't put it off any longer. You're all right on materials, right?"
The raccoon smiled wryly. "I've got enough to last me until Midsummer, thanks to you. Don't worry about that. I promise you'll have more than enough to drool over next I see you."
Harley nodded, finishing her tea. "Well, I've gotta get going. I've held up my stall long enough, and I need to ship out by tomorrow night." She smiled. "Take care of yourself, kiddo. I'll be back in time for Solstice." She clasped his shoulder briefly, then headed back out to the village proper.
Corwyn smiled as he took a seat, thumbing through the book he'd gotten. It was much more detailed than the studies he'd borrowed from Sally, and went into detail about speculations on the meanings found at each site. With luck, he could find the perfect set to border his latest painting.
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"You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid I am, my dear brother."
"A scrawny whelp of a boy like that? What good is he?"
"That 'whelp,' as you so rudely put it, fits my purpose better than any blade-swinging brute you would favor."
"That's not the point! He means nothing to anyone! He barely takes his head out of the clouds long enough to do the most basic of his duties!"
"And when did it hurt anyone? He's got more gift than you give him credit for, Rubeus. You would do well to remember that."
ENOUGH SQUABBLING, YOU TWO. CUSP APPROACHES, AND WE ALL MUST DECIDE A COURSE OF ACTION.
"My mind is made up, sister. I side with the boy."
VERY WELL. I SHALL LEAVE IT TO YOU TO CHOOSE THE PROPER TIME
"I still say her wits are addled..."
YOUR OPINIONS ARE IRRELEVANT, RUBEUS. IT IS HER CHOICE ALONE TO MAKE. NOW, MAERIBETH, CAST YOUR PLANS.
"Yes, sister."
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Building up the layers of paint was a hideously difficult process, requiring almost mind-warping concentration. For about the hundredth time, he asked himself why he had decided do abuse himself this way, and for the hundredth time, the answer was immediate and obvious. Because it had to be done this way.
Corwyn sighed, wiping his forehead with a paint-stained hand. He was getting a terrible headache from staring at his work so long. He needed a break. Placing his brush into the small cup of water set into the easel, he stretched, feeling his back pop. Wow, he thought, how long have I been at this?
Looking up, his eyes widened as he saw the night sky beyond his window. He couldn't believe it. Had he been painting all day? He could barely remember working so long! His last clear thought was when he started this morning! He massaged the bridge of his muzzle, sighing. Thank the Goddess he didn't have guard duty today... He shook his head, looking to see how much he had managed to get done. Well, he thought, at least there won't be much more of this. The pictograms were completely finished, and all that remained to be done were the five figures in the center. It was odd that he hadn't finished those first. But he couldn't drag the image to the front of his mind, and so wasn't terribly upset that they were unclear on the canvas. Sometimes, painting was like that. He'd finish them when he got the chance.
He didn't feel very sleepy, though, so he decided to do some reading before bed. The book Harley had gotten him was fascinating, for more than research material. Whoever the author was, he was indeed passionate about his topic, as though the information was rather dry, there was an intensity that came across as clearly as the feeling which permeated his artwork. He opened the book to a much-read passage, the one he had taken the pictograms from, and lost himself in the old tale.
The old gods were sprung from the driving force of all creation, and each stood as a testament to the virtues of old. They were not involved in the mundane matters of daily life, but represented ideals, to which every living Mobian of the time aspired to. They were abstract deities, given form only when the need arose, when they would come to Mobius to correct a grave imbalance to Nature.
History does not name these gods, and perhaps they were never given names. The only legends written name their domains; Life, War, Balance, Peace, and Magic. It is thought they they governed the four elements of creation, but many chroniclers dispute such a claim, saying that such thoughts spring from later beliefs of the Early Pre-Technological era. Indeed, it seems more in character with what little is known about the prehistoric civilizations to regard these deities as pure abstractions, the noblest facets of all that is honorable. Even the God of War is regarded as a gentle, if stern, protector.
Sadly, much of what is known about these deities is lost to the winds of time. If only more could be learned...
Corwyn yawned as the heavy hand of sleep closed over him. Enough for one day. It was time for bed. He set the book aside, and stumbled off to his bedroom, carelessly pushing the covers aside and dropping like a stone into the mattress, asleep before he hit the pillow.
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The next morning, he decided to go to the tavern for breakfast, having grown bored with eating by himself. Maybe he'd take Harley's advice, and try to socialize a bit. It certainly couldn't hurt to have someone else to talk to now and again.
The moment he opened the well-polished door to the tavern, the bustling commotion of the popular restaurant washed over him. Almost everywhere were people leaning over plates, talking and eating. Here and there, a few survivors of the Great War were hunched over the first of what would undoubtedly be many drinks. Corwyn spotted an empty table near the back and hurried to take it, before someone else came in and claimed what was likely the last table in the house.
In short order, a pretty young waitress found her way to his table. "Well, hello there," the perky young rabbit said, "first time eating here?"
Corwyn smiled nervously. "Yes, it is. What do you have for breakfast?"
"Well, what's your preference? Meat or veggies?" Her small pink nose wiggled in distaste. "If you're a fan, though, we have chili dogs ready to make all day."
Corwyn chuckled. "No, thank you. How about meat?"
She brightened, glad that she wasn't going to have to serve another of Sonic's fan club. "Well, let's see. Karl's got eggs, bacon, and ham on, but if you want something heavier, there's fresh chicken and steak in back."
He nodded, thinking. "You have sausage? Minus chili, of course."
The rabbit giggled. "I think we can find some. What'll it be, then?"
"How about scrambled eggs, sausage, and fried potatoes?"
She nodded, taking a short pencil from behind one long, floppy ear and scribbling his order down. "It'll be a while, since we're bogged down at the moment. I'll be back with some coffee while you're waiting. If there's anything else you need, just give me a shout. Name's Linda." She scurried off to the kitchen to place another order, leaving Corwyn to stare around the room.
He didn't know most of the poeple here, though he recognized a few of the vendors, stopping by for a bite before they had to leave. The people sitting nearest him seemed to be Freedom Fighter enthusiasts, judging from the snippets of conversation that floated his way. But in the far corner, under a shadowed eave, a single female porcupine sat, hunched over what looked like a large cup of coffee. He couldn't remember seeing her before, and it seemed that everyone else here avoided her like the plague, judging from the occasional glare turned her way.
He nodded as Linda came by with his drink, and glanced over to the porcupine. "Who's that?"
"Who?" Linda followed his gaze, and seeing the female, frowned.
"That's Heather. She's a bad one, I hear. Nobody in town likes her, and I hear she's done terrible things before she came here. They say even Sally's not sure if she's safe."
"What do you mean? If she's so bad, why's she here?"
Linda shrugged. "Dunno. Anyone who knows her is keeping their mouth shut about her, and she won't talk to anyone long enough to give them an answer. But you know the rumor mill, and it's got nothing but poison for that one. I hear her tongue's more barbed than her quills. If I were you, sir, I'd keep far away from her." She looked up toward the kitchen. "Looks like your order's up. I'll be right back."
Corwyn barely paid attention to his meal, staring at Heather and wondering what could possibly be so bad about a single female.
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Over the next few days, he tried to find out, with as much subtlety as possible, anything he could about Heather. The only real information he could pick up was that her full name was Heather Blackthorne, and she was the only survivor of the town of Coldbrook, on the far southern edge of the Great Forest. It seemed that most of the rumors that flew around her had something to do with that raid, and speculations as to why she was the sole survivor. The problem was, everyone he'd talked to had a different story to tell, and he found it difficult to believe that one female could at once sell the town out, murder all the sentries, round up the entire village, AND lead the SWATbot platoon that took over the town. But one thing was clear; she was a pariah, someone to be avoided at all costs, and trusted as far as she could be thrown, in six feet of water.
He leaned back in his chair, sighing. He hadn't been as subtle as he'd hoped, unfortunately. People were starting to give him odd, sideways glances when he went about his daily business, and he'd noticed he'd gone from being 'that odd boy who keeps to himself' to 'the skulking hermit on the edge of town.' Yes, the rumor mill was vicious, indeed. He decided to take a walk, to clear his mind and focus on the still-unfinished painting sitting on the easel.
Though he was normally active during the day, the Great Forest still held a strange power over him at night. Something deep in his heart came alive when he first breathed the night air, sharpening his senses and making everything more clear. He loved these 'inspirationals,' and took care not to take them too often, lest the magic fade. For hours, he simply wandered, letting his feet lead him where they would, and taking in all the glory the night had to offer.
His sense of peace was jarred, however, when a rough push sent him stumbling forward. His foot caught on a large root, and he went sprawling face-first into the dirt. Groaning, he shook his head, and rolled over to see who had done this.
Standing over him was the porcupine, Heather, her fists clenched and venom in her eyes. "I hear you've been asking around about me," she snarled. "What do you want?"
It took him a minute to switch gears, and register what she'd said. "Hey... Ease up, I was just curious, is all."
Her eyes narrowed. "Curious, huh? Figures. You ringtails always poke your noses where they don't belong. Well, let me tell you something. Leave it alone. I hear you asking about me again, I'll give you a few new whiskers to remember me by." She lashed her spiked tail to emphasize the point. "You get me?" He arched an eyebrow. "You make it sound like I'm looking to get you run out of town."
"That ain't my problem, boy. All I care about's getting you off my tail. So do yourself a favor, and yiff off." She turned and started to stalk back to town.
Corwyn couldn't help but ask. "What really happened at Coldbrook?"
Before he could move, she was on him, one knee dug painfully into his side, and his chestfur yanked on by both her hands. Her pale green eyes were narrowed into hateful slits. "Go ahead, ringtail. Ask me again. Give me a good reason to beat the crap out of you." Her lip curled, revealing small, pointed teeth. "I told you, leave it. I won't ask you nicely the next time." She shoved him back into the dirt on the path, and stood up. Growling deep in her throat, she turned and walked quickly back toward town.
This time, Corwyn kept silent, watching her go. He groaned as he got up. "Corwyn, Corwyn, Corwyn," he muttered to himself, "you gave got to think before you talk..." He winced as his bruised side complained, and started slowly back to his house. There went a perfectly good evening...
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As always, C&C are encouraged. If you plan to use these characters, let me know, and I will give you the biographies, and will send you regular updates as I continue the saga.
