CHAPTER V: CONSTELLATION OF SURVIVORS
Author's note: This chapter has a sort of ROC Survivor taste, just to let you know and in this chapter I finally introduce the main bad guy. This chapter introduces about six new characters, which are all fairly important to the plot, so this chapter is important and the longest one yet (the next chapter will sort of continue from this chapter and be even longer). Also for a future outlay of the next few chapters, chapter eight will center on Henrick, Scabiniel, Ujan and his minions, Dorthin and co., etc. Chapter nine will continue on these characters in this chapter, chapter ten will reveal the "mysterious" title of this story and in chapter eleven and twelve will be a big battle. All right, now let's start this chapter. Oh, and wait a side not-even though Geoniyo is a hare he doesn't have a hare accent. Gotcha?
xxx
The sun was glaring hot; the heat was oxidizing. For the lone figure on the rocky ledge there was no shade or protection from the suffocating blaze. But then it looked quite dead, due to the fact that a spiky boulder was lodged in his spine. Blood decorated the weasel's dark clothes.
Slowly the "corpse" began to move.
Sunlight burned into the masculine's retina and macula. The eyelid began to creep open and beryl-teal irises rolled in confusion. Ivory sclera regarded the surroundings in scrutinizing disorder.
The weasel was clothed in a piceous-colored uniform, but he couldn't remember why. In fact, he couldn't remember anything! Wait…he had to have some memories; he was in his prime. The weasel strained his brain, but it did not reveal any hidden knowledge.
He felt…something… in his…what was it called? The weasel racked his mind again. Slowly reminiscences floated to the surface of his intellectual function.
Blinding light…blue light…a lined male weasel's face…waves of warm gold…a voice, a kind, warm voice, a protecting voice, a rich, loving voice…
"Welcome to the world, baby Wayak," the weasel's jaws began to move…the words were strange…what did they mean?
An 'Hmpf' noise from behind…looming face…different kind of face…fem weasel face! He felt a thrill of pride at his solution…and yet he didn't know how he knew…the maiden
began doing the same thing; jaws began chomping back and forth, how did he know all these words, what were words; what was what…?
"Dear, we haven't decided on the name yet; why Wayak?" The tender voice comforted him to the core but he didn't get it…why were they conversing in a language he couldn't understand…
"I don't know, It just feels right," the male stretched (what did that mean?) his mouth (mouth?) wide…
The fem…opened her jaw…. fangs…. and a…not-sad (sad…meant not happy…which meant…uh, good…?) sound filled every-…-place…He was so confused…what did 'confused' mean…why did it matter to 'mean'…what did 'mean' mean…
"To you everything is a feeling," the fem said…said?
The weasel sat in a lull and he looked as though he was in a trance. The memories seemed to partly seal the rift between him and his life. So his name was Wayak. A rock was hurting his back; blood was everywhere, his blood was everywhere. He was hurt…that was bad.
There was still something he didn't understand. After he grew up, what had he done with his life…
As though on request, memories came flooding out of control, to bamboozle his brain:
A fat stoat faced him across a wooden table. The stoat seemed to be struggling with a unanimous decision. His face, suddenly, lighted up like a beacon. He had come to the solution.
"Right. We'll give you a chance to become a bandit; not many prissy nobles make it through the 'test'," he told Wayak.
Anger etched every millimeter of Wayak's stony face. "I'm not a 'prissy noble'," he spat. Saliva flecked his target; the stoat's smirking face.
The stranger calmly wiped the emit from his bronzed face fur. He seemed composed enough. "Whatever. Anyways, our theme is:
"We rob from the poor,
We rob from the rich.
"We kidnap the maidens,
We ransom the children.
"And we murder the rest…-"
"While your companions mysteriously, accidentally die around you," finished Wayak in an annoyingly, singsong tone.
"Hah. I see you're already learning."
Wayak smirked.
Wayak scrunched up his face in pain. The memories were stinging him. But he already knew what had happened next. He'd become the leader of a group of bandits and they had mercilessly attacked a group on horseback. Then had come the rockslide.
No matter. The past was behind him. Anyways, the others had gone to eternal sleep, so nobody was here to live to tell the tale of his disgraceful career.
He was probably the only one left.
That was a throughout understatement.
xxx
Devnam sensed the rockslide before he heard it or saw it.
At the moment he had been battling against four bandits at once; since he and two other guards of the Long Patrol were the only one left standing of the party, he had to face a few at a time. The quartet of bandits was certainly keeping him on his toes. He had no interval to launch an offensive attack, but was kept satiated parrying and sidestepping the various weapon thrusts.
Then it rained rocks, literally. The quintet was at the edge of the ledge, therefore farthest away from the boulders. At first there was no warning sound, and the only possible way anybody could have been alerted was to glance up. But everybody was to lost in the spirit of the battle to look skyward.
Devnam felt a disturbance in the atmosphere. His instincts seemed to have kindled flames and he disengaged from battle, a wild look glazing his orbs. He sprinted to the edge of the ledge.
A split-second after Devnam's sequence of actions, boulders thudded in the area where Devnam had been. Three bandits were instantly killed, while the last one had its leg crippled under the rock-storm. The bandit hobbled with all his remaining speed and crashed into Devnam.
The duo went tumbling over the edge and rolled over the rocky slope. Devnam felt the jutting granite slash at his back and bloody scars formed over his body. He chanced a look backwards. The boulders were tumbling after them and getting closer by the second! Devnam went reducing out of control and he fell over the brinks of the slope. The last thing he heard was the bandit's scream as he got crushed under innumerable numbers of rocks and boulders.
He was falling through endless space. Air pummeled his clothes, and he seemed to inflate like a balloon. And then…CRASH! Devnam landed on a smooth, sandstone ledge. He lay still.
xxx
There's a common saying entitled: "The bold and strong will survive". That is completely untrue. In fact the 'strong' and 'bold' rarely survive. They plunge headfirst into battle and other perils, while the weak and cowardly fall back, and therefore survive. So the saying should be: "The weak and cowardly will survive". Jarbell was a wonderful, living example of the edited saying.
Jarbell the marten had joined the bandit expedition on the brinks of desperation. He was weak, cowardly and…well, not very helpful in a fighting squad. But he showed a tough exterior to anybody doubting how 'tough' he was. But the fact was, he was more suited for farming instead of fighting.
Maybe that was why he had not directly engaged anyone in battle. In fact he had been edging to a corner, gazing at the boiling spirit of the fighting from a safe place. He was the first beast to see the tumbling rocks nearing their destination. He screeched a warning, but it was lost in the tumult and hullabaloo of the battle and only the fighters near him were apparent to his warning. One such bandit broke away from the skirmish and made for the edge of the ledge. Seizing his chances and being startled by the grim opportunities, he made of for the fleeing outlaw. Catching him by surprise, Jarbell took him from behind; seizing his back, he stumbled of the ledge.
This proved a wise move as the bandits took the bulk of the perils as they skittered down the slope. A granite ledge stopped their rapid descent, and Jarbell disentangled himself from the dead bandit.
"Whew," breathed Jarbell, wiping glassy sheen of his forehead, his knees buckling with relief. "A few MILES to close for my comfort-AAAAAHHHHH!"
The granite crumbled underneath him and he was suddenly in empty air. A fraught scramble and his hands closed over the jutting, jagged remains of the perfidious, treacherous ledge. Jarbell was not a strong beast by any standards; his fingers were already starting to burn with pain. He wouldn't like to take a bet on how much longer he could hold on.
"HHHHHEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!" he bawled. "HHHHHEEEELLLLPPPPP ANYBODY…. HELP…help…" His voice trailed off; for all he knew, nobody else might have even survived the rockslide!
xxx
Beasts who claim that fems are not very useful in battles have never met Maliana Darkstorm.
The female assassin was one of the deadliest in the business. Her skills with most weapons were impressive, at the least; her fluency in five different tongues was helpful, her experience at smooth talk and stealth were put to use. But what was really the danger (or at least for the males) was her beauty.
Males of every species were easily attracted to the gorgeous, evil squirrel, not from any of their faults. She could so easily get in a bedroom with one of her victims, a thrust of a stiletto, job over; let's collect the pay. One of her clients had fallen for her and become useless, or at least for her purposes. Well…he'd been disposed of.
Death was an unsettling experience (especially for the victims), but Maliana treated it like a partner.
When the rockslide made its 'dramatic' entrance, Maliana did not panic. Maliana did not freeze; she did not flutter around helplessly. She took it in stride with a cool head, pretending it to be an emergency routine at the school of assassins she'd been raised in.
A hook and grapple line. A useful item to have with you, and Maliana was caught up in the fashion. She wedged the iron hook between two jagged rocks that bordered the mountainside, her intention to lever herself down the stony slope. It was a safe escape route, except for the thriving possibility that a boulder would fall over the side, and leave Maliana's insides an additional decoration to the stones.
Maliana let the rope fall down the rocky slope. Rolling boulders neared the feminine figure; she had to do this fast. She grabbed the rope as she slid down it, the knotted cord burning her fingers with the swiftness of the descent. Her travel certainly wasn't smooth sailing, as she cut and bruised herself against granite and serrated rocks. Florid fluid traversed down her knees and feet, leaving a crimson trail in her path. The last few meters, she jumped, as the cable didn't extend that far.
In mid-air she positioned her feet correctly and she landed without a waver, though she suffered a few stings from the pressure applied on her fresh wounds. Meanwhile, the rockslide hadn't tired yet, and they gave a wonderful sample of that statement, as a toothed boulder thudded by Maliana's side. The female assassin composed herself from the shock attack, and scuttled underneath a rough, cavern-like shelter.
Underneath the rock ceiling, Maliana sighed with relief as the rumble from above steadied to utter silence. Maliana knew she didn't want to get carried away, flushed with her success, so she went through a common habit of hers: checking her belongings, to see if they were safely secure.
"All daggers…check. Bow and arrow…check. Rations and canteen…check. 'Item Pouch'…check," muttered Maliana. A piercing voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter. Maliana arched her ears, fighting to catch the frantic shriek.
"HHHHHEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!" Maliana blinked. The scream sounded…familiar. Shouldering her bow, she speeded up a gait forward, to investigate, palms on dagger hilts.
The voice grew weaker and weaker, until it was a whisper, riddled with rejection. Maliana paused and sighted up the rise. A marten, a bandit-Maliana could tell by his clothes-struggled to keep a grip on a section of a rock ledge. Maliana could tell he was fighting a losing battle. She gazed upwards, trying to identify the brigand.
…Jarbell. Maliana had always disliked the cowardly thief. Now was the perfect time to get revenge, she theorized. Unsheathing a dagger, she hurled the dagger towards Jarbell's form. Her aim was true and the blade bit into Jarbell's forearm. The marten howled in pain and losing his grip, plummeted towards his destiny. Maliana narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.
Thud! Maliana cringed as Jarbell's body smashed over the spiky rocks, twisted teeth of sandstone burying itself in his flesh and muscles. Blood crimson-hued the jagged landscape around him as the cowardly bandit struggled to free himself. Screams of pain tore out of his throat, echoing around the mountains in horrible shrieks, curdling blood and frosting senses. From behind the cover of a boulder, Maliana gloated triumphantly to herself. He obviously wasn't dead and wouldn't be for quite some time. Two inner struggles tore Maliana's mind apart: to kill him now, or to go on and let him suffer to his death. If she let him go, there was always the chance that a survivor would find him and save his life. But then, Mr. X, the survivor, might not even exist. Even if he would, it would take him time to get to the present scene, and by then Jarbell might have already lost enough blood to finish him off, or he might even be dead already. And who said Mr. X would be on his side anyways? If it were a member from the caravan, he would hate Jarbell to the core, and let his life dwindle away, if it hadn't already. And the other bandits disliked the gutless thief too, so that went for them too. The chances for Jarbell were practically nil, and even if he did survive, Maliana wouldn't have trouble killing him. And with that decision, Maliana slithered among the treacherous rocks, forward.
Maliana had gone some hundred paces, when the trail she had been following began to lower downwards. The chances of dangers multiplied, and Maliana began watching her feet very carefully. At some points she did trip and fall, scratching the tissue of her arms and legs, and adding other scars on her limbs to her growing collection. The dangerous female swore vociferously, but quickly composed herself and continued walking.
Gradually, the loop of land Maliana had been traveling on morphed into a narrow ledge bordering the mighty mountain slopes. From what Maliana could see, the ledge was more like a type of bib encircling the mountain's waist. Having not been presented with a better idea, she followed the ledge.
"Darn it," exploded Maliana after endless minutes of walking. "Isn't there someone that survived this da rockslide!" Her eyes wandering away from her chosen route, she tripped over something soft. Crawling to her feet and nursing her new bruises, she inspected the body lying across the middle of the ledge.
It was a gray-furred squirrel, obviously on in his seasons. His clothing was simple and tinted with a distinct sandy shade, so Maliana judged he wasn't a bandit. A piece of cloth was pinned to his tunic. On it was a series of letters written in a curling script. If Maliana had known how to read, she could have deciphered the symbols: D-E-V-N-A-M.
The next chain of actions unfolded in the bat of an eyelid. As Maliana curiously leaned over the wizened squirrel, he unexpectedly opened an eyelid. In a flash, the squirrel had thrown himself upon Maliana, and the two figures wrestled among the width of the ledge. The male had caught the assassin by surprise, but now she began to overrule his sudden advantage with the skill and strength of her body. Slowly, but surely, she began pushing Devnam to the edge of the ledge where he would fall to his demise.
xxx
Falling…the whoosh of air set Cyan's hair (and uniform) in turmoil. His carefully laundered (and scrubbed) uniform that had been ruffled and bloodstained from the battle, now billowed out of his place as the rushing air increased its velocity. Cyan still had a spear in his hand and he struggled to fix the length of the pole between the two sides of the mine-hole he had fallen into.
"Sah," panted Cyan. "There's a band of jolly rocky, but not really-um, whasamacallit- steep mountains blocking our flippin' progress."
"Sah-Hmmm. At least you have some respect for your elders," Devnam laughed.
The hare twisted in the air and brought his spears downwards of his body, a horizontal rod. He waited for an opportunity to wedge the spear butt and point between the two sides. As he struggled to save his life, the memories of the battle came rushing back to him.
"Eulalia," cried Cyan spirit-fully, running a bandit through with his spear. The criminal collapsed to the rocks, unsuccessfully attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his abdomen. For good measure, Cyan slit his throat. However, despite the dead bandit, the "posse" group was losing- very badly. Devnam, Cyan, and two other guards were the only ones left standing against the bandits, whose numbers went over a score.
A sleigh of five bandits traipsed across the battlefield, weapons leveled toward Cyan. Even with youthful ignorance and recklessness (not to mention boldness), Cyan knew he could not withstand the outnumbered charge. Bearing full speed on his athletic figure, Cyan tore across the rocky field. So focused was he on looking behind his shoulder, he didn't see the looming opening of the mine…
It hadn't evn been there before-he hadn't evn seen it until he was falling down into the dark hole, sucking him in it's depths of darkness, the opening just wide enough for his torso to fit in.
SSSSSSSRRRRHHHH! A grating sound split the air, as the spear grounded to a stop, crimson point and worn butt fixated between the sides of the mineral mine. Cyan balanced on the pole as he cursed the day he had been made a guard of the fire mountain. It had been nothing of much significant value, an adolescent treated and raised in the ways of the mountain being promoted to an honorary position. But if this was going to be an ordinary day for a 'guard', well…(no comments available).
Snap! The spear broke in two under Cyan's weight, and the hare plummeted downwards, lower into the depths of the mine.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH…."his scream was lost in the absorbing blackness.
Thud! Cyan sat up, ruefully massaging his buttocks. When the pain of the impact had vanished, Cyan began to inspect his surroundings. He had slid down a slope of soil and stone on his bottom. Now he glimpsed speckles of light glinting in a distant spot. He began making his way toward it, while dusting his uniform, which was beyond repair.
As he approached his destination, Cyan identified it as an outlet from which the light of the day shone through. Reaching it, he squirmed through the narrow crack. After some minutes of uncomfortable struggling, Cyan broke out in the rays of the sun. Just as he raised his head to note his environs, the weight of an ebony creature careened into him, pinning him to the ground.
It was a wolverine, her fangs seeking blood and flesh for her starving belly. Her nigrescent, shaggy coat of fur bristled with ferociousness and aggressiveness. Her seeking claws shredded Cyan's uniform and opened gashes on his chest.
Cyan scrambled to his feet, or attempted to. The weight of the wolverine bore down on him and he was unable to move a muscle. The predator's jaws encircled Cyan's throat, prepared to give him eternal credit. In a desperate move, Cyan screamed as loud as he could, his last chance echoing among the alpine mountains.
xxx
Kendall squirmed uncomfortably in the encasing net that served as his prison. The brainy hare peered around at the battle that ensued over the uneven ledge. The forces of good and evil, bandits and travelers clashed, amongst bristling weapons and fresh split blood. Screams of agony retched around the surrounding region.
Kendall sighed dolefully; a bustling battlefield was no place for a scholar to be. Why he'd come along on the trip to recover that turncoat mouse, he'd never figure out. He was an admired scholar at the mountain, an excellent poet and an exceptional mathematician. He liked being more intelligent then the beasts around him, but there were other young beats who didn't care much about smarts. Strength, skill with weapons, recklessness…those were the things potential mates looked for, not the benefits of marrying some snotty, prissy scholar. And when the opportunity came for a touch of adventure and a taste of proving himself, Kendall digested it. Now he wished he hadn't joined the travel. What had been a bloodless expedition, was now morphing into the nightmares of a peaceful soul.
Kendall had been caught in a wicket woven net, early in the skirmish. Other prisoners were bunched up next to him, forced to bend their limbs in the form of a sphere. The glint of freedom still sparkled with light and the prisoners struggled earnestly. Brainless idiots, mused Kendall mentally. Don't they know that our "jailers" have a line of tolerance?
Sure as pie, when one of the younger travelers that had been caught jeered at a battling bandit, the outlaw swiftly slit his opponent's throat and walked toward the insolent youth.
"Ho Ho, I like your spiri' yeng un', baht unfertenately this ain't the place fer it," warbled the gloating bandit in broken speech submerged in a rustic accent. He freed a leather whip (its lashing tip dyed in sea salt) from around his waist, his eyes narrowing to malevolent slits. Raising the whip above his head, he brought it down with a snap on the jeerer's back. The hare screamed in pain under the gearing impact. Blood began to stain his clothes.
At this point, the bandit was interrupted by the falling rocks. Kendall barely had time to glance up, before the ledge was smothered in a thick blanket of granite. Having no course of action but to lay where he was and hope for the best, Kendall did just that, letting Fate juggle his life.
SHATTER! Rocks smashed into the grounds alongside Kendall. The sharp edges threatened to prick the scholar's body, but they seemed to have formed an exact outline of his body along his un-athletic body. Kendall drew his breath in his unbelievable luck.
The scholar, his eyes brimming with joyful tears, jumped to his feet and started roaring like a rabid swine. Just then he heard a whistling resonance from above.
He glanced up just in time to see a falling stone, not close to the size of a boulder but larger than a pebble, plummet toward him. The rock smashed against his weak forehead, and sweet, obsidian darkness swirled around him, as he plummeted into unconsciousness and imaginary arms embraced him, welcoming him to the dreamless realm.
xxx
Geoniyo punched upwardly by surprise and caught the bandit in his pudgy gut. The villain coughed in pain and Geoniyo scrambled out of his grasp.
Slabs of ore and quarry, cobblestone and bedrock, rained from above in a thick downpour. Torrents of granite threatened to crush Geoniyo underneath their smothering grapple, the monsoon of boulders bouncing and rolling off the serrated slopes of the mountain. Geoniyo weaved his way through the mass of spikes with reflexes that seemed to bloom out of the air. His feet moved in a blur of sidesteps and jumps, and sometimes he went along with the flow of the rockslide, tumbling and rolling haphazardly over the incline.
In some lunatic twist of fate, Geoniyo reached a desolate peak of the mountain range that was not marauded by declining boulders. Geoniyo was utterly exhausted; when he reached a safe spot on the peak he immediately lay down on it, his breath coming out in ragged grasps. Needles of pain stabbed at Geoniyo's rib cage, and he went into a light doze for a few moments, his head inclined to one side and billows of air emitting from his nostrils. Sunlight shimmered on the auburn hairs of his eyebrows, as the youth drifted away from the present world.
When he awoke a few minutes later, vigor had returned to his body and his senses were pleasantly refreshed. He decided to explore down the mountain to check if anybody else had survived. He didn't really know what to hope for. Beside Devnam and a few other travelers, he didn't really know anybody else from his group and he didn't imagine he'd want to encounter another of those 'pleasant' bandit subjects.
Geoniyo slowly levered himself down the side of the peak, biasing handholds threatening to pitch him at any given moment. A few seconds later, they did just that.
"#$," swore the young hare, as he fell through the air. He approached a smooth arch of sandstone, and he bounced to it on his bottom. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and he slid down it on his rear at breathtaking speed. Catapulting over a bend, he sailed through the air, his full-throated cries lost in the breeze.
His landing was soft and he wasn't even shaken. Stumbling to his full length, he glanced at the furry object that saved his life.
He was near an opening at the base of the mountains. Endless plains of sand shifted to his right, and to his left toward the lethal mountains. A guard he dully recognized from the expedition lay sprawled next to him, his uniform torn and stained with blood. His furry landing happened to be a wolverine which had been instantaneously been slain when jagged rocks on the ground had been driven into its spine from the weight of Geoniyo's landing. From what Geoniyo could tell, the guard and wolverine had been tussling when Geoniyo dropped-the word being used literally-in.
The guard (which was about Geoniyo's age) jumped to his feet and extended a hand. "Thanks-a mah good sah," he smiled reassuringly at his savior.
Geoniyo did not take so easily to the kindred spirit. He eyed the offered hand suspiciously and did not make a move to shake it.
"What'cha name?"
"Ah go by Cyan. Ye's?"
"Geoniyo."
There was an awkward silence until Cyan spoke again.
"Ah…Ah guess we should chec' fer jolly other beasts that might have survived this absoballyflippinlutely rockslide…" he trailed off uncertainly.
"After ye."
The duo traipsed across the slopes, Cyan in the lead and Geoniyo not far behind, trailing along uncertainly.
They walked along in silence, skirting perfidious landscape and rounding suspicious holes in the ground. At one point they developed a system of exploring. Both of them set off in different directions and kept in touch with each other by random yells. Geoniyo had no wish to be Cyan's traveling companion; the next time they would split up, he would make good on his "no-return" policy.
"Right-o, ye'll hea' that a wa', and I'll be a goin' jolly eas'. Agree'?" asked Cyan.
Geoniyo rolled his eyes at the guard's dreadful hare vocabulary. "Whatever."
Geoniyo was soon free of his irritating cohort and walking along at a steady pace, rounding the bases of the mighty mountain. He quickened his gait when he heard Cyan's voice call. He did not answer.
As he avoided a rock rising out of the ground, he gasped in disgust and bile rose fast in his throat at the scene before him. He fell in a swoon.
xxx
Naze Arron buried his javelin in the teal feathered, large bird that dropped to the ground, blood spurting all over her magnificent plumage.
A shower of gray lockets swirled around the marten's head before they settled in place. Seasons had taken their toll on the devious villain- his eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, his muscles were still there but had started to go to waste, and now there were many lines that creased his harsh face. Since departing with the survivors of the avalanche (the fatso named Henrick, the toothless idiot called Amberkan, and himself) he had had a blossom of luck of running into the Murdock Empire. The Murdock Empire, as it was called, was made of chains of fortresses and hideouts of the evil, vermin, and scum of the land. They were all very much disciplined and skilled in the art of war and hoped one day to be able to outweigh the forces of Good in the surrounding kingdoms and re-institute the whole land and sea.
The founder and master of this large domain of around 100,000 veterans and warriors rarely showed her face. Her orders to her minions were carried by-afterwards brainwashed-messengers and she had her own set of private rooms in one of the main fortress of the Murdock Empire-The Magnalia Fortress.
The empire of evil had already launched several attacks against surrounding villages and communities with flushed victories. Their Lady stressed to take it slow, so they had not yet opposed any of the larger armies of the surrounding realms. But the day would come…
The Lady had seven generals, each wielding large amounts of power. Naze Arron was one of those generals; as a superior officer he had to admit that he was very impressed with his part. The army had modernized weapons, "inventions" some called it. If there was a chance for evil to prevail, it was with the Murdock Empire. However, Naze was hardly on a raid, but the leader of a hunting party three scores strong.
"So. You got yourself a kill." Naze glanced up at the speaker with the droll voice. Darion, his adopted mink son, twirled a light spear (that had several large fish-trouts-impaled upon it) between his paws.
Naze suppressed a shudder. Though he had tried to be close to his adopted son, things had always been tense between them, and the number of hollering arguments and fights between them led into the two-digit numbers. Worst, Darion was now stronger than him, and a whiz with weapons and battle tactics. Their last encounter that had earned hits had left Naze with a few broken fingers and a broken collarbone and nose while Darion had a few scrapes and a partly swollen lip to his name. Anybody could tell the son was abusing his father. The soldier's respect shrank for Naze and blossomed for Darion.
Naze had nightmares about his life dwindling at Darion's hands. Frankly, he would be more pleased if he took his own life then dying at his son's doing. But it was starting to look like the only way to prevent that was to kill himself right now.
"Should we head back, sir?" asked a soldier, stiff at his salute. Naze bristled with indignity; the soldiers under his command were starting to regard Darion as the real power. Well, they did have their reasons. On one occasion a few days ago, a soldier had questioned Naze about a possible route of action. As Naze was on the verge of answering, Darion had cut off his stammer and replied his answer, cool as you like. The soldier had obeyed.
"Hmm, we prolly should or this old man won't be able tah to hold himself on his feet," smirked Darion, nudging his adopted father.
"Oh, you'd be surprised, Darion," retaliated Naze. "But I forgot, a lot of stuff surprise your miniscule brain," he added, mockingly. Darion sneered in response.
Their (currently) resident fortress was not far and they soon reached it.
Fort Warflash was one of the best strongholds considering defense positions. Its alabaster structure was surrounded by a wide moat that did not contain water, but a type of greasy slime imported from a nearby marsh. It was also poisonous and not a pleasant welcome for intruders.
Multiple towers sprouted from the building and lots of archer windows were available. The gate was heavily shut with sixteen heavy iron bolts and a cargo of timber backed it up. The drawbridge had loose boards for thieves or infiltrators (the soldiers knew the exact locations of the loose boards). Inside there were also a lot of trick doors and arches you couldn't pass underneath without a password. 'Safe' was an understatement for this garrison.
'''Hoy the fort," hollered Darion as the group approached their temporary home. A few seconds later, two soldiers appeared on a balcony overlooking the moat and surrounding lands. On distinguishing their visitors, they yanked on a bar and lowered the drawbridge.
After identifying and avoiding the loose boards, the party split up and headed to their separate quarters. Darion trailed after Naze.
After some maneuvering some corridors and passageways with minimal difficulty, father and son reached their accommodations in the form of a large room with twin divans, furniture, personal equipment, etc. Darion plumped down on a cotton cot and let the sunrays from the open windows splay their radiance across his furry chest. After a few minutes of silence, Darion blinked, as if he suddenly remembered an important piece of knowledge.
"Oh. Oh, yeah. Dad, don't you think you're getting a mite old fer yer…job…" The question trailed off in suspenseful silence.
Naze swallowed nervously; he had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. Gulping down another nervous Adam's apple, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, would you mind if ye handed down your rank to yer sweet son," taunted Darion, fluttering his eyebrows dramatically.
"Why I never thought of it that way-" Naze was abruptly cut off as Darion plunged a concealed dagger in his neck. He brought his mouth to the ear of the dying general and whispered:
"Well I did."
xxx
Dun, dun, dun. Yeah, Darion's the main bad guy in this story. And for the reviews of these chapters I would like to make two requests, if you do notice any typos or stuff like that please report them to me and I would also like to know which of the new characters you like and which you dislike. Thanks! Also, I know my hare accent sucks; I know it's really horrible so I would appreciate a few tips on it (since I'm really bad at accents that's why there's like no moles in this story-I'm sorry all you people that like moles).
Agent D: I hope you are so far pleased with the edits I have made to chapter 24 of "Orphen". You got hurt by an ambulance? That's like ironical. Devnam and Lukas are actually pretty important characters in this story but I can't really decide since I will have a lot of characters who will be the main character. Yeah. You know I partly chose green eye for my character because my own eyes are green so yeah. White's okay I guess.
Grubswiper: maybe I forgot to mention it to you but I was gone for three weeks at camp so I was unable to review anything you posted in the month or so. Anyways I did review your latest one-shots.
Avlblu: I can tell that you like parentheses, there were about three sets of them mixed into your review (). Trust me, once I get to the part where I left off my human story, there will be like no references to human and whatnot, so it will be a much smoother ride.
Mr. Nice Guy, The flamer, and…Jack: without The Holy War that was an incredibly short review. Usually I have to use the scroll bar to read your review. And please try to report as many typos as you can find Flamer, since I'm planning on re-editing all I have posted up once I reach like chapter seven. And thanks for being a softy, Jack (yes, the world needs softies)!