Mordath was smiling.
The crimson fox was standing on deck, crimson cloak of command fluttering in the evening breeze, fierce grin highlighted by the dying flame of twilight and the flames of dying ships.

"That was brilliant, General!" A weasel patted him on the shoulder in a comradely manner and Mordath's grin widened.

"Don't get cocky," he replied in a cautionary tone that did not match his victorious countenance, dual-toned eyes glittering in triumph and pride.

"Not a single beast dead, I think we have a right to call this a victory," Mahk replied, folding his paws over his thin chest, cobalt eyes matching with the sea's azure flow.

"Not one of ours," Mordath reminded his general calmly, victory smile fading as he thought of the beasts who joined and fought for his cause, beasts who now lay dead beneath the sea, good beasts all, beasts who wished to see the Wave Lord's dominion over the sea end.

The Death Watch, all forty five of them, was in high spirits now that they were no longer alone in the conflict against Dukat Nidas. His taking of an island stronghold and one of Nidas's most prized ships had reached the ears of many beasts who were not satisfied with the rule of the Wave Lord and more and more allies seemed to join Mordath's 'rebellion' that may soon have become a revolution. What once seemed a hopeless wish of ending the life of the corsair lord who had dominated the seas of the Southern Isles for many years now seemed to be binding itself together into a true reality.

Other Corsair Lords were willing to aid the red fox, Sekh Sobekiaz and his people grew in the number, adding more monitor elites to the resistance movements and military forces of overthrown kingdoms came under his banner.

The Death Watch's General had achieved a level of 'hero' and 'symbol of hope' that he had never dreamed possible.

Mordath de-Droka removed his cloak and nodded to one of his Death Watch aids. "Bring us back to port and give the beasts the night off." He didn't feel the need to add necessary procedures. His Death Watch, veteran warriors, would catch the unspoken command. No longer were there any of the scum of the earth, no murderers and no random vagabonds that Visla and Geras had accepted into the ranks. They were more than that, they were pure, and they were warriors and fighters with honor.

But no matter how high he climbed, Mordath could never achieve his fondest desires in the South. Nothing would bring Sariss back to him.

"Let's hear it for the General!" Cheers arose from the throats of his beasts, bringing a smile of pride to his face. He whirled to face them suddenly and the cheering ended, the Death Watch beasts afraid they might have offended their General.

Instead, Mordath lifted a fist into the air, raising his voice greatly so that other beasts not of his Death Watch would hear him and pass on what he said. He had the fates of many in his paws and by Vulpuz, he'd be damned if he'd treated their lives as anything less than the gifts they were.

Mordath's cry carried confidence, his mouth turned in a knowing smirk, knowing every move may bolster his comrades' morale. "Where once we would have been driven underfoot, this revolution is taking its hold. Soon, Dukat Nidas who dares to term himself Lord of these waves will fall victim to our might. All those who fight with me, I vow I will see these waters stained raed with his blood!"

Turning to a throng of cheering beasts, Mordath strode inside his cabin with his thoughts, kicking off his boots and tossing his cloak on a chair, sitting back behind his desk and removing a bottle of brandy from a drawer.

The fiery liquor left a trail of warmth in his stomach and brought some satisfaction to his mind. He replaced the bottle after one or two mouthfuls. Intoxication was a poor idea if he hoped to remain the figurehead he was.

Mahk walked in a moment later, a small smile on the thin stoat's face. "Taren."

Mordath nodded in greeting and leaned back, placing his footpaws on the desk. "How are you? What's on your mind?"

"Fine and you."

Mordath nodded, removing his legs and leaning forward. He knew his best friend well enough to know when Mahk had important subjects to bring up. "Yeah?"
"You've changed…a lot. I don't mean just in position, but inside…" Mahk bit his lip lightly, "A long time ago, when I was real young, I left the city of my birth with my older brother and was a spectator in a war for a long time…I served under General Kalis Deiran and I served under Visla. I served many beasts as a mercenary does."

Mordath nodded, knowing Mahk had some point to make, "Go on…"

"You have a power, Taren…" Mahk's voice was soft and his manner composed.

"I have nothing but a strong arm, Mahk," Mordath shook his head in denial, "You all-"

"We follow you! You took a beaten, bedraggled force that had lost its soul and you gave them honor, you gave them reasons to live. You turned an accident into a full fledged rebellion," Mahk smiled at him, "Haven't you seen it? Everybeast, monitor to mouse to Death Watcher…we'd die for you, Taren. You have a fire, a spark of a leader within you. That is power."

Mordath was silent for a long time before he sat back, folding his paws. "Do you remember when the Death Watch found me, Mahk? I was a thief…an urchin. I never dreamed of being a leader, just of being a good soldier and fighting what was needed…but yeah, I've noticed what's happened. Neither at my wish, nor intention I've achieved this greatness. But nothing, no matter how many follow me or how many whose lives I end…none of it grants me what I want.

"My father was a very evil creature. He murdered my mother and he had my sister killed. I killed my father when I was young, I've told you this. After my father died and I left my family behind, the Death Watch gave me a purpose and a reason to live. Sariss gave me that purpose…I failed, Mahk…I failed to protect her…" His fists tightened and his eyes closed in a rare show of emotion, "The cliché tragedy; the hero can't protect the maiden, but then I'm no hero and she was no maiden, hm? Like the legend of Martin and Laterose, I've lost what was most important to me. All that matters to me now is finding a place for my soldiers. All that keeps my alive is the Death Watch. The original Mordath was a warlord who founded our line, but after his son was born, the woman he loved was murdered in a violent uprising in the first Northlands War. Mordath lost his will to live and, entrusting his will to his son, he left his kingdom that he had carved with his blade and set to become a wanderer. He never imagined his beloved could have forgiven him for allowing her to die and he lost his life in a war. I took his name to honor my family line that I love just as surely as I despise how rotten it became and I took it because he and I were not so different."

Mahk sat back calmly taking what his leader said in before he gave a light sigh, "Taren…Sariss would never hold you responsible for what happened. You were soldiers and those she fought were also soldiers. You could not hate her anymore if it were you who died…"
"That's another thing," Mordath whispered, fists balling lightly, "Eroket Nightblade's face haunts me…by letting me live, he's cursed me more than you could imagine. Perhaps I've been taunting death with these stunts until it claims me, but that night, I'd have wanted to die by her side than live…but now, I see that wasn't an option. No matter how much it pains me; there must always be Taren de-Droka, a Mordath to lead and to inspire. My life is for you all who I hold close to my heart. We will leave the south but not before I have finished what I start."

Mahk was quiet listening throughout it, but now he spoke and his raspy voice rang as the clearest knell in Mordath de-Droka's mind. "Our lives for yours, my General."
A nudge of a crimson paw pushed a mug full of steaming, bitter herbal brew to the infirmed stoat. "Honored and received, my soldiers…my family."
----
Curian utterly despised traveling with Jirik. The sword collector considered himself a seasoned veteran, an Ice Wolf warrior whose blood remained hot even in the face of the deadliest threat.

Jirik Valrik was one of the few who could make his blood run cold.
They had traveled nonstop for days, sleeping little and eating less. The quintet of warriors headed south, looking for any information on Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson.
Kardran the otter had kept to the back, conversing only with Harkon and keeping largely to himself. However, stealth and tact were not in Hallic Thargo's limited vocabulary and the savage strutted, threw his weight and growled the entire way, stretching Curian's patience. However, Kirathal's orders were strict: no fighting amongst one another and so Curian, a loyal and devoted follower, obeyed.
But it was Jirik who was the one who made Curian feel fear. Barely speaking, barely seeming to breathe, even, Jirik walked with even pace with the rest of the group. But whenever his eyes met Curian's, the golden fox shivered.

Those eyes were the color of freshly spilt blood and bespoke malice and terror and cruelty; his mind a terrifying product of madness and war with only the desire to hurt, to kill. It was death was lay beyond those eyes, death in its cruelest form and that terrified any who could match eyes with Jirik Valrik. Curian privately wondered if Jirik was a twisted nightmare of Vulpuz given form on the world…

The sword collector wore a dirk at his waist and two light blades on his back, along with a curved blade at his hip and-having been well trained during the Unification Wars- was well versed in the art of combat and swordplay with a variety of blades. Currently, Curian was walking alongside Hallic at the moment, shutting his mind out to the juggernaut's panting snarls. Hallic wore his armor easily and carried his trident and weighted net even easier. His conversation pieces-how he'd messily rend his foes and how he was better than Davrag-had long since grown stale to Curian.

The golden fox slowed his stride just enough to be walking alongside Harkon. Harkon was one of his favorite Ice Wolves; proud, taciturn and skilled. Harkon's fur a lush red and his eyes deep brown. He dressed modestly, with no time for personal fripperies and carried a dirk as his weapon; Harkon's fists were his true weapons.
"How is Jirik?" Harkon's lips barely moved as he posed the question.
Curian answered quietly. "He's at the rear now, just behind the otter. He's getting restless…"
"I know. The combined strength of the four of us should be enough to bring him down if he forgets himself, Curian."

"I thought you'd be loving to kill a beast like Jirik," Curian muttered lightly, biting his lip.
"I would," Harkon replied tonelessly, "But he has his uses and Lord Kirathal commanded us not to fight amongst ourselves. That will stay my paw for the time being. How about the otter and the weasel; how are they doing?"
"The weasel's a moron," Curian replied with a light chuckle. "The otter's a bright guy, head of that private army. Far as I can figger, he'll stay loyal for now considering how outnumbered he's gotta feel."

Harkon nodded lightly and he and Curian traded meaningful glances. With such company, it was difficult for the two foxes not to feel a sense of solidarity.

And at the back, Jirik Valrik's crimson eyes raised from beneath the black hood of his cloak to look at the heavy gray skies, a smirk forming on his expressionless features. The other Ice Wolves were good, yes, but against a beast like Jald Nightson, their skills paled. Only Jirik could possibly match the Manticore in battle, with the exception of his Lord Kirathal. That was fine; Jirik loved challenges.

"This rain is not enough to sate me…" The crimson eyes narrowed and the ebon body shuddered in what one might take for a physical pleasure, "Soon Jirik will make it rain blood…"