The ship rocked back and forth to the waves, though the beasts aboard did not mind; they were accustomed to travelling the sea. To add on, this ship was not just any ship; it was the flagship of the vermin fleet, a Battleship.
The technology of the beasts known to most as 'vermin' had advanced over the course of the three thousand seasons, reaching combustion, among other things. Slowly but surely, the vermin had reached the point where they could field ships nearly a league long, kill seemingly invincible mice armed with pitch forks at a long range, using weapons that the vermin call 'boom sticks', and even set someone ablaze without need of a torch. The technology of the vermin may have reached a high point, but their grammar had not.
A weasel known as Sogro and by the rank of Vice Admiral stood upon the bridge of the vessel, his head mates behind him, at their stations.
A small rat barreled through the entrance of the bridge, and into Sogro. The weasel was nearly knocked down, the rat tumbling to floor.
"Wot's this then, eh?" asked Sogro, recovering and grabbing the ear of the rat, pulling him upwards. The rat scrabbled about, attempting to come loose from the grasp of Sogro.
After gaining control, the rat looked up at the weasel, fear of what may happen in his eyes.
"I wa-wa-wa' tryin' to git a note to ya, cap'n!" answered the small rat, only to be responded to in a harsh manner, "Ye think I c'n read?" In response, the rat stared up, preparing to say no, having trouble mouthing it out. "O' course I c'n read it, d'ye take me for a fool? Who sent ye to me?" the weasel asked. The rat responded by giving the note to Sogro, and saying, "Was the first mate of cooking, cap'n! Says 'e's out of yer seawater grog!"
The weasel stopped reading the note at the mention of his grog, and looked back at the young rat. He re-read the note, and crumpled it up. Any who had eyes upon Sogro knew what would happen next.
Sogro told the rat, "Git back t' the first mate of cooking, and tell 'im that if 'e ain't in the Galley kitchens, to git there now."
Sogro let go of the rat, and let him bound off towards the exit of the bridge. With all eyes upon him, he slowly began walking towards the exit, as well. "Joron, ye have control of the bridge. Communications mate, call back t' port and tell 'em we need a new cook. Or at least some seawater grog… Well? Git t' it!"
Both of the mates responded with an 'Aye', and each mate on the deck began to go about their business, performing seemingly menial tasks, and spinning dials and pulling switches to seem as though they were actually doing something.
After walking through several corridors, climbing several ladders, and hitting his head a few times while walking through hatches, Sogro eventually reached the Galley. Upon entering, a few of the beasts dining on their food scrambled to their feet, standing at attention for the captain of the vessel. Little did those who stood to their feet know, they had no need to stand at attention, only sit at attention if addressed.
The weasel strode by, not caring whether or not they stood at attention, leaving them standing there. He decided that he would just let them figure it out on their own, and walked into the kitchens.
Sogro stepped into the kitchens, looked around, and saw not a single beast in sight. To confirm this, he toured around the kitchens, taking a bite out of one or two meals.
At the end of his journey around the kitchen, Sogro called out, "Ripptail, I know yer there, show yer face 'fore I find ye. The punishment might be lesser!"
As Sogro expected, the chef, a middle aged, overweight fox that went by the name of Ripptail stepped forward. His name was just so because of a cooking accident over a dozen seasons ago, one that had ripped his tail into two, and torn off all of his tail fur. The cooking accident may or may not have involved being prepared for a dinner, one which his current captain had saved him from. Of course, he could tell that all of this was probably about to end at this point.
As the chef whimpered in front of him, Sogro decided that he had had enough crying and stuttering for a day, and grabbed Ripptail by the ear. He dragged him for roughly twenty feet before coming to a stop, exhausted by the weight of the vulpine. "Please, iffen ye'd be so kind cap'n, don't kill me cap'n! I promise I'll be better, cap'n! I'll get ye some more of that seawater grog!"
At the mention of his seawater grog, Sogro looked at Ripptail, his disappointment showing in his eyes. "I had trusted ye, Ripptail. I trusted ye to be the caretaker of my vintage 476 23rd of Macabre seawater grog. Instead, it goes to waste, I'm guessing that I wouldn't be far from right if I said that ye helped yerself t' it, or let someone else to it."
"You wouldn't be wrong, cap'n. I took a few sips (A few sips meaning a few cups for the obese fox), and I did give it t' some of the kitchen workers fer a reward, cap'n." Ripptail responded.
Sogro had expected it, but had expected it to hurt his psyche a bit more. It didn't; in fact, it made him want to play a little game with the fox, one that involved a large amount of seawater.
"So, ye like the seawater grog a bunch, right?" asked Sogro.
"Aye, cap'n, I do." Ripptail said, rather confused by the question, given the situation. "Well, I know a place where ye c'n git all the seawater grog ye might be wantin'." The weasel said.
It took Ripptail a second to catch on, and by the time he did, he was already being held down by the captain. The fox kicked and screamed, knowing his doom was near, wanting it to be prevented.
Hearing the loud noises emanating from the galley kitchens, a number of beasts scrabbled in; each wondering what was happening, only one being prepared for defense or attack, carrying a fork. The vermin who had entered the kitchens did not know what to make of the scene, but after some profanities uttered by Sogro, they rushed to his help, picking up the large fox. Once they had hoisted Ripptail up, they began to follow Sogro's directions, beginning to carry the extremely bloated fox to the weather deck.
After an excruciating trek, the beasts eventually reached the deck and placed the fox down in the area nearest the bow of the ship. Held down by three vermin, Ripptail had nowhere to go, his feeble attempts doing little to effect their grip upon him.
"So, ye've got some choices. Take a swim, swallow some lead, or take a trial by combat, weapons being some o' these old blades." Stated the weasel. The fox took his time in deciding the matter, but eventually decided to do what Sogro may have considered the honorable way to go, trial by combat. The fox said, "I'll take ye all on in combat."
The vermin stared blankly for a moment, not yet realizing what he had said. After realizing, they began laughing, much to the shame of Ripptail.
"Alright, so ye'll get yer trial by combat. It'll be in two days, git yerself ready. Don't expect any mercy from us, you might be fightin' all o' us, but that doesn't mean we'll go easy on ye." Responded Sogro.
Without another word, Sogro began walking off, giving the signal with his hand to release Ripptail, and to return to what they were doing. The vermin hurried ahead of him, eager to return to their dull meals, or their dull tasks, knowing that each day aboard a vessel of his grace the emperor was a blessing that should they be worthy, would tumble down upon them like a golden fog.
Sogro was not bothered by anybeast while returning to the bridge of his ship, counting himself lucky for it.
Upon reaching the bridge, the command to attention for Sogro was called. After ordering them to return to their duties, he took command of the bridge. Instead of standing in front of the windows, he took a seat in his chair, and wondered just incompetent his mates could become.
After thinking about this for a minute or two, he decided he was not a philosopher.
In his mind, he let it be known to himself that he was resuming yet another droll day as the captain of HGTES A Golden Fog.