s:88725:"Somehow 13 chapters of Perrozi's story got lost from me posting it. e.e Round 2!
Chapter I
Chapter 1: Waterfront Pup
Sitting on the docks of Malgrave, the capitol of Kasuria, a slender fuzzy terrier lad named Perrozi ate fish soup. It was what he ate every day, but he would never complain. The sun bathed everything in faintly golden warmth. He was a rag-clad orphan and if he were not a fisher-furre, he would very likely have starved on the vegetable foods the poor could acquire.
Because he was a canine, it was assumed Perrozi's true father had probably been a man of wealth. His mother was a squirrel.
Perrozi's mother had owned a small houseboat. When she died, it had been claimed as property by her brother Alfron (also a squirrel). Everybody knew Perrozi was her son but without a marriage record in the Pala Mestra, each town's Hall of Memory, he was not entitled to any inheritance. Because Perrozi was a bastard, Alfron refused to help him in any way.
So, Perrozi worked from dawn to dusk for one fisherman or another, cleaning fish with his one remaining possession: a long sharp knife with a pearly handle. In exchange, he was welcome to supper on several different ships. He wasn't paid a penny but as a sort of honorary crew member, he was entitled to protection from the bullies that typically prowl about a harbor.
Several sailors walked by, some rabbits and mice and a short powerful boar. Cats disdained this sort of work. Here in Malgrave, more than elsewhere in Kasuria, one's status tended to relate to species. At the top were the nobles, who were mainly predators. At the bottom were the vegetable-eating peasants. Two of the King's later wives were from poor families, and this had made King Constantine well-loved by the commoners. It was well-known that the youngest had been an oyster seller.
The terrier lad finished his meal and walked aboard Mayona's Gull. Several sailors nodded hello as he headed for his bed: the little skiff hanging between a mast and a sturdy post that jutted from the deck. Beneath the skiff's canvas tarp cover, a dozen pillow-like buoys on long tethers were kept around for floatation should the ship ever capsize. They were filled with milkweed down, and in the meantime, they made a comfortable bed. He settled down for a well-deserved rest.
It seemed to Perrozi that he had just closed his eyes when he had to open them again. The air was icy-cold, the sky overhead black and full of stars. A large figure wearing loose clothes, a broad hat and a kerchief about its muzzle was holding the tarp. In its right paw it held a clean cutlass with a shiny round handguard that glinted in the dark. It hissed, "Sit up but stay silent," to Perrozi. Shivering in his linen clothes and curly fur, Perrozi did so. The stranger looked to be some sort of canine with short sleek black fur and long legs. "Nod if you want to claim your father's legacy."
The young terrier nodded. The tall furre in hat and bandit's kerchief stepped forwards to close the distance. Before Perrozi knew what was happening, the handguard of the cutlass met the side of his head. He was unconscious before he could be aware of any pain...
Chapter 1: Waterfront Pup
Sitting on the docks of Malgrave, the capitol of Kasuria, a slender fuzzy terrier lad named Perrozi ate fish soup. It was what he ate every day, but he would never complain. The sun bathed everything in faintly golden warmth. He was a rag-clad orphan and if he were not a fisher-furre, he would very likely have starved on the vegetable foods the poor could acquire.
Because he was a canine, it was assumed Perrozi's true father had probably been a man of wealth. His mother was a squirrel.
Perrozi's mother had owned a small houseboat. When she died, it had been claimed as property by her brother Alfron (also a squirrel). Everybody knew Perrozi was her son but without a marriage record in the Pala Mestra, each town's Hall of Memory, he was not entitled to any inheritance. Because Perrozi was a bastard, Alfron refused to help him in any way.
So, Perrozi worked from dawn to dusk for one fisherman or another, cleaning fish with his one remaining possession: a long sharp knife with a pearly handle. In exchange, he was welcome to supper on several different ships. He wasn't paid a penny but as a sort of honorary crew member, he was entitled to protection from the bullies that typically prowl about a harbor.
Several sailors walked by, some rabbits and mice and a short powerful boar. Cats disdained this sort of work. Here in Malgrave, more than elsewhere in Kasuria, one's status tended to relate to species. At the top were the nobles, who were mainly predators. At the bottom were the vegetable-eating peasants. Two of the King's later wives were from poor families, and this had made King Constantine well-loved by the commoners. It was well-known that the youngest had been an oyster seller.
The terrier lad finished his meal and walked aboard Mayona's Gull. Several sailors nodded hello as he headed for his bed: the little skiff hanging between a mast and a sturdy post that jutted from the deck. Beneath the skiff's canvas tarp cover, a dozen pillow-like buoys on long tethers were kept around for floatation should the ship ever capsize. They were filled with milkweed down, and in the meantime, they made a comfortable bed. He settled down for a well-deserved rest.
It seemed to Perrozi that he had just closed his eyes when he had to open them again. The air was icy-cold, the sky overhead black and full of stars. A large figure wearing loose clothes, a broad hat and a kerchief about its muzzle was holding the tarp. In its right paw it held a clean cutlass with a shiny round handguard that glinted in the dark. It hissed, "Sit up but stay silent," to Perrozi. Shivering in his linen clothes and curly fur, Perrozi did so. The stranger looked to be some sort of canine with short sleek black fur and long legs. "Nod if you want to claim your father's legacy."
The young terrier nodded. The tall furre in hat and bandit's kerchief stepped forwards to close the distance. Before Perrozi knew what was happening, the handguard of the cutlass met the side of his head. He was unconscious before he could be aware of any pain...
Chapter II
Chapter 2: Captain Loquacious
It was the waking that was unpleasant. Perrozi found himself upon a long crate in the dark. His head was filled with a pounding ache. He sat up and set his feet down-- right into a finger-length of slimy foul-smelling water. The floor was wood and it sloped in a broad rounded V.
Perrozi became aware of a vague sourness in his stomach, small, bearable... but then suddenly it swelled up his throat, blossoming into full nausea. He tried to control it, tried to breathe deep. A little cough got by him and he choked, then he threw up from his mouth and both nostrils. Stomach acid and fish stew splattered to the ground, then Perrozi sat gaping and drooling.
The sound of stone sliding on stone behind him startled the canine so he turned. He saw the thin outline of a trapdoor in the ceiling. With the light that leaked in, Perrozi could make out a thick-necked head with short upright ears, a blunt muzzle and the tops of two bat wings. They were all oddly smooth. Then Perrozi realized he was looking at a sturdy gargoyle, somehow brought to life. He had heard of magic like this but he had never seen any. The terrier said shyly, "hello?"
The creature opened its eyes; they were two pale blue-glowing opals. They shed their own light on the powerful-looking chiseled body and made the slimy black water glint. Chains bound the gargoyle to the floor. It groaned, "...Hhhhelp." When it spoke in its grating voice, Perrozi realized the sound he had heard earlier was probably a sigh. Its jut-jawed face was contorted into a perpetual grimace or wince.
"Where am I?" the terrier lad asked cautiously.
The stone beast grunted, "Ship."
Perrozi asked, then, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
With an effort, it replied, "...Ballast."
The manacles were heavily encrusted with blackened rust and barnacles; Perrozi realized he must have been there a long time. The dog felt sorry for his fellow captive. He said, "I'll help you, sure. Who is the captain?" The gargoyle shrugged weakly.
Perrozi had to stoop as he walked closer, through the muck. He said, "where are these chains attached?" The creature raised its arms and the clanking links, each as long as Perrozi's hand, went taut. They were anchored somewhere in the muck. Perrozi crouched and felt around. The shackles were bolted solidly to the wood.
There came a creak and a sudden flash of light-- the gargoyle froze solid as the hatch was opened. The long-legged furre in the wide hat was standing at the opening. Posed like a dramatic sculpture where the tall one could not see him, the gargoyle apparently could not move.
Now that he wore no kerchief, Perrozi could see his captor was some sort of large exotic black deer in a faded velvet waistcoat, stained buccaneer's shirt, and trousers of black sailcloth. His hat was rakish, with holes for horns but this wasn't the season for them. His face seemed friendly except for black eyes surrounded by circles of pale fur, which were cold. He called down, "Me most sincere apologies for our abrupt initial introduction, but I wished to keep the location of me safe harbor most confidential. Won't ye come up from there?"
Perrozi did not trust the buck but he also did not wish to remain below the deck. Even before his eyes could stand the glare, he climbed up the ladder quickly. His head still hurt badly.
Shielding his eyes from the glare with a paw, he took in the sight of the most rundown schooner he had ever seen. All but one of the triangular sails was in tatters. The remaining one appeared to be sewn from large irregular pieces of at least three previous vessels. The only shelter from sun and storm was a covered area at the aft. On one side, most of the railing was missing.
Perrozi could hear the tall deer saying, "This 'ere was yer father's ship. I was his first mate. This is 'the Millarca'- the swiftest sea-vessel in all Kasuria." The young dog must have looked doubtful because the deer went on to say, "Well, not now, she isn't, but she just needs some minor fixin' up. Ye'll see."
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Perrozi; he quickly sat down on the splintery gray planks. The deer walked over and offered him a brown glass bottle, saying, "Drink a bit." Perrozi sipped; it turned out to be whisky, watered down but still strong enough to burn his throat. As the sun dried his grimy damp fur and he took a deep breath of fresh air, Perrozi decided he actually felt better.
He asked the black deer, "What's your name?"
"I be Loquacious Jake, the cleverest smuggler in all Kasuria," the captain announced. "Do me a good turn; I'll do ye ten, but cross me, and I'll make ye wish ye were never born! Ye can't cully ol' Jake. Say, what do ye want to be called, now?"
The youth said, "My mother named me Perrozi."
Loquacious Jake scratched behind one of his leaf-shaped ears and repeated, "Yer mother." He shook his head and said, "Ye need a sea-name. That way, when ye goes in to port, and ye meets a lovely lassie--" He was interrupted when something the size of a quill pen whizzed past his head. A second shot, to the back of Jake's shoulder, came bursting through his lapel in front. "Mers!" he yelled as he dove for the deck.
Merfurres! Perrozi knew of them from stories- furre from the waist up, but some kind of fishlike thing below. An equine head with fins for a mane appeared from over the side of the ship. The mer's bared teeth were shaped like interlocking jagged mountain peaks. He was followed by two more, each carrying a weapon like a trident on one end and a small crossbow on the other. They were blue-gray with dapples, their bodies dark above and light below. Despite having no legs, they moved swiftly, something like jumping inchworms, upon tails and the thick fleshy fins at their hips.
Loquacious Jake drew his cutlass. Perrozi reached into his shirt for the pearl-handled knife, and found that it was not there.
Chapter 2: Captain Loquacious
It was the waking that was unpleasant. Perrozi found himself upon a long crate in the dark. His head was filled with a pounding ache. He sat up and set his feet down-- right into a finger-length of slimy foul-smelling water. The floor was wood and it sloped in a broad rounded V.
Perrozi became aware of a vague sourness in his stomach, small, bearable... but then suddenly it swelled up his throat, blossoming into full nausea. He tried to control it, tried to breathe deep. A little cough got by him and he choked, then he threw up from his mouth and both nostrils. Stomach acid and fish stew splattered to the ground, then Perrozi sat gaping and drooling.
The sound of stone sliding on stone behind him startled the canine so he turned. He saw the thin outline of a trapdoor in the ceiling. With the light that leaked in, Perrozi could make out a thick-necked head with short upright ears, a blunt muzzle and the tops of two bat wings. They were all oddly smooth. Then Perrozi realized he was looking at a sturdy gargoyle, somehow brought to life. He had heard of magic like this but he had never seen any. The terrier said shyly, "hello?"
The creature opened its eyes; they were two pale blue-glowing opals. They shed their own light on the powerful-looking chiseled body and made the slimy black water glint. Chains bound the gargoyle to the floor. It groaned, "...Hhhhelp." When it spoke in its grating voice, Perrozi realized the sound he had heard earlier was probably a sigh. Its jut-jawed face was contorted into a perpetual grimace or wince.
"Where am I?" the terrier lad asked cautiously.
The stone beast grunted, "Ship."
Perrozi asked, then, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
With an effort, it replied, "...Ballast."
The manacles were heavily encrusted with blackened rust and barnacles; Perrozi realized he must have been there a long time. The dog felt sorry for his fellow captive. He said, "I'll help you, sure. Who is the captain?" The gargoyle shrugged weakly.
Perrozi had to stoop as he walked closer, through the muck. He said, "where are these chains attached?" The creature raised its arms and the clanking links, each as long as Perrozi's hand, went taut. They were anchored somewhere in the muck. Perrozi crouched and felt around. The shackles were bolted solidly to the wood.
There came a creak and a sudden flash of light-- the gargoyle froze solid as the hatch was opened. The long-legged furre in the wide hat was standing at the opening. Posed like a dramatic sculpture where the tall one could not see him, the gargoyle apparently could not move.
Now that he wore no kerchief, Perrozi could see his captor was some sort of large exotic black deer in a faded velvet waistcoat, stained buccaneer's shirt, and trousers of black sailcloth. His hat was rakish, with holes for horns but this wasn't the season for them. His face seemed friendly except for black eyes surrounded by circles of pale fur, which were cold. He called down, "Me most sincere apologies for our abrupt initial introduction, but I wished to keep the location of me safe harbor most confidential. Won't ye come up from there?"
Perrozi did not trust the buck but he also did not wish to remain below the deck. Even before his eyes could stand the glare, he climbed up the ladder quickly. His head still hurt badly.
Shielding his eyes from the glare with a paw, he took in the sight of the most rundown schooner he had ever seen. All but one of the triangular sails was in tatters. The remaining one appeared to be sewn from large irregular pieces of at least three previous vessels. The only shelter from sun and storm was a covered area at the aft. On one side, most of the railing was missing.
Perrozi could hear the tall deer saying, "This 'ere was yer father's ship. I was his first mate. This is 'the Millarca'- the swiftest sea-vessel in all Kasuria." The young dog must have looked doubtful because the deer went on to say, "Well, not now, she isn't, but she just needs some minor fixin' up. Ye'll see."
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Perrozi; he quickly sat down on the splintery gray planks. The deer walked over and offered him a brown glass bottle, saying, "Drink a bit." Perrozi sipped; it turned out to be whisky, watered down but still strong enough to burn his throat. As the sun dried his grimy damp fur and he took a deep breath of fresh air, Perrozi decided he actually felt better.
He asked the black deer, "What's your name?"
"I be Loquacious Jake, the cleverest smuggler in all Kasuria," the captain announced. "Do me a good turn; I'll do ye ten, but cross me, and I'll make ye wish ye were never born! Ye can't cully ol' Jake. Say, what do ye want to be called, now?"
The youth said, "My mother named me Perrozi."
Loquacious Jake scratched behind one of his leaf-shaped ears and repeated, "Yer mother." He shook his head and said, "Ye need a sea-name. That way, when ye goes in to port, and ye meets a lovely lassie--" He was interrupted when something the size of a quill pen whizzed past his head. A second shot, to the back of Jake's shoulder, came bursting through his lapel in front. "Mers!" he yelled as he dove for the deck.
Merfurres! Perrozi knew of them from stories- furre from the waist up, but some kind of fishlike thing below. An equine head with fins for a mane appeared from over the side of the ship. The mer's bared teeth were shaped like interlocking jagged mountain peaks. He was followed by two more, each carrying a weapon like a trident on one end and a small crossbow on the other. They were blue-gray with dapples, their bodies dark above and light below. Despite having no legs, they moved swiftly, something like jumping inchworms, upon tails and the thick fleshy fins at their hips.
Loquacious Jake drew his cutlass. Perrozi reached into his shirt for the pearl-handled knife, and found that it was not there.
Chapter III
Chapter 3: A Craven Is Keelhauled
Having clambered aboard at the bow, two of the three merfurres charged Captain Jake. They stabbed in unison at his legs with their short tridents. He leapt high on his long deer legs and came slashing down at them with yells of "First! Third! And third again!" Loquacious Jake danced to keep the two in a line, so that only one could reach him at a time.
Fear was turning Perrozi's arms and legs to slow lumps of ice. He muttered, "I'm no warrior..." as his heart beat like something frantically trying to escape his chest. He had heard how excitement of a fight made a furre stupid, and he breathed deep, hoping that would help. He saw three choices-- the sea, the hold below, or the rigging.
With his mane of fins spread, the third merfurre advanced on Perrozi. He stopped to put a long urchin spine on his trident-crossbow, aimed, and fired. Perrozi yelled, "Ahhh!" in fear and scrambled for the trap door in the deck. Purely by luck, the spine went past the border terrier lad with a horrible whistling noise. The merfurre gave a sputtering snort that was probably a curse, then it began cocking its crossbow again.
By the time the next spine was loaded, Perrozi had reached the hatch. He raised it before him- the next spine shattered on the other side. He heard the sound of the merfurre reloading again. Perrozi yelled out, "Jake! My knife! Or anything!"
The deer's dark pelt gleamed like polished jet as he kept the merfurres at bay with quick unpredictable chops. He was saying, "Oh, ye're just lucky I don't have me horns today! I'd be pitchin' ye overboard both at the same time!" Frustrated by their quarry's agility, the merfurre in the middle went closer, trying to hook one of Jake's slender ankles with his weapon. Jake jumped, then gave the sea horse a kick to the nose.
It must have been painful; the merfurre fell back, eyes watering. Jake followed up with an overhand blow to the forehead. The merfurre froze, then slumped, and Jake barely managed to wrench the cutlass out of the flat area of the equine face. His voice strong despite his panting, the deer captain called to Perrozi, "The black chest, lad! Aft!"
Despite the stomach-turning reek that was coming up from the hold, the young dogfurre wanted nothing more than to throw himself down into the dark. He wondered why the merfurre who had fired at him was hanging back. The answer came to him like a bell's clear chiming: He was a coward!
Perrozi threw the hatch forwards- it crashed over with a loud slam. He waved his arms wildly and ran towards the merfurre with as loud a growl as he could muster. His opponent was caught in mid-reload. The merfurre's ears went back and he showed the whites of his eyes as he gallumped back a good several meters.
Suddenly, the terrier reversed his direction and ran for the back of the ship. The black seachest was obvious, its handles lashed to rings for the purpose. Perrozi threw the lid back and there was his precious knife, with its long slightly curved blade and thick counter-weighted handle. The distant thought occurred to him a dagger was nearly worthless for parrying a trident. He muttered to himself, "I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid."
In the chest, there was also a buckler of some kind of intricately carved iridescent blue ivory, so Perrozi took that as well. He slipped his hand through the strap, gripping the handle. It was light and the leafish shape covered his forearm and a handlength beyond his fist.
The merfurre still facing Loquacious Jake bellowed something; the language sounded like shrieking into a large seashell. Jake was not leaping as high, and he was being driven backwards, larboard, to the side of the ship without a rail. The merfurre cowering near the bow gave a wheezy reply, then turned its weapon trident-portion forwards and headed for Perrozi.
The young canine furre found himself cornered with the railing at his back. He saw a rope hanging from a horizontal boom. It would have been a magnificent opportunity to swing away if the other end of the rope had not been hanging loosely, unanchored some four meters away. Perrozi grabbed one end anyways and tied a loop with a running bowline, similar to a slipknot.
Meanwhile, Captain Jake's enemy was aware that the dark deer was tiring. He stabbed for the lean captain's ankle over and over. Jake watched the timing-- and leapt to stamp on the shaft of the weapon, trapping it on the deck. "Oho!" he crowed. It turned to a cry of pain as the merfurre's head darted forwards, sinking triangular teeth into Jake's thigh.
The terrier lad had no time to watch this. He had placed the knife between his teeth, the way he had heard pirates did it. He had never fought with a blade in his life! Ah, but he had sailed on fishing trips, and he knew how to cast a rope to secure the ship to the dock. Old Henk, a kind quartermaster, had made him practice when he was small.
Before the merfurre was in trident-range, Perrozi swung the rope. It cleared the merfurre's head, then encircled his neck. Rather than take it off, the sea-warrior backed away, causing the rope to tighten. In desperation, he threw his trident at Perrozi with all his strength.
It was then that Perrozi felt the little blue shield move of its own accord. It wrenched his arm awkwardly, committing force so that the incoming trident was slammed aside. Perrozi learned that parrying with a buckler was not merely a matter of putting a shield in the way of an oncoming weapon. The merfurre began shrieking hollowly as it headed towards the railing.
At the same time, Perrozi dove for a T-shaped metal cleat bolted to the deck. His paws a blur, he wound the rope in one figure eight after another, securing it. He had two completed when the panicking mer leapt overboard, and the rope went taut. The merfurre's blue-gray body was roughly slammed to the side of the moving ship. Perrozi saw it surface, only to be pulled under and repeatedly dashed against the hull in a repeating spiral.
The last merfurre was snapping at Loquacious Jake, who was fending it off with his cutlass. Deep gashes were open along the mer's side but blood was also running down Jake's thigh. Trusting to the power of the little blue buckler, Perrozi came running over, brandishing the pearl-handled knife.
Realizing he was unarmed in a fight that was now two against one, the mer immediately changed tactics. He rolled and flipped off the deck into the water. When Perrozi looked back, he saw blood-tainted foam.
Then he saw a flash of pointed fin and similar tailtip. Lured by the dragging carcass, sharks had probably gotten him. Perrozi pulled up the rope. There was only a frayed end.
For once Jake was quiet. He let down the remaining sail. When he licked his lips, Perrozi saw the deer's tongue was pale. He had lost quite a bit of blood. He said, "Ye did well." Then he pointed to the first mer's body, and said, "Push it into the hold. For Milady."
Perrozi dragged the dead mer to the trap door and shoved it down the hatch. The gargoyle, he saw, was still in the same immobile position it had been when Captain Jake had let the dog emerge. He wondered who Milady was, that she would want the corpse of a mer. The sun would be down within two hours. Maybe he could question Ballast some more tonight.
He was not given the opportunity to question the deer, though. When Perrozi looked up from his task, he saw that Loquacious Jake had wrapped whisky-soaked cloth strips about his leg, and passed out.
Chapter 3: A Craven Is Keelhauled
Having clambered aboard at the bow, two of the three merfurres charged Captain Jake. They stabbed in unison at his legs with their short tridents. He leapt high on his long deer legs and came slashing down at them with yells of "First! Third! And third again!" Loquacious Jake danced to keep the two in a line, so that only one could reach him at a time.
Fear was turning Perrozi's arms and legs to slow lumps of ice. He muttered, "I'm no warrior..." as his heart beat like something frantically trying to escape his chest. He had heard how excitement of a fight made a furre stupid, and he breathed deep, hoping that would help. He saw three choices-- the sea, the hold below, or the rigging.
With his mane of fins spread, the third merfurre advanced on Perrozi. He stopped to put a long urchin spine on his trident-crossbow, aimed, and fired. Perrozi yelled, "Ahhh!" in fear and scrambled for the trap door in the deck. Purely by luck, the spine went past the border terrier lad with a horrible whistling noise. The merfurre gave a sputtering snort that was probably a curse, then it began cocking its crossbow again.
By the time the next spine was loaded, Perrozi had reached the hatch. He raised it before him- the next spine shattered on the other side. He heard the sound of the merfurre reloading again. Perrozi yelled out, "Jake! My knife! Or anything!"
The deer's dark pelt gleamed like polished jet as he kept the merfurres at bay with quick unpredictable chops. He was saying, "Oh, ye're just lucky I don't have me horns today! I'd be pitchin' ye overboard both at the same time!" Frustrated by their quarry's agility, the merfurre in the middle went closer, trying to hook one of Jake's slender ankles with his weapon. Jake jumped, then gave the sea horse a kick to the nose.
It must have been painful; the merfurre fell back, eyes watering. Jake followed up with an overhand blow to the forehead. The merfurre froze, then slumped, and Jake barely managed to wrench the cutlass out of the flat area of the equine face. His voice strong despite his panting, the deer captain called to Perrozi, "The black chest, lad! Aft!"
Despite the stomach-turning reek that was coming up from the hold, the young dogfurre wanted nothing more than to throw himself down into the dark. He wondered why the merfurre who had fired at him was hanging back. The answer came to him like a bell's clear chiming: He was a coward!
Perrozi threw the hatch forwards- it crashed over with a loud slam. He waved his arms wildly and ran towards the merfurre with as loud a growl as he could muster. His opponent was caught in mid-reload. The merfurre's ears went back and he showed the whites of his eyes as he gallumped back a good several meters.
Suddenly, the terrier reversed his direction and ran for the back of the ship. The black seachest was obvious, its handles lashed to rings for the purpose. Perrozi threw the lid back and there was his precious knife, with its long slightly curved blade and thick counter-weighted handle. The distant thought occurred to him a dagger was nearly worthless for parrying a trident. He muttered to himself, "I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid."
In the chest, there was also a buckler of some kind of intricately carved iridescent blue ivory, so Perrozi took that as well. He slipped his hand through the strap, gripping the handle. It was light and the leafish shape covered his forearm and a handlength beyond his fist.
The merfurre still facing Loquacious Jake bellowed something; the language sounded like shrieking into a large seashell. Jake was not leaping as high, and he was being driven backwards, larboard, to the side of the ship without a rail. The merfurre cowering near the bow gave a wheezy reply, then turned its weapon trident-portion forwards and headed for Perrozi.
The young canine furre found himself cornered with the railing at his back. He saw a rope hanging from a horizontal boom. It would have been a magnificent opportunity to swing away if the other end of the rope had not been hanging loosely, unanchored some four meters away. Perrozi grabbed one end anyways and tied a loop with a running bowline, similar to a slipknot.
Meanwhile, Captain Jake's enemy was aware that the dark deer was tiring. He stabbed for the lean captain's ankle over and over. Jake watched the timing-- and leapt to stamp on the shaft of the weapon, trapping it on the deck. "Oho!" he crowed. It turned to a cry of pain as the merfurre's head darted forwards, sinking triangular teeth into Jake's thigh.
The terrier lad had no time to watch this. He had placed the knife between his teeth, the way he had heard pirates did it. He had never fought with a blade in his life! Ah, but he had sailed on fishing trips, and he knew how to cast a rope to secure the ship to the dock. Old Henk, a kind quartermaster, had made him practice when he was small.
Before the merfurre was in trident-range, Perrozi swung the rope. It cleared the merfurre's head, then encircled his neck. Rather than take it off, the sea-warrior backed away, causing the rope to tighten. In desperation, he threw his trident at Perrozi with all his strength.
It was then that Perrozi felt the little blue shield move of its own accord. It wrenched his arm awkwardly, committing force so that the incoming trident was slammed aside. Perrozi learned that parrying with a buckler was not merely a matter of putting a shield in the way of an oncoming weapon. The merfurre began shrieking hollowly as it headed towards the railing.
At the same time, Perrozi dove for a T-shaped metal cleat bolted to the deck. His paws a blur, he wound the rope in one figure eight after another, securing it. He had two completed when the panicking mer leapt overboard, and the rope went taut. The merfurre's blue-gray body was roughly slammed to the side of the moving ship. Perrozi saw it surface, only to be pulled under and repeatedly dashed against the hull in a repeating spiral.
The last merfurre was snapping at Loquacious Jake, who was fending it off with his cutlass. Deep gashes were open along the mer's side but blood was also running down Jake's thigh. Trusting to the power of the little blue buckler, Perrozi came running over, brandishing the pearl-handled knife.
Realizing he was unarmed in a fight that was now two against one, the mer immediately changed tactics. He rolled and flipped off the deck into the water. When Perrozi looked back, he saw blood-tainted foam.
Then he saw a flash of pointed fin and similar tailtip. Lured by the dragging carcass, sharks had probably gotten him. Perrozi pulled up the rope. There was only a frayed end.
For once Jake was quiet. He let down the remaining sail. When he licked his lips, Perrozi saw the deer's tongue was pale. He had lost quite a bit of blood. He said, "Ye did well." Then he pointed to the first mer's body, and said, "Push it into the hold. For Milady."
Perrozi dragged the dead mer to the trap door and shoved it down the hatch. The gargoyle, he saw, was still in the same immobile position it had been when Captain Jake had let the dog emerge. He wondered who Milady was, that she would want the corpse of a mer. The sun would be down within two hours. Maybe he could question Ballast some more tonight.
He was not given the opportunity to question the deer, though. When Perrozi looked up from his task, he saw that Loquacious Jake had wrapped whisky-soaked cloth strips about his leg, and passed out.
Chapter IV
Chapter 4: Milady
Now the schooner was adrift. It rocked from side to side, heaved about by the tireless waves. On deck, Loquacious Jake's lanky form lay sprawled and unmoving. While the sun was setting, the direction of west was known, but there was no way to know which direction to proceed.
The ship's tiller was tied in place. Although it was possible to sail the schooner alone, it had to have been difficult. Perrozi knew he himself could not do it. What had happened to the crew? And, what had happened to his father?
Although Perrozi knew a little about sailing, he knew nothing of physicking. He feared the captain would be dead long before morning, and there seemed nothing he could do. Hoping the sea-chest might hold answers, Perrozi dove through the contents with more care. He had found one artifact; he allowed himself to hope for more.
Amidst velvet and silk, the canine youth found a number of precious things. There was a small goblet of solid gold, heavy gems studding its sides. There was a necklace of clear blue stones,also held together by gold. Poor as he was, it never entered Perrozi's mind to take them for his own. He put the magical blue buckler back where he had found it.
Most important of all, though, he found a tube of blackened bronze, splotched with beautiful blue-green tarnish. The young dog uncapped it and slid out a map. He couldn't read the words but he could recognize a coastline and a drawing of a large city, presumably Malgrave. Several things were marked on the map in charcoal rather than ink.
The sun melted to a red oblong, and neither shorebird nor shore gave any clue as to where Millarca was meandering. The cloak of night was drawn across the sky. Perrozi shivered. He took a large scarf of silk and wrapped it around his torso like a toga. Despite its feather-light quality, it was quite warm.
From the open hatch came faint sounds of movement. There was a scrape of wood and a rattle of heavy chains. The dogfurre remembered the gargoyle locked up in the stinking hold, and rushed down the ladder.
Perrozi could hardly see anything; he called out, "Ballast?" The gargoyle's eyes like glowing bluish opals opened, casting dim light on a terrifying sight. Too late, he realized the noise he had taken for the lapping of bilge was slurping. A female furre, clad in some sort of very elegant pleated gown, crouched on the remains of the merfurre, her long tail waving above her haunches. She looked like a primitive cross between several sorts of furre, a cougar-like face with a large dog nose, and a weasel-ish slinky body. She was emaciated, and her lips were black. The copious blood of a severed artery covered her muzzle and dripped down her chin. Perhaps the worst of it was that she was smiling with bloody teeth, and she looked so happy about it. "A vampire!" Perrozi gasped.
Ballast lowered its great head in respectful obeisance, then it grated under its breath, "Bow..." Perrozi thought he detected some anxiety in the creature's voice.
Perrozi followed Ballast's advice and bowed. He was an orphan of the docks; it was a clumsy bow, done too fast and without grace. Still, the gesture had a good effect.
As if she were not standing ankle-deep in bad-smelling muck, as if she had not just been caught sucking greedily at the dead mer's throat, the vampire furre stood up and curtseyed cordially. She spoke in a heart-meltingly sweet voice: "I see Jacob found thee. Didst thou bring the knife?"
"Yes..." and he added, "Milady." because it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The more he looked at her, the less brutish she appeared. She seemed pretty, and nice. Like a pupil with a crush on teacher, he wanted her to think well of him. "I have it here. Want to see it?" He hoped she did.
As if this was funny, the vampiress said, "Oh, no, thou must carry it. So we can find thy father's treasure. Now, where is Jacob?"
Perrozi blinked, realizing she was speaking of Captain Jake. Sudden as the popping of a soap bubble, the dire events of the previous day returned to him. "-He's on deck. He's hurt bad. Can you help him?"
"Yes, pet. I am a doctor, know thou." Milady picked up her skirts and made her way to the ladder, ignoring Ballast. Perrozi did not want her to leave, did not want to leave her presence. Dimly, he realized that if Ballast was down here, it was either her doing, or something she condoned. And, something about that ought to bother him, but it was hard for him to remember what. Milady climbed out with a liquid sort of agility.
After she was out of sight, there came, again, a sudden sharp clearing of Perrozi's mind. He turned to the gargoyle. If it was possible for something carved of marble to look relieved, Ballast was doing just that. The border terrier turned back and saw the gargoyle trying to stretch a wing in the low-ceilinged confines of the hold. The unblinking opals regarded Perrozi with a baleful air.
For the first time, Perrozi started to worry about what kind of person his father had been. "Did a dog furre put you down here?" He was relieved when Ballast shook his head no. "Why do they keep you here?" Perrozi asked.
Ballast grated, "Lift." With stubby-fingered paws, he indicated the hull of the Millarca. Something the gargoyle did was the source of the schooner's remarkable speed. The chains went right into the hull. If the gargoyle was able to raise the ship from the sea, setting him free probably meant somehow shattering the timbers. Without the ship, how could Perrozi recover whatever his father had left him?
Although the gargoyle was not really a furre, Perrozi still knew in his heart that this was not right. It was slavery. Slavery was against the king's law, was it not? He was sure that good King Constantine would not stand for this, if he knew... but the king and all his be-robed mages and fancy knights were not here. "I'll break you out of here," Perrozi whispered to the stone creature. "I don't know how, but I will." He patted Ballast on the arm and left the hold.
Milady proved to be a most skillful physicker. Loquacious Jake lay under a blanket, dreaming peacefully, his wounds bandaged. Milady was also a very skilled sailor. She ran the sail back up and steered a course by the stars. How she knew where they presently were, Perrozi had no idea.
After a dipper of fresh, clean water from a small barrel, the terrier wedged himself into the prow of the ship, curled up and thinking. Captain Jake, he decided, might be skillful and brave and clever, but he was also ruthless and would care about somebody only when there was something to gain. Milady seemed to be the same way.
They clearly wanted Perrozi for something. But what? What proof was there that Jake had even known his father at all...? Perrozi found himself questioning every word Jake had ever spoken.
Chapter 4: Milady
Now the schooner was adrift. It rocked from side to side, heaved about by the tireless waves. On deck, Loquacious Jake's lanky form lay sprawled and unmoving. While the sun was setting, the direction of west was known, but there was no way to know which direction to proceed.
The ship's tiller was tied in place. Although it was possible to sail the schooner alone, it had to have been difficult. Perrozi knew he himself could not do it. What had happened to the crew? And, what had happened to his father?
Although Perrozi knew a little about sailing, he knew nothing of physicking. He feared the captain would be dead long before morning, and there seemed nothing he could do. Hoping the sea-chest might hold answers, Perrozi dove through the contents with more care. He had found one artifact; he allowed himself to hope for more.
Amidst velvet and silk, the canine youth found a number of precious things. There was a small goblet of solid gold, heavy gems studding its sides. There was a necklace of clear blue stones,also held together by gold. Poor as he was, it never entered Perrozi's mind to take them for his own. He put the magical blue buckler back where he had found it.
Most important of all, though, he found a tube of blackened bronze, splotched with beautiful blue-green tarnish. The young dog uncapped it and slid out a map. He couldn't read the words but he could recognize a coastline and a drawing of a large city, presumably Malgrave. Several things were marked on the map in charcoal rather than ink.
The sun melted to a red oblong, and neither shorebird nor shore gave any clue as to where Millarca was meandering. The cloak of night was drawn across the sky. Perrozi shivered. He took a large scarf of silk and wrapped it around his torso like a toga. Despite its feather-light quality, it was quite warm.
From the open hatch came faint sounds of movement. There was a scrape of wood and a rattle of heavy chains. The dogfurre remembered the gargoyle locked up in the stinking hold, and rushed down the ladder.
Perrozi could hardly see anything; he called out, "Ballast?" The gargoyle's eyes like glowing bluish opals opened, casting dim light on a terrifying sight. Too late, he realized the noise he had taken for the lapping of bilge was slurping. A female furre, clad in some sort of very elegant pleated gown, crouched on the remains of the merfurre, her long tail waving above her haunches. She looked like a primitive cross between several sorts of furre, a cougar-like face with a large dog nose, and a weasel-ish slinky body. She was emaciated, and her lips were black. The copious blood of a severed artery covered her muzzle and dripped down her chin. Perhaps the worst of it was that she was smiling with bloody teeth, and she looked so happy about it. "A vampire!" Perrozi gasped.
Ballast lowered its great head in respectful obeisance, then it grated under its breath, "Bow..." Perrozi thought he detected some anxiety in the creature's voice.
Perrozi followed Ballast's advice and bowed. He was an orphan of the docks; it was a clumsy bow, done too fast and without grace. Still, the gesture had a good effect.
As if she were not standing ankle-deep in bad-smelling muck, as if she had not just been caught sucking greedily at the dead mer's throat, the vampire furre stood up and curtseyed cordially. She spoke in a heart-meltingly sweet voice: "I see Jacob found thee. Didst thou bring the knife?"
"Yes..." and he added, "Milady." because it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The more he looked at her, the less brutish she appeared. She seemed pretty, and nice. Like a pupil with a crush on teacher, he wanted her to think well of him. "I have it here. Want to see it?" He hoped she did.
As if this was funny, the vampiress said, "Oh, no, thou must carry it. So we can find thy father's treasure. Now, where is Jacob?"
Perrozi blinked, realizing she was speaking of Captain Jake. Sudden as the popping of a soap bubble, the dire events of the previous day returned to him. "-He's on deck. He's hurt bad. Can you help him?"
"Yes, pet. I am a doctor, know thou." Milady picked up her skirts and made her way to the ladder, ignoring Ballast. Perrozi did not want her to leave, did not want to leave her presence. Dimly, he realized that if Ballast was down here, it was either her doing, or something she condoned. And, something about that ought to bother him, but it was hard for him to remember what. Milady climbed out with a liquid sort of agility.
After she was out of sight, there came, again, a sudden sharp clearing of Perrozi's mind. He turned to the gargoyle. If it was possible for something carved of marble to look relieved, Ballast was doing just that. The border terrier turned back and saw the gargoyle trying to stretch a wing in the low-ceilinged confines of the hold. The unblinking opals regarded Perrozi with a baleful air.
For the first time, Perrozi started to worry about what kind of person his father had been. "Did a dog furre put you down here?" He was relieved when Ballast shook his head no. "Why do they keep you here?" Perrozi asked.
Ballast grated, "Lift." With stubby-fingered paws, he indicated the hull of the Millarca. Something the gargoyle did was the source of the schooner's remarkable speed. The chains went right into the hull. If the gargoyle was able to raise the ship from the sea, setting him free probably meant somehow shattering the timbers. Without the ship, how could Perrozi recover whatever his father had left him?
Although the gargoyle was not really a furre, Perrozi still knew in his heart that this was not right. It was slavery. Slavery was against the king's law, was it not? He was sure that good King Constantine would not stand for this, if he knew... but the king and all his be-robed mages and fancy knights were not here. "I'll break you out of here," Perrozi whispered to the stone creature. "I don't know how, but I will." He patted Ballast on the arm and left the hold.
Milady proved to be a most skillful physicker. Loquacious Jake lay under a blanket, dreaming peacefully, his wounds bandaged. Milady was also a very skilled sailor. She ran the sail back up and steered a course by the stars. How she knew where they presently were, Perrozi had no idea.
After a dipper of fresh, clean water from a small barrel, the terrier wedged himself into the prow of the ship, curled up and thinking. Captain Jake, he decided, might be skillful and brave and clever, but he was also ruthless and would care about somebody only when there was something to gain. Milady seemed to be the same way.
They clearly wanted Perrozi for something. But what? What proof was there that Jake had even known his father at all...? Perrozi found himself questioning every word Jake had ever spoken.
Chapter V
Chapter 5: O, Fortunate Maiden!
By day, the schooner was left adrift, and all slept. At night, Milady came up from the hold reeking of death. Milady gave commands that sounded like mild suggestions, then Jake gave orders to Perrozi.
To the gargoyle down below, Milady would merely say, "Raise the ship." The chains would go taut and entire craft would rise half a meter. Each dawn, Ballast would let the ship drop back down, then curl forwards and pass out, exhausted and weak as a baby.
Loquacious Jake sat propped against the mast, his jacket mended and his shirt open in front in the fashion of a rake. The urchin spine wound and the bite on his thigh were healing slowly. Much of the work of sailing was up to the terrier. Some tasks Perrozi did not yet have the strength to do alone, so he and Jake did them together.
Each sundown, Perrozi prayed to Dahlsea for safety by tying three knots in a strip of cloth. He whispered his wishes to the Prime of the Seas as he did so, then cast it into the water. As the wind whipped about the tattered hem of her long dress, Milady watched, bemused.
Loquacious Jake, however, sneered, and said, "Ye ought to drop that silly superstition, lad."
Perrozi's ears lowered, his tail tucked, and he felt very uncomfortable. It was plainly evil to try to separate a furre and his faith. But, what should he expect from one who consorted with a vampire?
With hands imperiously perched on the edge of the ship's wheel, Milady said, "Leave off, thou! What harm's there in a prayer?"
Jake said, "'Tis a superstition, and such are traps for the mind. They say a knot-cloth won't work unless ye hold the belief that it works. So the lad's got to tell himself it is a truth, right from the start."
"And how does that harm anyone...?" the vampiress pressed on.
The dark deer replied, "He has no way to tell if the superstition be workin' or not. When it fails, he can either blame himself, thinkin' he did it wrong somehow, or he can tell himself he ain't done it enough. He's no choice but to throw more bloody knot-cloths into the water for the rest of his life!"
Milady said soothingly, "It matters not if he throweth one or a thousand, Jacob. Leave him be." Her voice was melodious and clear in the night.
Perrozi glanced at the lean captain, who looked about to argue. Male deer were known for their enjoyment of a good verbal sparring session. A moment later, though, Loquacious Jake was suddenly becalmed and smiling. He nodded to Milady and said, "Of course ye are right."
After Jake passed out from exhaustion, and Milady retired to below the deck, the dog had time to himself. He managed to find a fishing hook and some line wound around a stout length of stick, stashed in a chink at the aft. As the sun came up, he caught a fish he recognized as a rock frannard. For fear the Primes would think him ungrateful and withdraw their favor, Perrozi whispered a rhyming couplet to thank Dahlsea and Jemmion.
Without a fire, Perrozi had to eat the fish raw, which was not so bad now that he was very hungry. He and Jake both ate dry sailor's crackers. As they were made with a lot of dried green grass, Perrozi found them unpleasant.
There came numerous signs they were approaching the shore. A gull piped shrilly as it circled them. Gloppy green seaweed, sometimes tangled up with bits of wood, drifted by. Jake used a slim pole tipped with a hook to bring it aboard, and he ate the seaweed with gusto. Perrozi declined the deer's invitation to share it.
Milady brought out the map from the case and showed them where they were headed. She said, "This bay here has an old village. They pay no homage to the crown and they ask no questions. We will stop there for supplies." She turned to Perrozi and said, "You will tell no one about me, do you understand?" She looked at him the way she sometimes looked at Captain Jake, her eyes like wild honey, or dark amber, filling him with a sense of well-being.
Perrozi found himself saying, "Yes, Milady."
Distinctive in its disrepair, the Millarca drifted into port in the dead of night. There were a dozen fishing boats and another schooner at the docks, which seemed deserted. An elderly lady rat sold them everything they wanted except for tar and paint. She told them the furre who sold that was at the center of town for a big ritual.
Leaning on the fishing hook for a staff, the dark deer limped along the boardwalk. Perrozi followed him. They walked between neat buildings made of whitewashed wood. Their ears soon picked up the sound of a crowd gabbling excitedly.
A ring of stones surrounded a pile of wood. Rising up from the center of it was a long post. A female furre, some kind of brown-striped orange feline about seventeen summers in age, was struggling there, her wrists bound to a spike well above her head. Over some sort of noble's tunic and breeches, she wore a lacy yellow bridal gown decorated with pearly disks of shell. Her hair was very long and dark red and had nearly come free of its customary braid.
Perrozi whispered to Loquacious Jake, "Is she a witch?"
"Nay," replied the captain. "Methinks she is just a sacrifice." Killing furres in a ritual was against the King's law but in out-of-the-way places, old ways might continue if most of the people still accepted them.
Shocked by this, Perrozi whispered, "Are they starving...?"
The deer put a finger to his lips, "Shh."
The crowd fell silent when a well-dressed badger in robes mounted a nearby platform. He read from a book. He was saying, "Verily, her mortal form shall fall away as ashes. Her spirit shall rise up as smoke. Blessed is the bride given unto Morauz. O, fortunate maiden!"
Familiar with the rite, the local folk chanted, "O, fortunate maiden!" Their voices were charged with feeling. The crowd parted to let two respected villagers through. They were probably the local tavern owner and a senior shipwright, to judge by their clothing. They came forwards, a keg held between them.
Now the priest badger was speaking from memory, with no real need of the book in his paws, "Praise to thee, Morauz, who causes the river to seek the sea. Praise to thee, Morauz, who makes the trees grow into the shapes of timber. You send the rain to make the fields fertile; you give us the crab and the lobster to eat; praise to thee, Morauz!"
Overcome by emotion, an old woman furre burst out with a spontaneous wail of "Praise Morauz!"
The pair of furres bearing the tot of liquor removed its fist-sized cork, then sloshed the contents onto the dry wood. The smell of potent brandy filled the air.
A little girl pony with flowers in her mane had the honor of carrying the torch. It was made of pitch on a bundle of reeds bound with colorful ribbons. The assembly parted again, and she ran straight for the alcohol-doused pyre.
Chapter 5: O, Fortunate Maiden!
By day, the schooner was left adrift, and all slept. At night, Milady came up from the hold reeking of death. Milady gave commands that sounded like mild suggestions, then Jake gave orders to Perrozi.
To the gargoyle down below, Milady would merely say, "Raise the ship." The chains would go taut and entire craft would rise half a meter. Each dawn, Ballast would let the ship drop back down, then curl forwards and pass out, exhausted and weak as a baby.
Loquacious Jake sat propped against the mast, his jacket mended and his shirt open in front in the fashion of a rake. The urchin spine wound and the bite on his thigh were healing slowly. Much of the work of sailing was up to the terrier. Some tasks Perrozi did not yet have the strength to do alone, so he and Jake did them together.
Each sundown, Perrozi prayed to Dahlsea for safety by tying three knots in a strip of cloth. He whispered his wishes to the Prime of the Seas as he did so, then cast it into the water. As the wind whipped about the tattered hem of her long dress, Milady watched, bemused.
Loquacious Jake, however, sneered, and said, "Ye ought to drop that silly superstition, lad."
Perrozi's ears lowered, his tail tucked, and he felt very uncomfortable. It was plainly evil to try to separate a furre and his faith. But, what should he expect from one who consorted with a vampire?
With hands imperiously perched on the edge of the ship's wheel, Milady said, "Leave off, thou! What harm's there in a prayer?"
Jake said, "'Tis a superstition, and such are traps for the mind. They say a knot-cloth won't work unless ye hold the belief that it works. So the lad's got to tell himself it is a truth, right from the start."
"And how does that harm anyone...?" the vampiress pressed on.
The dark deer replied, "He has no way to tell if the superstition be workin' or not. When it fails, he can either blame himself, thinkin' he did it wrong somehow, or he can tell himself he ain't done it enough. He's no choice but to throw more bloody knot-cloths into the water for the rest of his life!"
Milady said soothingly, "It matters not if he throweth one or a thousand, Jacob. Leave him be." Her voice was melodious and clear in the night.
Perrozi glanced at the lean captain, who looked about to argue. Male deer were known for their enjoyment of a good verbal sparring session. A moment later, though, Loquacious Jake was suddenly becalmed and smiling. He nodded to Milady and said, "Of course ye are right."
After Jake passed out from exhaustion, and Milady retired to below the deck, the dog had time to himself. He managed to find a fishing hook and some line wound around a stout length of stick, stashed in a chink at the aft. As the sun came up, he caught a fish he recognized as a rock frannard. For fear the Primes would think him ungrateful and withdraw their favor, Perrozi whispered a rhyming couplet to thank Dahlsea and Jemmion.
Without a fire, Perrozi had to eat the fish raw, which was not so bad now that he was very hungry. He and Jake both ate dry sailor's crackers. As they were made with a lot of dried green grass, Perrozi found them unpleasant.
There came numerous signs they were approaching the shore. A gull piped shrilly as it circled them. Gloppy green seaweed, sometimes tangled up with bits of wood, drifted by. Jake used a slim pole tipped with a hook to bring it aboard, and he ate the seaweed with gusto. Perrozi declined the deer's invitation to share it.
Milady brought out the map from the case and showed them where they were headed. She said, "This bay here has an old village. They pay no homage to the crown and they ask no questions. We will stop there for supplies." She turned to Perrozi and said, "You will tell no one about me, do you understand?" She looked at him the way she sometimes looked at Captain Jake, her eyes like wild honey, or dark amber, filling him with a sense of well-being.
Perrozi found himself saying, "Yes, Milady."
Distinctive in its disrepair, the Millarca drifted into port in the dead of night. There were a dozen fishing boats and another schooner at the docks, which seemed deserted. An elderly lady rat sold them everything they wanted except for tar and paint. She told them the furre who sold that was at the center of town for a big ritual.
Leaning on the fishing hook for a staff, the dark deer limped along the boardwalk. Perrozi followed him. They walked between neat buildings made of whitewashed wood. Their ears soon picked up the sound of a crowd gabbling excitedly.
A ring of stones surrounded a pile of wood. Rising up from the center of it was a long post. A female furre, some kind of brown-striped orange feline about seventeen summers in age, was struggling there, her wrists bound to a spike well above her head. Over some sort of noble's tunic and breeches, she wore a lacy yellow bridal gown decorated with pearly disks of shell. Her hair was very long and dark red and had nearly come free of its customary braid.
Perrozi whispered to Loquacious Jake, "Is she a witch?"
"Nay," replied the captain. "Methinks she is just a sacrifice." Killing furres in a ritual was against the King's law but in out-of-the-way places, old ways might continue if most of the people still accepted them.
Shocked by this, Perrozi whispered, "Are they starving...?"
The deer put a finger to his lips, "Shh."
The crowd fell silent when a well-dressed badger in robes mounted a nearby platform. He read from a book. He was saying, "Verily, her mortal form shall fall away as ashes. Her spirit shall rise up as smoke. Blessed is the bride given unto Morauz. O, fortunate maiden!"
Familiar with the rite, the local folk chanted, "O, fortunate maiden!" Their voices were charged with feeling. The crowd parted to let two respected villagers through. They were probably the local tavern owner and a senior shipwright, to judge by their clothing. They came forwards, a keg held between them.
Now the priest badger was speaking from memory, with no real need of the book in his paws, "Praise to thee, Morauz, who causes the river to seek the sea. Praise to thee, Morauz, who makes the trees grow into the shapes of timber. You send the rain to make the fields fertile; you give us the crab and the lobster to eat; praise to thee, Morauz!"
Overcome by emotion, an old woman furre burst out with a spontaneous wail of "Praise Morauz!"
The pair of furres bearing the tot of liquor removed its fist-sized cork, then sloshed the contents onto the dry wood. The smell of potent brandy filled the air.
A little girl pony with flowers in her mane had the honor of carrying the torch. It was made of pitch on a bundle of reeds bound with colorful ribbons. The assembly parted again, and she ran straight for the alcohol-doused pyre.
Chapter VI
Chapter 6: A Blazing Exit
There was little time to think and no time to discuss. "Seize the child!" whispered Captain Jake as he put his bandit's kerchief on over his muzzle. With Perrozi in the lead, they moved out into the aisle that had opened to allow the torch-bearing girl.
This action was so unexpected that nobody stopped them. Perrozi picked the little one up from behind. She shrieked and nearly set his shin on fire. Despite his limp, Jake reached them swiftly. He seized the torch from the child, and brandished his cutlass. Loudly, he growled, "Back off, all of ye, lest I gut her!"
A mare furre in the crowd cried out, "Do as he says!" Muttering darkly, the villagers stepped back. The two holding the brandy keg threw it onto the pyre and turned to face these heretics. The mare pleaded, "My lord-- please!"
Perrozi had to admit that when Loquacious Jake wanted to, he could sound like a wolf or a hound. His boots and tail-covering waistcoat added to the illusion, and he had no horns to give him away. Jake snarled, "Set the lass free." as he pointed with his sword.
The tavern-keeper (a bull) frowned as he took his knife out. He climbed onto the woodpile and cut the ropes. Like a stone in an avalanche, the orange lady cat bounded down the heap, her skirts held up in her hands. She ran for Perrozi and Jake. Her mouth was still gagged.
Not quite satisfied, the half-masked captain said, "Now all of ye are going to run to yonder tavern, right now, and get inside!" He was so vehement, and sounded so imperious and savage, that no one doubted that he could slice the little girl to pieces if he so chose. "Do that and ye will find her on the docks."
"Do as he says!" bellowed the tavern-keeper. The mare led the stampede for the building. The priest hesitated until the tavern-keeper nudged him, and, as the latter held a blade, this was an especially bad time to disagree. The little pony girlchild whimpered in fear.
Confident and feeling like a hero, Perrozi whispered to her, "We won't hurt you." Confused and upset, she said nothing, but simply broke out into bawling.
She was getting too heavy to hold so he set her on her feet and held her wrist gently but firmly with both his paws. After the villagers had entered the building, and the door slammed shut, the four furres made their way to the docks.
Seen up-close, the freed sacrifice was bedraggled but pretty. The bonds at her wrists had left raw scrapes, swollen from her thrashing about earlier. She commented, "Mmph!" After a moment of struggle, she pushed the shell-adorned dress up and over her head, and left it on the dusty road behind them.
They reached the Millarca soon enough. Perrozi released the little horse.
She scampered off a ways, then turned and screamed, "Morauz will GET you!" Then she turned and continued running.
"Get aboard, please," said Jake to the feline female. He cut the ribbons on the torch, then divided it up, handing half to Perrozi. "Burn all the ships," Jake commanded.
"What?!" Perrozi yelped, his voice breaking. Most of the craft they could see were small, so he knew there was nobody aboard- but the idea of destroying the precious vessels was still horrible to him. The terrier shook his head, "They're just ordinary people. They need their boats, Jake!"
"They'll be after us in those boats, me lad." said the deer. "Or using them to seek help from other places on the coast. No guessing what lies they'll spread." When he saw Perrozi's tormented expression, he decided to try another tack. "They each had a part in tryin' to murder yonder orange lady."
After a moment's thought, Perrozi decided Jake was right. The principle of preserving the property of others came second to that of saving their own lives. That the people seemed to deserve punishment helped ease his conscience. The dog yelled and whooped "Ahoy there! Hello?!". Then, satisfied that there was nobody aboard, he set the other schooner ablaze.
By the time he was safely aboard the Millarca, the harbor was a row of burning tipping masts. Jake steered from a seated position, and Perrozi had to be his eyes to get them out of the mostly-enclosed bay harbor. When they were many knots' distance safely out to sea, Jake had them take down the sails. The dark deer limped to the covered part of the ship and lay down, exhausted.
Perrozi stared out at the waves, still feeling a bit sorry for the fisherfolk. He decided it was not their fault that they held such strange beliefs.
A faintly angry boyish girl's voice behind him brought Perrozi out of his moment of regret. "They have been doing that every year for three years. I was to be the fourth 'bride'." Perrozi turned and saw the orange cat lady. Her accent was highborn. They spoke without contractions. When she had eye-contact, her wrath faded and she said, "Thank you for what you did. My name is Zeliandra."
The terrier nodded, and said, "It would have been awful if they had burned you..."
Zeliandra smiled. She said, "What is your name?" Perrozi had not been around many nobles. Her crisp, clipped speech sounded odd to him.
"Perrozi, ma'am." he replied.
"My father will reward you," Zeliandra continued. "A new ship, if that is what you wish."
A reward was a wonderful thought. Perrozi's face lit up. "Your father must really be worried about you."
Zeliandra's smile shifted to look more cynical. "I am from a big family. I was not missed." She wrung her hands a bit. "Is there anything I can help with while I am here?"
The canine youth pondered. "Do you know how to sail?"
"Not a bit," Zeliandra admitted. "I can sew, I can weave, I can read, I can identify a knight by their shield..."
"Oh!" Perrozi said, "There's a map. I want to know what it says, maybe you can help me." Taking care not to wake Loquacious Jake, Perrozi fetched the dark metal scroll-case out of the sea chest. They moved away so they could speak over it.
Perrozi explained, "There's a rich lady sleeping in the hold and she navigates at night. She's doesn't want anyone to see her. This is her map."
Zeliandra nodded, and studied the charcoal. "Here is Malgrave. There is Kell, and the Tower of the Magi, and Falbert." Perrozi nodded; he had heard of them all. She continued, "Here is Drayvert, where you picked me up." She squinted, markings like gullwing eyebrows lowering in a faint frown. "What is this speck off the coast of Harfang? I have seen maps before, but this is not on them. It says 'Fumet Island'." It had been drawn in with charcoal.
"I've not heard of it," Perrozi said. "We're on our way to where my father hid his treasures. They say he was a smuggler." The brown wing-like smudges over Zeliandra's eyes rose and her ears went back a bit, at the word.
Chapter 6: A Blazing Exit
There was little time to think and no time to discuss. "Seize the child!" whispered Captain Jake as he put his bandit's kerchief on over his muzzle. With Perrozi in the lead, they moved out into the aisle that had opened to allow the torch-bearing girl.
This action was so unexpected that nobody stopped them. Perrozi picked the little one up from behind. She shrieked and nearly set his shin on fire. Despite his limp, Jake reached them swiftly. He seized the torch from the child, and brandished his cutlass. Loudly, he growled, "Back off, all of ye, lest I gut her!"
A mare furre in the crowd cried out, "Do as he says!" Muttering darkly, the villagers stepped back. The two holding the brandy keg threw it onto the pyre and turned to face these heretics. The mare pleaded, "My lord-- please!"
Perrozi had to admit that when Loquacious Jake wanted to, he could sound like a wolf or a hound. His boots and tail-covering waistcoat added to the illusion, and he had no horns to give him away. Jake snarled, "Set the lass free." as he pointed with his sword.
The tavern-keeper (a bull) frowned as he took his knife out. He climbed onto the woodpile and cut the ropes. Like a stone in an avalanche, the orange lady cat bounded down the heap, her skirts held up in her hands. She ran for Perrozi and Jake. Her mouth was still gagged.
Not quite satisfied, the half-masked captain said, "Now all of ye are going to run to yonder tavern, right now, and get inside!" He was so vehement, and sounded so imperious and savage, that no one doubted that he could slice the little girl to pieces if he so chose. "Do that and ye will find her on the docks."
"Do as he says!" bellowed the tavern-keeper. The mare led the stampede for the building. The priest hesitated until the tavern-keeper nudged him, and, as the latter held a blade, this was an especially bad time to disagree. The little pony girlchild whimpered in fear.
Confident and feeling like a hero, Perrozi whispered to her, "We won't hurt you." Confused and upset, she said nothing, but simply broke out into bawling.
She was getting too heavy to hold so he set her on her feet and held her wrist gently but firmly with both his paws. After the villagers had entered the building, and the door slammed shut, the four furres made their way to the docks.
Seen up-close, the freed sacrifice was bedraggled but pretty. The bonds at her wrists had left raw scrapes, swollen from her thrashing about earlier. She commented, "Mmph!" After a moment of struggle, she pushed the shell-adorned dress up and over her head, and left it on the dusty road behind them.
They reached the Millarca soon enough. Perrozi released the little horse.
She scampered off a ways, then turned and screamed, "Morauz will GET you!" Then she turned and continued running.
"Get aboard, please," said Jake to the feline female. He cut the ribbons on the torch, then divided it up, handing half to Perrozi. "Burn all the ships," Jake commanded.
"What?!" Perrozi yelped, his voice breaking. Most of the craft they could see were small, so he knew there was nobody aboard- but the idea of destroying the precious vessels was still horrible to him. The terrier shook his head, "They're just ordinary people. They need their boats, Jake!"
"They'll be after us in those boats, me lad." said the deer. "Or using them to seek help from other places on the coast. No guessing what lies they'll spread." When he saw Perrozi's tormented expression, he decided to try another tack. "They each had a part in tryin' to murder yonder orange lady."
After a moment's thought, Perrozi decided Jake was right. The principle of preserving the property of others came second to that of saving their own lives. That the people seemed to deserve punishment helped ease his conscience. The dog yelled and whooped "Ahoy there! Hello?!". Then, satisfied that there was nobody aboard, he set the other schooner ablaze.
By the time he was safely aboard the Millarca, the harbor was a row of burning tipping masts. Jake steered from a seated position, and Perrozi had to be his eyes to get them out of the mostly-enclosed bay harbor. When they were many knots' distance safely out to sea, Jake had them take down the sails. The dark deer limped to the covered part of the ship and lay down, exhausted.
Perrozi stared out at the waves, still feeling a bit sorry for the fisherfolk. He decided it was not their fault that they held such strange beliefs.
A faintly angry boyish girl's voice behind him brought Perrozi out of his moment of regret. "They have been doing that every year for three years. I was to be the fourth 'bride'." Perrozi turned and saw the orange cat lady. Her accent was highborn. They spoke without contractions. When she had eye-contact, her wrath faded and she said, "Thank you for what you did. My name is Zeliandra."
The terrier nodded, and said, "It would have been awful if they had burned you..."
Zeliandra smiled. She said, "What is your name?" Perrozi had not been around many nobles. Her crisp, clipped speech sounded odd to him.
"Perrozi, ma'am." he replied.
"My father will reward you," Zeliandra continued. "A new ship, if that is what you wish."
A reward was a wonderful thought. Perrozi's face lit up. "Your father must really be worried about you."
Zeliandra's smile shifted to look more cynical. "I am from a big family. I was not missed." She wrung her hands a bit. "Is there anything I can help with while I am here?"
The canine youth pondered. "Do you know how to sail?"
"Not a bit," Zeliandra admitted. "I can sew, I can weave, I can read, I can identify a knight by their shield..."
"Oh!" Perrozi said, "There's a map. I want to know what it says, maybe you can help me." Taking care not to wake Loquacious Jake, Perrozi fetched the dark metal scroll-case out of the sea chest. They moved away so they could speak over it.
Perrozi explained, "There's a rich lady sleeping in the hold and she navigates at night. She's doesn't want anyone to see her. This is her map."
Zeliandra nodded, and studied the charcoal. "Here is Malgrave. There is Kell, and the Tower of the Magi, and Falbert." Perrozi nodded; he had heard of them all. She continued, "Here is Drayvert, where you picked me up." She squinted, markings like gullwing eyebrows lowering in a faint frown. "What is this speck off the coast of Harfang? I have seen maps before, but this is not on them. It says 'Fumet Island'." It had been drawn in with charcoal.
"I've not heard of it," Perrozi said. "We're on our way to where my father hid his treasures. They say he was a smuggler." The brown wing-like smudges over Zeliandra's eyes rose and her ears went back a bit, at the word.
Chapter VII
Chapter 7: The Surfcutters
Perrozi said defensively, "I didn't get to choose who was my father."
Zeliandra lowered her eyes, an apology of sorts. "No, I understand. Believe me, I understand." She turned attention back to the map. There was a small paragraph of charcoal writing near where she indicated. The highborn orange feline read it aloud:
walk G W P
Raise gull stone. 1000 paces.
Me blood breaketh the seal.
The words were mysterious. Perrozi found the first line especially cryptic. "Walk gee, double you pee? The treasure is revealed by peeing?"
The lady remembered the boy did not read, and she kindly did not laugh at her rescuer. She explained, "G, W, and P are first letters of words, perhaps. They stand for something."
The air was growing cooler, a sign of the approach of night. Perrozi nodded, repeating it aloud softly to himself to commit it to memory. "Walk gee, double you pee."
Zeliandra tossed her hair and grinned. "Would you like to learn to read? It's not that hard."
"Sure," said Perrozi, his tail wagging. "Show me."
The young lady cat said, "Well, I need a charred stick first. Or a beach." They stopped there, because they had neither, and Perrozi put the map back. Then he led Zeliandra to where two large piles of ropes lay upon the deck. She could not tell how many different ropes there were; she counted at least eight frayed ends on one heap. They appeared to have been gnawed and cut in many places.
The terrier lad said, "Help me untangle the lines? Start with the ones in front of the the main mast."
"Which one is the main mast?" asked the orange lady.
Perrozi replied, "It's the the bigger and taller one at the back. The other is the forward mast. The foremast."
"Sensible names," said Zeliandra, and she knelt to get to work. The cords were as thick as three of her fingers together, and just moving the lengths paw over paw took effort.
Later, Zeliandra also helped with fishing, another task she had never done before. She was very excited as she pulled a struggling silver salmon from the brine. Perrozi cut up their catch with such speed that she was impressed, and said so.
The wind tangled her hair into unsightly mats and strings, and her shoulders and arms ached from working on the ropes, but she did not complain. She ate better than she had in weeks, and slept soundly through each night. It did not escape the captain's notice that the cat and dog were working well together, and the ropes had gone into neat bundles quickly.
Loquacious Jake had recovered well, and had a craving for fresh greens. He announced, "There should be no one on this stretch of shore for many miles. Still, I'll be keeping watch at night." They eased the Millarca into a sandy bay and dropped anchor.
Zeliandra turned out to be a competent swimmer. Jake gave Zeliandra a tinder box and told her to find them chunks of driftwood for a fire. Then he went back to the ship. Perrozi guessed the captain wished to secretly speak with Milady.
Once ashore, Perrozi's task was to dig up fresh shellfish. He showed Zeliandra the little tell-tale bubbles in the wet sand that betrayed the presence of clams. The dog had a good time digging them up with his short strong claws.
Past afternoons spent learning the herbal lore of Kasuria paid off for Zeliandra. Not only did she get the firepit ready, she found the edible greens to put together a big salad.
The captain was delighted. After a savory meal, including slightly sweet roasted clams for the carnivores, Loquacious Jake leaned back against a tree and said, "Are ye eager to go home, miss?"
Zeliandra said, "I am from Malgrave. My father will reward you well for my safe return."
The dark deer noticed that she had dodged his question. He said, "Although a reward appeals, I don't want the Millarca to be seen in her current condition; she's too distinct, and there are certain parties far too interested in her whereabouts and that of a certain dark, handsome, and eloquent deer." Jake went on smoothly, "We're short of paws aboard the Millarca and I'd welcome ye on our journey."
The orange she-cat thought about what he was saying. The captain was inviting her to join the crew. It was an exciting idea-- and she had to admit, she had never been happier than when she was aboard the schooner. So Zeliandra said, "It would be an honor, Captain Jake."
Jake did have a few reservations that he needed to express. "Still, I couldn't help but notice that ye are perhaps used t' finer accomodations... I can't afford to pay ye anything, as ye might've guessed." He looked at her with cold serious eyes. "And it can get dangerous upon the seas. This ship did not come to be this way all on its own."
Perrozi finally asked, "What happened?"
Jake took off his broadbrimmed hat. "The first strange thing was that the wind stopped. We were dead in the water. Then we heard a scratching all over the belly of the ship. Looking over the side, I saw ...things. They came up for air from time to time, then they disappeared below the waves to go back to their dastardly work."
Zeliandra asked, "What were they?"
Loquacious Jake sat up on the sand. He recalled, "They were long as me forearm. They had hard beaks, diamond-shaped flat tails, and fins like wings. I couldn't tell if they were birds or fish. Orrin (me second cousin) called 'em 'Surfcutters'." Jake took a deep breath, and his audience realized that the memory was a painful one. "Orrin was a mage, an' he cast some kind of spell to stop 'em from bitin' the hull. So then they came flyin' through the air-- they tore our sails to shreds."
The terrier said, "And they chewed through our rigging?"
"Aye," said Jake. "But that's not all. They kept a-flyin' at a sailor-goat by the name of Donaire. When we saw they was after Donny, we formed a circle around 'im. I sliced a good number of 'em out of the air with me cutlass. To get to Donny, they tore up Arrowvine, then Hearty Henna, then they got Remm, even though he was a mighty leopard." He paused, then went on. "Perrozi's father, Orrin, an' me was covered in cuts an' blood; we tried to stop 'em but more kept a-comin'. The damned things chewed Donny to a skeleton. Then, all of a sudden, they all fell dead!" With regret in his normally chill eyes, Jake added, "Orrin died in the night, an' after that, it was just the captain an' me."
Perrozi believed the tale was true, yet he had a hard time finding this tale of bird-fish frightening. Zeliandra, on the other paw, looked a bit shaken. She said, "That is very powerful and dark magic. Why were they after Donny, Captain?"
Jake realized he had little choice but to explain more. He took out his bottle, chugged a sizable swig of whisky, wiped his muzzle with the back of a paw and kept talking. "There was a storm and we saw a beached wreck from a ways off. So we paddled a dinghy for a closer look. The tide went out, then we could see four crates held down by a chain. Some kind of clay seal covered a big padlock."
The younger furres listened carefully. Jake continued, "Donaire was talented with a pick, so he went up with a rock in paw. When he smashed the seal, there was a little flash of light but we all thought it was just the rock hitting the metal. Donny opened the lock so we could take the crates. And that would be your father's legacy."
"What? What was in them?" Perrozi yelped most curiously.
"Yes! what was in the crates?" echoed Zeliandra.
Chapter 7: The Surfcutters
Perrozi said defensively, "I didn't get to choose who was my father."
Zeliandra lowered her eyes, an apology of sorts. "No, I understand. Believe me, I understand." She turned attention back to the map. There was a small paragraph of charcoal writing near where she indicated. The highborn orange feline read it aloud:
walk G W P
Raise gull stone. 1000 paces.
Me blood breaketh the seal.
The words were mysterious. Perrozi found the first line especially cryptic. "Walk gee, double you pee? The treasure is revealed by peeing?"
The lady remembered the boy did not read, and she kindly did not laugh at her rescuer. She explained, "G, W, and P are first letters of words, perhaps. They stand for something."
The air was growing cooler, a sign of the approach of night. Perrozi nodded, repeating it aloud softly to himself to commit it to memory. "Walk gee, double you pee."
Zeliandra tossed her hair and grinned. "Would you like to learn to read? It's not that hard."
"Sure," said Perrozi, his tail wagging. "Show me."
The young lady cat said, "Well, I need a charred stick first. Or a beach." They stopped there, because they had neither, and Perrozi put the map back. Then he led Zeliandra to where two large piles of ropes lay upon the deck. She could not tell how many different ropes there were; she counted at least eight frayed ends on one heap. They appeared to have been gnawed and cut in many places.
The terrier lad said, "Help me untangle the lines? Start with the ones in front of the the main mast."
"Which one is the main mast?" asked the orange lady.
Perrozi replied, "It's the the bigger and taller one at the back. The other is the forward mast. The foremast."
"Sensible names," said Zeliandra, and she knelt to get to work. The cords were as thick as three of her fingers together, and just moving the lengths paw over paw took effort.
Later, Zeliandra also helped with fishing, another task she had never done before. She was very excited as she pulled a struggling silver salmon from the brine. Perrozi cut up their catch with such speed that she was impressed, and said so.
The wind tangled her hair into unsightly mats and strings, and her shoulders and arms ached from working on the ropes, but she did not complain. She ate better than she had in weeks, and slept soundly through each night. It did not escape the captain's notice that the cat and dog were working well together, and the ropes had gone into neat bundles quickly.
Loquacious Jake had recovered well, and had a craving for fresh greens. He announced, "There should be no one on this stretch of shore for many miles. Still, I'll be keeping watch at night." They eased the Millarca into a sandy bay and dropped anchor.
Zeliandra turned out to be a competent swimmer. Jake gave Zeliandra a tinder box and told her to find them chunks of driftwood for a fire. Then he went back to the ship. Perrozi guessed the captain wished to secretly speak with Milady.
Once ashore, Perrozi's task was to dig up fresh shellfish. He showed Zeliandra the little tell-tale bubbles in the wet sand that betrayed the presence of clams. The dog had a good time digging them up with his short strong claws.
Past afternoons spent learning the herbal lore of Kasuria paid off for Zeliandra. Not only did she get the firepit ready, she found the edible greens to put together a big salad.
The captain was delighted. After a savory meal, including slightly sweet roasted clams for the carnivores, Loquacious Jake leaned back against a tree and said, "Are ye eager to go home, miss?"
Zeliandra said, "I am from Malgrave. My father will reward you well for my safe return."
The dark deer noticed that she had dodged his question. He said, "Although a reward appeals, I don't want the Millarca to be seen in her current condition; she's too distinct, and there are certain parties far too interested in her whereabouts and that of a certain dark, handsome, and eloquent deer." Jake went on smoothly, "We're short of paws aboard the Millarca and I'd welcome ye on our journey."
The orange she-cat thought about what he was saying. The captain was inviting her to join the crew. It was an exciting idea-- and she had to admit, she had never been happier than when she was aboard the schooner. So Zeliandra said, "It would be an honor, Captain Jake."
Jake did have a few reservations that he needed to express. "Still, I couldn't help but notice that ye are perhaps used t' finer accomodations... I can't afford to pay ye anything, as ye might've guessed." He looked at her with cold serious eyes. "And it can get dangerous upon the seas. This ship did not come to be this way all on its own."
Perrozi finally asked, "What happened?"
Jake took off his broadbrimmed hat. "The first strange thing was that the wind stopped. We were dead in the water. Then we heard a scratching all over the belly of the ship. Looking over the side, I saw ...things. They came up for air from time to time, then they disappeared below the waves to go back to their dastardly work."
Zeliandra asked, "What were they?"
Loquacious Jake sat up on the sand. He recalled, "They were long as me forearm. They had hard beaks, diamond-shaped flat tails, and fins like wings. I couldn't tell if they were birds or fish. Orrin (me second cousin) called 'em 'Surfcutters'." Jake took a deep breath, and his audience realized that the memory was a painful one. "Orrin was a mage, an' he cast some kind of spell to stop 'em from bitin' the hull. So then they came flyin' through the air-- they tore our sails to shreds."
The terrier said, "And they chewed through our rigging?"
"Aye," said Jake. "But that's not all. They kept a-flyin' at a sailor-goat by the name of Donaire. When we saw they was after Donny, we formed a circle around 'im. I sliced a good number of 'em out of the air with me cutlass. To get to Donny, they tore up Arrowvine, then Hearty Henna, then they got Remm, even though he was a mighty leopard." He paused, then went on. "Perrozi's father, Orrin, an' me was covered in cuts an' blood; we tried to stop 'em but more kept a-comin'. The damned things chewed Donny to a skeleton. Then, all of a sudden, they all fell dead!" With regret in his normally chill eyes, Jake added, "Orrin died in the night, an' after that, it was just the captain an' me."
Perrozi believed the tale was true, yet he had a hard time finding this tale of bird-fish frightening. Zeliandra, on the other paw, looked a bit shaken. She said, "That is very powerful and dark magic. Why were they after Donny, Captain?"
Jake realized he had little choice but to explain more. He took out his bottle, chugged a sizable swig of whisky, wiped his muzzle with the back of a paw and kept talking. "There was a storm and we saw a beached wreck from a ways off. So we paddled a dinghy for a closer look. The tide went out, then we could see four crates held down by a chain. Some kind of clay seal covered a big padlock."
The younger furres listened carefully. Jake continued, "Donaire was talented with a pick, so he went up with a rock in paw. When he smashed the seal, there was a little flash of light but we all thought it was just the rock hitting the metal. Donny opened the lock so we could take the crates. And that would be your father's legacy."
"What? What was in them?" Perrozi yelped most curiously.
"Yes! what was in the crates?" echoed Zeliandra.
Chapter VIII
Chapter 8: Lacuna
A night breeze made the trees sway and rustle. The crackling fire cast merry glints across Loquacious Jake's dark eyes. "In the first chest there was a topaz, the color of fair honey. In the second was a ruby. In the third was a sapphire. And in the fourth was an emerald. They were round, and rough on the outside, mind ye. Big. The size of a pregnant lady's belly, by Dahlsea. Somebody had wrapped them in belts made of thousands o' little silver links. Each had a small padlock wi' a clay seal, just like the chain Donny had opened before. Enough booty to make us each rich as a Count."
Even the highborn Zeliandra was amazed at this wealth. The captain took another pull of the whiskey. "Ye believe me, do ye?" he asked the two.
"Yes, of course," said the terrier lad Perrozi. Doubt didn't come naturally to his mind but he did remember to be privately wary of what Jake said.
Zeliandra tossed her head to flick back auburn bangs that had gotten way too long, and smiled. "Gems the size of great melons? Show me one and I might."
Captain Jake took off his big wide hat and moved aside a flap of the silky lining. From this pocket he showed pieces of crystal, in four colors, roughly the size of the end of a spoon. They looked like uncut gems to Perrozi.
"Glass..." said Zeliandra, still dubious.
The captain took a chip colored like blood, and rubbed the edge on his bottle. He made a number of scratches and raised a bit of glass dust. Then he tossed the fragment to Zeliandra. "Here, keep this, my dear little lady." he said in a jovial way.
She examined the thing. Its razor thin edges were unharmed and still just as sharp. Only some kind of gem would do that to glass. Bunching her knees below her chin, Zeliandra said, "No wonder some wizard wants them back..."
A feeling of dread made Perrozi unpleasantly light-headed, and his fingertips went a bit clammy. He remembered the attack by the Merfurres had made him feel a little this way. He thought he did not want to be rich if it meant being pursued by a powerful and dangerous magus. Still, perhaps there was a chance the magical traps could be avoided. He took control of his anxiety and asked, "How can you get the locks open without getting cursed?"
Unconcerned, Jake smiled but his smile did not make Perrozi feel any better. The captain said, "I've got a plan, don't ye worry now. Ol' Jake knows just what to do. We need one more to help us. His name is Roshan; he's a reclusive scholar. They call him Dragoneyes."
"Why is that?" asked Zeliandra curiously.
"Because he has the eyes of a dragon, miss." Jake laughed, the whiskey making him feel more carefree than ever. "Ah, you'll see soon enough." They could get no more out of him because he passed out.
The crew spent another night at that spot and returned to the ship feeling well-rested. Days went by and there was smooth sailing. Zeliandra found time to teach Perrozi how to write the alphabet. Perrozi's charcoal scrawls covered little bits of the deck. He also learned a few of the shortest words.
Then, one night, there came a foggy night when the hatch of the ship came open with a bang and a stench rolled out across the deck. Zeliandra twitched awake and winced at the horrible odor. She sat up and looked around, the fur at her nape rising ticklishly of its own accord.
It was hard to see much in the darkness and mist. She looked around-- where was Perrozi? where was Jake? They were asleep nearby. She tried to whisper but, although she could feel the air moving thickly through her throat and lips, no whispers emerged.
In fact, there was no sound at all. Zeliandra had a fleeting thought that she was dreaming. Suddenly, there was someone right in front of her, a female furre with primal features, as if she had once been a brute living in a cave. Her skin clung to her bones like leather dried around sticks. Through holes in her tattered lace-trimmed under-dress Zeliandra saw ribs almost as clearly as if she had no skin.
The stranger's large eyes, nose and lips were black, and she had only the slightest wispy white fur over pale bluish skin. She was neither living nor dead, neither canine nor feline. Her pupils, contracted to dots, held supernatural green fire. Transfixed by the glistening eyes of the apparition, Zeliandra realized she herself was trembling violently.
"There, there," mouthed the ghastly creature, but that was no comfort. Cold leathery paws with retractile claws took hold of Zeliandra's shoulders. The emaciated womanfurre mouthed something Zeliandra couldn't hear, then drew back her dark lips to expose a row of teeth all shaped like little daggers. The gaping muzzle released a stench of rotting meat.
Zeliandra tried to close her eyes to this sight and found she couldn't. The orange cat expected to be bitten, and savagely gnawed. Instead, she felt awful stinging pains, in her eyes and inside her nose and beneath her tongue.
Then she saw fine streams of her own blood going straight out of her tear ducts, nostrils, and mouth. It flew in five straight wet strands, going into the demonic being's open mouth. Blood was being drawn out of her like thread. She had an eerie sense of some of her insides liquefying, and being slowly drained out of her.
Through it all, Zeliandra somehow became aware of a terrible hole in her attacker, an emptiness that her blood was going to fill, but there was also an unhealable wound, forever leaking. There came a knowledge that no matter how much the demoness drank, she could never be filled, would always be hungry, would thus always bring ruin and desolation to any that she came near.
Despair washed over Zeliandra. She felt as if she were realizing that she herself had just contracted a terrible disease from which she could never recover. She felt foul, unclean; she could not hate her attacker but somehow, she loathed herself. Her eyes, nose, and the inside of her mouth hurt terribly, becoming agony, and she still could not blink or move.
It all transpired without a hint of any noise. With no end in sight, these awful feelings could not lessen, could not fade. It was so irrational there was no way to reason past it.
The closest thing to hope was a dim notion that she could end it all if only she could die. Breathing hard and feeling blood sputter and bubble at the back of her tongue, Zeliandra desperately wanted to throw herself off the deck and drown. Or, she thought, there was Perrozi's knife. She could sever her own throat and, in doing so, put a stop to both herself and her attacker's evil action.
Chapter 8: Lacuna
A night breeze made the trees sway and rustle. The crackling fire cast merry glints across Loquacious Jake's dark eyes. "In the first chest there was a topaz, the color of fair honey. In the second was a ruby. In the third was a sapphire. And in the fourth was an emerald. They were round, and rough on the outside, mind ye. Big. The size of a pregnant lady's belly, by Dahlsea. Somebody had wrapped them in belts made of thousands o' little silver links. Each had a small padlock wi' a clay seal, just like the chain Donny had opened before. Enough booty to make us each rich as a Count."
Even the highborn Zeliandra was amazed at this wealth. The captain took another pull of the whiskey. "Ye believe me, do ye?" he asked the two.
"Yes, of course," said the terrier lad Perrozi. Doubt didn't come naturally to his mind but he did remember to be privately wary of what Jake said.
Zeliandra tossed her head to flick back auburn bangs that had gotten way too long, and smiled. "Gems the size of great melons? Show me one and I might."
Captain Jake took off his big wide hat and moved aside a flap of the silky lining. From this pocket he showed pieces of crystal, in four colors, roughly the size of the end of a spoon. They looked like uncut gems to Perrozi.
"Glass..." said Zeliandra, still dubious.
The captain took a chip colored like blood, and rubbed the edge on his bottle. He made a number of scratches and raised a bit of glass dust. Then he tossed the fragment to Zeliandra. "Here, keep this, my dear little lady." he said in a jovial way.
She examined the thing. Its razor thin edges were unharmed and still just as sharp. Only some kind of gem would do that to glass. Bunching her knees below her chin, Zeliandra said, "No wonder some wizard wants them back..."
A feeling of dread made Perrozi unpleasantly light-headed, and his fingertips went a bit clammy. He remembered the attack by the Merfurres had made him feel a little this way. He thought he did not want to be rich if it meant being pursued by a powerful and dangerous magus. Still, perhaps there was a chance the magical traps could be avoided. He took control of his anxiety and asked, "How can you get the locks open without getting cursed?"
Unconcerned, Jake smiled but his smile did not make Perrozi feel any better. The captain said, "I've got a plan, don't ye worry now. Ol' Jake knows just what to do. We need one more to help us. His name is Roshan; he's a reclusive scholar. They call him Dragoneyes."
"Why is that?" asked Zeliandra curiously.
"Because he has the eyes of a dragon, miss." Jake laughed, the whiskey making him feel more carefree than ever. "Ah, you'll see soon enough." They could get no more out of him because he passed out.
The crew spent another night at that spot and returned to the ship feeling well-rested. Days went by and there was smooth sailing. Zeliandra found time to teach Perrozi how to write the alphabet. Perrozi's charcoal scrawls covered little bits of the deck. He also learned a few of the shortest words.
Then, one night, there came a foggy night when the hatch of the ship came open with a bang and a stench rolled out across the deck. Zeliandra twitched awake and winced at the horrible odor. She sat up and looked around, the fur at her nape rising ticklishly of its own accord.
It was hard to see much in the darkness and mist. She looked around-- where was Perrozi? where was Jake? They were asleep nearby. She tried to whisper but, although she could feel the air moving thickly through her throat and lips, no whispers emerged.
In fact, there was no sound at all. Zeliandra had a fleeting thought that she was dreaming. Suddenly, there was someone right in front of her, a female furre with primal features, as if she had once been a brute living in a cave. Her skin clung to her bones like leather dried around sticks. Through holes in her tattered lace-trimmed under-dress Zeliandra saw ribs almost as clearly as if she had no skin.
The stranger's large eyes, nose and lips were black, and she had only the slightest wispy white fur over pale bluish skin. She was neither living nor dead, neither canine nor feline. Her pupils, contracted to dots, held supernatural green fire. Transfixed by the glistening eyes of the apparition, Zeliandra realized she herself was trembling violently.
"There, there," mouthed the ghastly creature, but that was no comfort. Cold leathery paws with retractile claws took hold of Zeliandra's shoulders. The emaciated womanfurre mouthed something Zeliandra couldn't hear, then drew back her dark lips to expose a row of teeth all shaped like little daggers. The gaping muzzle released a stench of rotting meat.
Zeliandra tried to close her eyes to this sight and found she couldn't. The orange cat expected to be bitten, and savagely gnawed. Instead, she felt awful stinging pains, in her eyes and inside her nose and beneath her tongue.
Then she saw fine streams of her own blood going straight out of her tear ducts, nostrils, and mouth. It flew in five straight wet strands, going into the demonic being's open mouth. Blood was being drawn out of her like thread. She had an eerie sense of some of her insides liquefying, and being slowly drained out of her.
Through it all, Zeliandra somehow became aware of a terrible hole in her attacker, an emptiness that her blood was going to fill, but there was also an unhealable wound, forever leaking. There came a knowledge that no matter how much the demoness drank, she could never be filled, would always be hungry, would thus always bring ruin and desolation to any that she came near.
Despair washed over Zeliandra. She felt as if she were realizing that she herself had just contracted a terrible disease from which she could never recover. She felt foul, unclean; she could not hate her attacker but somehow, she loathed herself. Her eyes, nose, and the inside of her mouth hurt terribly, becoming agony, and she still could not blink or move.
It all transpired without a hint of any noise. With no end in sight, these awful feelings could not lessen, could not fade. It was so irrational there was no way to reason past it.
The closest thing to hope was a dim notion that she could end it all if only she could die. Breathing hard and feeling blood sputter and bubble at the back of her tongue, Zeliandra desperately wanted to throw herself off the deck and drown. Or, she thought, there was Perrozi's knife. She could sever her own throat and, in doing so, put a stop to both herself and her attacker's evil action.
Chapter IX
Chapter 9: Milady Disarmed
It is said that there is no rest for the wicked. In Kasuria, at least, this seemed to hold true, as the fate of most Vampyre Furres is to be held throughout the day in a paralysis brought on by fear. Milady had endured this regularly for so many centuries, however, that when the sun set each evening, she forgot about Day Terror almost instantly. A body-suffusing ache (which was how a Vampyre Furre's hunger normally manifested) had grown stronger and her body had grown much weaker.
It had taken all her strength just to open the hatch. What should she see, but a delightfully healthy ginger furred lass, sitting up as if waiting for her! Milady had immediately used the archaic Evil Way of the Circle of Silence lest she wake Jacob or that mangy young cur Perrozi. At thirteen or so years of age, he was too small to feed her.
Oh, but why was the orange-haired miss making such a fish-like face at her now...? Silly child. It was simple for Milady to apply the native Vampyrean talent for mesmerism.
Then came the Feeding. To bite was beneath her. She, Milady, was older than the Redeemers, older than the Covenant. She, a daughter of a daughter of one of the First Thirteen, need only concentrate, and a "vessel's" blood would hear this mystic summons, rushing to obey the will of the Deathless.
Such a rapture filled her! As the blood was consumed, her mind was overwhelmed by happiness and excitement. She could feel her strength returning... But why was the "vessel" still looking so distressed, now? Shouldn't everyone be at ease in her august presence, happy and helpful? She turned her face away from what threatened to be an unpleasant note upon her deliciously marvellous evening.
Zeliandra collapsed, curling forwards to hide her face in her hands. There was no hope for her; everything in the world was wrong. O Primes, but all she wanted was to die! Her whimper awakened the young sailor Perrozi as the Evil Way ended.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed over to Zeliandra. She looked haggard and weak. He could hear her saying softly, "...just... just give me a knife..." He put an arm around her and she tried clumsily to push him away, meowing weakly, "-stay away!". There were blood-tainted tears streaking her face. (A short distance away, the sleeping Captain Jake shifted position but went on snoring softly.)
Horrified, Perrozi looked up at Milady, her sinous posture silhouetted magnificently in the light of the moons. Yes, she was beautiful, he wanted to take time to admire her- but then his conscience nudged. Knowing the answer before even opened his muzzle, he yelped, "What did you do?!"
Her rounded ears flicked forwards (a cougar's? a pine marten's? Perrozi could not have said) and Milady turned to look down at him. As she spoke, she wove Vampyrean compulsions through her words effortlessly: "Keep thy voice down. Always begin or end what thou sayest with 'Milady'. Try again."
Perrozi discovered he couldn't resist the order. This time, he was aware that Milady was doing things, Vampyrean things. Under his breath he muttered, "Primes help us!" He swallowed hard and said, "Milady. What- what did you do?" He slipped his hand inside his shirt and drew his knife inside it.
At his side, Zeliandra also made an effort to speak but it was hard, so she gave an incoherent short sharp shriek instead. Milady still did not reply.
After a time, Zeliandra managed to speak; she said shakily "hurt..." The blood had been painfully forced out of her face; it filled her with rage now. It was on a par with her vengeful ire at the villagers who had tried to burn her at the stake. "...She hurt me!" The anger felt good; it helped to burn away her earlier misery.
Milady sat on a railing and said breezily, "Worry not. She will soon forget all about it." Perrozi could see bloodstains on her pale bluish skin; they made markings on either side of her mouth to give the illusion of jowls. She looked up at the furled sail. "We will set off again when the Name Stars have risen."
Far away, something in the air was coming towards them and Perrozi saw it. He squinted, trying to make it out. No one else saw it. He whispered, very softly, "Zeli, look. There's something out there..."
The cat stopped watching Milady with well-deserved hostility to search the sky. Her eyes were slightly keener than his in the darkness and she saw it right away.
It was shaped somewhat like a furre but with two arms too many. Its shoulders were broad and its waist was trim. She thought its hide was some sort of glossy brown or green by day. Some unspecified number of long appendages flailed in the air behind it, somehow propelling it forwards in frightening bursts of speed.
Perrozi and Zeliandra were going to slink to the back of the ship when Milady turned her head snakily towards them and said, her voice light, "The girl comes back and sits at my feet." Again, the Vampyrean compulsions were threaded through her words.
"No!" said Zeliandra. She began walking straight for Milady. Terrified on her behalf, Perrozi took hold of her hand and she grasped back as tightly as she could in her weakened state. She tried to fight the order. At this struggling, Milady broke into an honest laugh, which put a spur to Zeliandra's anger.
Perrozi said, "Milady, she doesn't want to be anywhere around you." He would have yelled if it were not for the previous compulsion. Milady ignored him.
"Come." said Milady with a beckoning gesture, insisting.
Zeliandra muttered, "I will not!" For half a minute she locked her legs and managed to stop, her teeth gritted and her knees shaking. Then her own controls gave out, and she marched to do as she was told, feeling just like a puppet on strings.
Perrozi stayed close, helped keep her from falling over. He realized that if he kept his grip on her paw, she would fall and probably hurt herself further. On a side Milady could not see, Perrozi slipped the pearl handle of the knife into her hand. She was smart and had the wits to keep it hidden. Then he let go.
Desperate, Perrozi went to try to wake Jake. Milady tended to be pleasanter when Jake was around, if only because she focussed her commanding nature mostly on him. Some kind of monster was coming; the captain's fighting strength would be desperately needed.
The gaunt gray-skinned creature, eerily attractive to those under her spell, was like a desert-mummified corpse to Zeliandra's clear sight. The magic could also mask her revolting odor. The young lady sat at her feet. Milady reached down a skinny hand to pet her hair. When Zeliandra naturally tried to get away, Milady said, in silken tones, "Hold still." Zeliandra was forced to endure Milady petting her tangled red-gold hair.
At the aft, Perrozi shook the sleeping deer furre. "Jake! Jake, wake up!" The captain was deep in the arms of the previous evening's whiskey, in which he had indulged more than usual. Perrozi tried for several more minutes, then gave up as Loquacious Jake was, for once, quiet.
At the aft, Perrozi drew Jake's cutlass, then dove into the black sea-chest and retrieved the enchanted blue buckler. His heart was beating too hard again, and his hands felt cold and sweaty. He was aware of faint nausea rising. It took some effort to keep from trembling in fear. Vaguely he wondered if successfully hiding the symptoms of being afraid actually meant he was less afraid. And if he was afraid, nobody was watching him anyways.
Meanwhile, from the corner of her eye, Zeliandra could clearly see the strange creature still approaching. In a moment it would be upon them. Now she could tell it was the size of a very large furre and had three reptilian tails. It wore a complex harness with bronze ornaments or armor around its body.
And now, like a comet of bronzey green flesh, the unknown being was flying right for Milady! Carefully clutching the fishing knife out of sight, the orange she-cat had chosen not to warn the VampFurre. Milady was no friend or ally of hers! At least seven long thick tentacles whipped forwards and wrapped around the Vampyre Furre, binding her slim arms tight to her body and lifting her clear off the deck.
Milady hissed loudly and venomously as Zeliandra heard dry bones being snapped. The attacker had at least six cherry-red eyes and a vertical mouth down the middle of its head. Two of its muscular arms grabbed Milady's wrist. The Vampyre Furre gave a wailing moan. The glistening green monster twisted... pulled...
Zeliandra covered her face. There was a sound of snapping tendons and ripping cartilege. Its face was so alien-looking that when it spoke, Zeliandra was surprised that such a creature would speak at all, and its voice was a growling bass. "Maggot-purse," it rumbled. "Moldy spawn of Mirmoggin." It threw the arm far out into the sea.
Then some of the bright red eyes swivelled to regard Zeliandra. "Arise, my princess. It is time Morauz, the son of Chatengo, reminded the world of our might."
Chapter 9: Milady Disarmed
It is said that there is no rest for the wicked. In Kasuria, at least, this seemed to hold true, as the fate of most Vampyre Furres is to be held throughout the day in a paralysis brought on by fear. Milady had endured this regularly for so many centuries, however, that when the sun set each evening, she forgot about Day Terror almost instantly. A body-suffusing ache (which was how a Vampyre Furre's hunger normally manifested) had grown stronger and her body had grown much weaker.
It had taken all her strength just to open the hatch. What should she see, but a delightfully healthy ginger furred lass, sitting up as if waiting for her! Milady had immediately used the archaic Evil Way of the Circle of Silence lest she wake Jacob or that mangy young cur Perrozi. At thirteen or so years of age, he was too small to feed her.
Oh, but why was the orange-haired miss making such a fish-like face at her now...? Silly child. It was simple for Milady to apply the native Vampyrean talent for mesmerism.
Then came the Feeding. To bite was beneath her. She, Milady, was older than the Redeemers, older than the Covenant. She, a daughter of a daughter of one of the First Thirteen, need only concentrate, and a "vessel's" blood would hear this mystic summons, rushing to obey the will of the Deathless.
Such a rapture filled her! As the blood was consumed, her mind was overwhelmed by happiness and excitement. She could feel her strength returning... But why was the "vessel" still looking so distressed, now? Shouldn't everyone be at ease in her august presence, happy and helpful? She turned her face away from what threatened to be an unpleasant note upon her deliciously marvellous evening.
Zeliandra collapsed, curling forwards to hide her face in her hands. There was no hope for her; everything in the world was wrong. O Primes, but all she wanted was to die! Her whimper awakened the young sailor Perrozi as the Evil Way ended.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed over to Zeliandra. She looked haggard and weak. He could hear her saying softly, "...just... just give me a knife..." He put an arm around her and she tried clumsily to push him away, meowing weakly, "-stay away!". There were blood-tainted tears streaking her face. (A short distance away, the sleeping Captain Jake shifted position but went on snoring softly.)
Horrified, Perrozi looked up at Milady, her sinous posture silhouetted magnificently in the light of the moons. Yes, she was beautiful, he wanted to take time to admire her- but then his conscience nudged. Knowing the answer before even opened his muzzle, he yelped, "What did you do?!"
Her rounded ears flicked forwards (a cougar's? a pine marten's? Perrozi could not have said) and Milady turned to look down at him. As she spoke, she wove Vampyrean compulsions through her words effortlessly: "Keep thy voice down. Always begin or end what thou sayest with 'Milady'. Try again."
Perrozi discovered he couldn't resist the order. This time, he was aware that Milady was doing things, Vampyrean things. Under his breath he muttered, "Primes help us!" He swallowed hard and said, "Milady. What- what did you do?" He slipped his hand inside his shirt and drew his knife inside it.
At his side, Zeliandra also made an effort to speak but it was hard, so she gave an incoherent short sharp shriek instead. Milady still did not reply.
After a time, Zeliandra managed to speak; she said shakily "hurt..." The blood had been painfully forced out of her face; it filled her with rage now. It was on a par with her vengeful ire at the villagers who had tried to burn her at the stake. "...She hurt me!" The anger felt good; it helped to burn away her earlier misery.
Milady sat on a railing and said breezily, "Worry not. She will soon forget all about it." Perrozi could see bloodstains on her pale bluish skin; they made markings on either side of her mouth to give the illusion of jowls. She looked up at the furled sail. "We will set off again when the Name Stars have risen."
Far away, something in the air was coming towards them and Perrozi saw it. He squinted, trying to make it out. No one else saw it. He whispered, very softly, "Zeli, look. There's something out there..."
The cat stopped watching Milady with well-deserved hostility to search the sky. Her eyes were slightly keener than his in the darkness and she saw it right away.
It was shaped somewhat like a furre but with two arms too many. Its shoulders were broad and its waist was trim. She thought its hide was some sort of glossy brown or green by day. Some unspecified number of long appendages flailed in the air behind it, somehow propelling it forwards in frightening bursts of speed.
Perrozi and Zeliandra were going to slink to the back of the ship when Milady turned her head snakily towards them and said, her voice light, "The girl comes back and sits at my feet." Again, the Vampyrean compulsions were threaded through her words.
"No!" said Zeliandra. She began walking straight for Milady. Terrified on her behalf, Perrozi took hold of her hand and she grasped back as tightly as she could in her weakened state. She tried to fight the order. At this struggling, Milady broke into an honest laugh, which put a spur to Zeliandra's anger.
Perrozi said, "Milady, she doesn't want to be anywhere around you." He would have yelled if it were not for the previous compulsion. Milady ignored him.
"Come." said Milady with a beckoning gesture, insisting.
Zeliandra muttered, "I will not!" For half a minute she locked her legs and managed to stop, her teeth gritted and her knees shaking. Then her own controls gave out, and she marched to do as she was told, feeling just like a puppet on strings.
Perrozi stayed close, helped keep her from falling over. He realized that if he kept his grip on her paw, she would fall and probably hurt herself further. On a side Milady could not see, Perrozi slipped the pearl handle of the knife into her hand. She was smart and had the wits to keep it hidden. Then he let go.
Desperate, Perrozi went to try to wake Jake. Milady tended to be pleasanter when Jake was around, if only because she focussed her commanding nature mostly on him. Some kind of monster was coming; the captain's fighting strength would be desperately needed.
The gaunt gray-skinned creature, eerily attractive to those under her spell, was like a desert-mummified corpse to Zeliandra's clear sight. The magic could also mask her revolting odor. The young lady sat at her feet. Milady reached down a skinny hand to pet her hair. When Zeliandra naturally tried to get away, Milady said, in silken tones, "Hold still." Zeliandra was forced to endure Milady petting her tangled red-gold hair.
At the aft, Perrozi shook the sleeping deer furre. "Jake! Jake, wake up!" The captain was deep in the arms of the previous evening's whiskey, in which he had indulged more than usual. Perrozi tried for several more minutes, then gave up as Loquacious Jake was, for once, quiet.
At the aft, Perrozi drew Jake's cutlass, then dove into the black sea-chest and retrieved the enchanted blue buckler. His heart was beating too hard again, and his hands felt cold and sweaty. He was aware of faint nausea rising. It took some effort to keep from trembling in fear. Vaguely he wondered if successfully hiding the symptoms of being afraid actually meant he was less afraid. And if he was afraid, nobody was watching him anyways.
Meanwhile, from the corner of her eye, Zeliandra could clearly see the strange creature still approaching. In a moment it would be upon them. Now she could tell it was the size of a very large furre and had three reptilian tails. It wore a complex harness with bronze ornaments or armor around its body.
And now, like a comet of bronzey green flesh, the unknown being was flying right for Milady! Carefully clutching the fishing knife out of sight, the orange she-cat had chosen not to warn the VampFurre. Milady was no friend or ally of hers! At least seven long thick tentacles whipped forwards and wrapped around the Vampyre Furre, binding her slim arms tight to her body and lifting her clear off the deck.
Milady hissed loudly and venomously as Zeliandra heard dry bones being snapped. The attacker had at least six cherry-red eyes and a vertical mouth down the middle of its head. Two of its muscular arms grabbed Milady's wrist. The Vampyre Furre gave a wailing moan. The glistening green monster twisted... pulled...
Zeliandra covered her face. There was a sound of snapping tendons and ripping cartilege. Its face was so alien-looking that when it spoke, Zeliandra was surprised that such a creature would speak at all, and its voice was a growling bass. "Maggot-purse," it rumbled. "Moldy spawn of Mirmoggin." It threw the arm far out into the sea.
Then some of the bright red eyes swivelled to regard Zeliandra. "Arise, my princess. It is time Morauz, the son of Chatengo, reminded the world of our might."
Chapter X
Chapter 10: Bitter Libations
With tentacles, green skin, four arms, and a face out of nightmare, Morauz looked like nothing Perrozi had ever seen. "A Half-Prime!" gasped the terrier, in spite of himself. He had always believed in Primes, and now, here was one of their children, close enough to bite him. But, as Chatengo was numbered amongst the Dark Primes, this was probably a being of great malice.
Morauz casually pressed the sides of Milady's head with two large hands. The Vampfurre went limp, and the green creature dropped her onto the deck. It turned, narrowed his red eyes, and saw a potential worshipper in this scruffy young sailor dog. It said, "No. Jai-Chatengo Mai-Nareetha. I am Bivion, born of two of the Dragon's first-born. We are rarer than rare." The halves of its face drew apart to show a thousand pointed teeth.
Perrozi's eyes went wide as his body hunched. Feeling Morauz's six eyes staring at him without blinking, Perrozi found himself lowering his gaze.
Standing and steadied by the rail, Zeliandra curtseyed and found her voice at last. She said, "Forgive me, Kidha Morauz. I did doubt that Thou wast real. I thought I was just going to burn to death..."
It put a tentacle around Zeliandra's shoulder and said, "Understandable, Kidhayin. But, that ritual is the pathway to becoming powerful enough to be worthy of Me."
She was brave enough not to shudder, but she froze.
Just seeing the thing touch his friend, Perrozi winced. As with Milady, there was no telling what powers Morauz possessed. The green creature did seem to think like a furre, so maybe there could be reasoning with it. Perhaps it could even be tricked. They definitely could not defeat it with dagger and cutlass, however. He focused on thinking of a way to get Zeliandra out of its clutches.
For her part, Zeliandra seemed at ease speaking to it in the formal fashion of Kasuria using archaic terms. She said, "Kidha, is there something Thou couldst do for the captain? He was loyal to me, not the VampFurre."
The monster said, "Thou hast a knife. Give him some of my ichor, my princess."
Trying to act as if she did this every day, Zeliandra walked to Jake. The fleshy snaky bronze-green arm stayed on her shoulder. Morauz obligingly held it over Jake's mouth. The young lady feline cut it the way she had seen Perrozi cut into a fish's belly. Glowing green goo dripped out of the cut and into the mouth of the dozing captain.
Jake awoke with a wide-eyed start and made a noise like, "--gyaaak!" Some of the ichor spattered onto his dark fur to look like green stars. That it tasted unbelievably foul was clear from his expression as he spent some time choking.
Perozzi went to Jake's side, gave him back his cutlass, and helped him stand. He whispered, "I'll explain later! It thinks Zeli is in charge." The deer looked at him gratefully, nodded, and put his wide plumed hat on.
"Now," Morauz went on imperiously, "thy brother Callistin the Pure has called upon me for a favor. He did not want thee to come home again."
At the mention of her brother's name, Zeliandra shook her head in denial. She had numerous siblings; Callistin was the one closest to her in age. Had he been tricked somehow? She said, "No, he would not have made such a deal..."
The creature said, "He did, and he put my blood on something thou carryest. That is how I found thee." Zeliandra knew then that the monster was speaking the truth. Callistin had asked to see something of hers. Her own brother had betrayed her.
Morauz put the tentacle about her shoulder again (it had healed in seconds), and continued, "I normally do not care much about the doings of mortals, and would have been content to wed thee in my forgotten little village. I have since learned more about thy family, and I have changed my mind..."
Because she turned away, Perozzi could see Zeliandra looked horrified. She bit her lip.
Then she thought quickly and said, "But of course." She even managed a cool expression as she said, "Let us invite many lords and ladies to be witness to my ascension."
The green creature made that vertical teeth-bared expression, which Perozzi decided must be a leer. It bowed, sending a wave to ripple through its tentacles. "I give thee a month to return to Kasuria. I shall choose a less unusual form. If thou dost not return, I shall come find thee." Before another word could be said, Morauz spread its tentacles and snapped them downwards to soar straight upwards.
Perrozi looked over to see Zeliandra was quietly weeping. He went over to her and held her in a hug. She said softly, "My own brothe
Chapter 10: Bitter Libations
With tentacles, green skin, four arms, and a face out of nightmare, Morauz looked like nothing Perrozi had ever seen. "A Half-Prime!" gasped the terrier, in spite of himself. He had always believed in Primes, and now, here was one of their children, close enough to bite him. But, as Chatengo was numbered amongst the Dark Primes, this was probably a being of great malice.
Morauz casually pressed the sides of Milady's head with two large hands. The Vampfurre went limp, and the green creature dropped her onto the deck. It turned, narrowed his red eyes, and saw a potential worshipper in this scruffy young sailor dog. It said, "No. Jai-Chatengo Mai-Nareetha. I am Bivion, born of two of the Dragon's first-born. We are rarer than rare." The halves of its face drew apart to show a thousand pointed teeth.
Perrozi's eyes went wide as his body hunched. Feeling Morauz's six eyes staring at him without blinking, Perrozi found himself lowering his gaze.
Standing and steadied by the rail, Zeliandra curtseyed and found her voice at last. She said, "Forgive me, Kidha Morauz. I did doubt that Thou wast real. I thought I was just going to burn to death..."
It put a tentacle around Zeliandra's shoulder and said, "Understandable, Kidhayin. But, that ritual is the pathway to becoming powerful enough to be worthy of Me."
She was brave enough not to shudder, but she froze.
Just seeing the thing touch his friend, Perrozi winced. As with Milady, there was no telling what powers Morauz possessed. The green creature did seem to think like a furre, so maybe there could be reasoning with it. Perhaps it could even be tricked. They definitely could not defeat it with dagger and cutlass, however. He focused on thinking of a way to get Zeliandra out of its clutches.
For her part, Zeliandra seemed at ease speaking to it in the formal fashion of Kasuria using archaic terms. She said, "Kidha, is there something Thou couldst do for the captain? He was loyal to me, not the VampFurre."
The monster said, "Thou hast a knife. Give him some of my ichor, my princess."
Trying to act as if she did this every day, Zeliandra walked to Jake. The fleshy snaky bronze-green arm stayed on her shoulder. Morauz obligingly held it over Jake's mouth. The young lady feline cut it the way she had seen Perrozi cut into a fish's belly. Glowing green goo dripped out of the cut and into the mouth of the dozing captain.
Jake awoke with a wide-eyed start and made a noise like, "--gyaaak!" Some of the ichor spattered onto his dark fur to look like green stars. That it tasted unbelievably foul was clear from his expression as he spent some time choking.
Perozzi went to Jake's side, gave him back his cutlass, and helped him stand. He whispered, "I'll explain later! It thinks Zeli is in charge." The deer looked at him gratefully, nodded, and put his wide plumed hat on.
"Now," Morauz went on imperiously, "thy brother Callistin the Pure has called upon me for a favor. He did not want thee to come home again."
At the mention of her brother's name, Zeliandra shook her head in denial. She had numerous siblings; Callistin was the one closest to her in age. Had he been tricked somehow? She said, "No, he would not have made such a deal..."
The creature said, "He did, and he put my blood on something thou carryest. That is how I found thee." Zeliandra knew then that the monster was speaking the truth. Callistin had asked to see something of hers. Her own brother had betrayed her.
Morauz put the tentacle about her shoulder again (it had healed in seconds), and continued, "I normally do not care much about the doings of mortals, and would have been content to wed thee in my forgotten little village. I have since learned more about thy family, and I have changed my mind..."
Because she turned away, Perozzi could see Zeliandra looked horrified. She bit her lip.
Then she thought quickly and said, "But of course." She even managed a cool expression as she said, "Let us invite many lords and ladies to be witness to my ascension."
The green creature made that vertical teeth-bared expression, which Perozzi decided must be a leer. It bowed, sending a wave to ripple through its tentacles. "I give thee a month to return to Kasuria. I shall choose a less unusual form. If thou dost not return, I shall come find thee." Before another word could be said, Morauz spread its tentacles and snapped them downwards to soar straight upwards.
Perrozi looked over to see Zeliandra was quietly weeping. He went over to her and held her in a hug. She said softly, "My own brothe
Re: Furre!
So here's the thing. Apparently Furre! was an adaptation of an already complete system, that just never got done. Several stupid changes were made. My options are as follows:
Finish and rework the adaptation, which would take very little work.
Create a new system, or adapt Furre! into the much more common D20 system.
Though the system Furre! is based on is more complete, it's still not a very good system. It has its uses, but it uses a 2d10 instead of a 1d20. Without getting into crazy math that I don't correctly understand, using two dice creates a bell curve. This is fine for two characters on equal footing, however when you add bonuses (+1, +2) to a bell curve system the percentages get WAY out of whack. Bell curve systems are best for simple dice rolling where two characters have equal chances of doing a thing. But when you add a progression based RPG style system to it, it starts to get terribad.
So here's the thing. Apparently Furre! was an adaptation of an already complete system, that just never got done. Several stupid changes were made. My options are as follows:
Finish and rework the adaptation, which would take very little work.
Create a new system, or adapt Furre! into the much more common D20 system.
Though the system Furre! is based on is more complete, it's still not a very good system. It has its uses, but it uses a 2d10 instead of a 1d20. Without getting into crazy math that I don't correctly understand, using two dice creates a bell curve. This is fine for two characters on equal footing, however when you add bonuses (+1, +2) to a bell curve system the percentages get WAY out of whack. Bell curve systems are best for simple dice rolling where two characters have equal chances of doing a thing. But when you add a progression based RPG style system to it, it starts to get terribad.
How did you like the Oricle system from the original event by the way, Nar?
And D20 would be helpful since so many things use it, but also reworking it into its original form would be awesome.
And D20 would be helpful since so many things use it, but also reworking it into its original form would be awesome.
Orical is OK. It's really good for planning plot events in a general fashion, but for specific combat encounters and character advancement it's very very very limited.
Part 1 of Perrozi's story! A story about a seadog written by Talz.
Chapter I
Chapter 1: Waterfront Pup
Sitting on the docks of Malgrave, the capitol of Kasuria, a slender fuzzy terrier lad named Perrozi ate fish soup. It was what he ate every day, but he would never complain. The sun bathed everything in faintly golden warmth. He was a rag-clad orphan and if he were not a fisher-furre, he would very likely have starved on the vegetable foods the poor could acquire.
Because he was a canine, it was assumed Perrozi's true father had probably been a man of wealth. His mother was a squirrel.
Perrozi's mother had owned a small houseboat. When she died, it had been claimed as property by her brother Alfron (also a squirrel). Everybody knew Perrozi was her son but without a marriage record in the Pala Mestra, each town's Hall of Memory, he was not entitled to any inheritance. Because Perrozi was a bastard, Alfron refused to help him in any way.
So, Perrozi worked from dawn to dusk for one fisherman or another, cleaning fish with his one remaining possession: a long sharp knife with a pearly handle. In exchange, he was welcome to supper on several different ships. He wasn't paid a penny but as a sort of honorary crew member, he was entitled to protection from the bullies that typically prowl about a harbor.
Several sailors walked by, some rabbits and mice and a short powerful boar. Cats disdained this sort of work. Here in Malgrave, more than elsewhere in Kasuria, one's status tended to relate to species. At the top were the nobles, who were mainly predators. At the bottom were the vegetable-eating peasants. Two of the King's later wives were from poor families, and this had made King Constantine well-loved by the commoners. It was well-known that the youngest had been an oyster seller.
The terrier lad finished his meal and walked aboard Mayona's Gull. Several sailors nodded hello as he headed for his bed: the little skiff hanging between a mast and a sturdy post that jutted from the deck. Beneath the skiff's canvas tarp cover, a dozen pillow-like buoys on long tethers were kept around for floatation should the ship ever capsize. They were filled with milkweed down, and in the meantime, they made a comfortable bed. He settled down for a well-deserved rest.
It seemed to Perrozi that he had just closed his eyes when he had to open them again. The air was icy-cold, the sky overhead black and full of stars. A large figure wearing loose clothes, a broad hat and a kerchief about its muzzle was holding the tarp. In its right paw it held a clean cutlass with a shiny round handguard that glinted in the dark. It hissed, "Sit up but stay silent," to Perrozi. Shivering in his linen clothes and curly fur, Perrozi did so. The stranger looked to be some sort of canine with short sleek black fur and long legs. "Nod if you want to claim your father's legacy."
The young terrier nodded. The tall furre in hat and bandit's kerchief stepped forwards to close the distance. Before Perrozi knew what was happening, the handguard of the cutlass met the side of his head. He was unconscious before he could be aware of any pain...
Chapter 1: Waterfront Pup
Sitting on the docks of Malgrave, the capitol of Kasuria, a slender fuzzy terrier lad named Perrozi ate fish soup. It was what he ate every day, but he would never complain. The sun bathed everything in faintly golden warmth. He was a rag-clad orphan and if he were not a fisher-furre, he would very likely have starved on the vegetable foods the poor could acquire.
Because he was a canine, it was assumed Perrozi's true father had probably been a man of wealth. His mother was a squirrel.
Perrozi's mother had owned a small houseboat. When she died, it had been claimed as property by her brother Alfron (also a squirrel). Everybody knew Perrozi was her son but without a marriage record in the Pala Mestra, each town's Hall of Memory, he was not entitled to any inheritance. Because Perrozi was a bastard, Alfron refused to help him in any way.
So, Perrozi worked from dawn to dusk for one fisherman or another, cleaning fish with his one remaining possession: a long sharp knife with a pearly handle. In exchange, he was welcome to supper on several different ships. He wasn't paid a penny but as a sort of honorary crew member, he was entitled to protection from the bullies that typically prowl about a harbor.
Several sailors walked by, some rabbits and mice and a short powerful boar. Cats disdained this sort of work. Here in Malgrave, more than elsewhere in Kasuria, one's status tended to relate to species. At the top were the nobles, who were mainly predators. At the bottom were the vegetable-eating peasants. Two of the King's later wives were from poor families, and this had made King Constantine well-loved by the commoners. It was well-known that the youngest had been an oyster seller.
The terrier lad finished his meal and walked aboard Mayona's Gull. Several sailors nodded hello as he headed for his bed: the little skiff hanging between a mast and a sturdy post that jutted from the deck. Beneath the skiff's canvas tarp cover, a dozen pillow-like buoys on long tethers were kept around for floatation should the ship ever capsize. They were filled with milkweed down, and in the meantime, they made a comfortable bed. He settled down for a well-deserved rest.
It seemed to Perrozi that he had just closed his eyes when he had to open them again. The air was icy-cold, the sky overhead black and full of stars. A large figure wearing loose clothes, a broad hat and a kerchief about its muzzle was holding the tarp. In its right paw it held a clean cutlass with a shiny round handguard that glinted in the dark. It hissed, "Sit up but stay silent," to Perrozi. Shivering in his linen clothes and curly fur, Perrozi did so. The stranger looked to be some sort of canine with short sleek black fur and long legs. "Nod if you want to claim your father's legacy."
The young terrier nodded. The tall furre in hat and bandit's kerchief stepped forwards to close the distance. Before Perrozi knew what was happening, the handguard of the cutlass met the side of his head. He was unconscious before he could be aware of any pain...
Chapter II
Chapter 2: Captain Loquacious
It was the waking that was unpleasant. Perrozi found himself upon a long crate in the dark. His head was filled with a pounding ache. He sat up and set his feet down-- right into a finger-length of slimy foul-smelling water. The floor was wood and it sloped in a broad rounded V.
Perrozi became aware of a vague sourness in his stomach, small, bearable... but then suddenly it swelled up his throat, blossoming into full nausea. He tried to control it, tried to breathe deep. A little cough got by him and he choked, then he threw up from his mouth and both nostrils. Stomach acid and fish stew splattered to the ground, then Perrozi sat gaping and drooling.
The sound of stone sliding on stone behind him startled the canine so he turned. He saw the thin outline of a trapdoor in the ceiling. With the light that leaked in, Perrozi could make out a thick-necked head with short upright ears, a blunt muzzle and the tops of two bat wings. They were all oddly smooth. Then Perrozi realized he was looking at a sturdy gargoyle, somehow brought to life. He had heard of magic like this but he had never seen any. The terrier said shyly, "hello?"
The creature opened its eyes; they were two pale blue-glowing opals. They shed their own light on the powerful-looking chiseled body and made the slimy black water glint. Chains bound the gargoyle to the floor. It groaned, "...Hhhhelp." When it spoke in its grating voice, Perrozi realized the sound he had heard earlier was probably a sigh. Its jut-jawed face was contorted into a perpetual grimace or wince.
"Where am I?" the terrier lad asked cautiously.
The stone beast grunted, "Ship."
Perrozi asked, then, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
With an effort, it replied, "...Ballast."
The manacles were heavily encrusted with blackened rust and barnacles; Perrozi realized he must have been there a long time. The dog felt sorry for his fellow captive. He said, "I'll help you, sure. Who is the captain?" The gargoyle shrugged weakly.
Perrozi had to stoop as he walked closer, through the muck. He said, "where are these chains attached?" The creature raised its arms and the clanking links, each as long as Perrozi's hand, went taut. They were anchored somewhere in the muck. Perrozi crouched and felt around. The shackles were bolted solidly to the wood.
There came a creak and a sudden flash of light-- the gargoyle froze solid as the hatch was opened. The long-legged furre in the wide hat was standing at the opening. Posed like a dramatic sculpture where the tall one could not see him, the gargoyle apparently could not move.
Now that he wore no kerchief, Perrozi could see his captor was some sort of large exotic black deer in a faded velvet waistcoat, stained buccaneer's shirt, and trousers of black sailcloth. His hat was rakish, with holes for horns but this wasn't the season for them. His face seemed friendly except for black eyes surrounded by circles of pale fur, which were cold. He called down, "Me most sincere apologies for our abrupt initial introduction, but I wished to keep the location of me safe harbor most confidential. Won't ye come up from there?"
Perrozi did not trust the buck but he also did not wish to remain below the deck. Even before his eyes could stand the glare, he climbed up the ladder quickly. His head still hurt badly.
Shielding his eyes from the glare with a paw, he took in the sight of the most rundown schooner he had ever seen. All but one of the triangular sails was in tatters. The remaining one appeared to be sewn from large irregular pieces of at least three previous vessels. The only shelter from sun and storm was a covered area at the aft. On one side, most of the railing was missing.
Perrozi could hear the tall deer saying, "This 'ere was yer father's ship. I was his first mate. This is 'the Millarca'- the swiftest sea-vessel in all Kasuria." The young dog must have looked doubtful because the deer went on to say, "Well, not now, she isn't, but she just needs some minor fixin' up. Ye'll see."
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Perrozi; he quickly sat down on the splintery gray planks. The deer walked over and offered him a brown glass bottle, saying, "Drink a bit." Perrozi sipped; it turned out to be whisky, watered down but still strong enough to burn his throat. As the sun dried his grimy damp fur and he took a deep breath of fresh air, Perrozi decided he actually felt better.
He asked the black deer, "What's your name?"
"I be Loquacious Jake, the cleverest smuggler in all Kasuria," the captain announced. "Do me a good turn; I'll do ye ten, but cross me, and I'll make ye wish ye were never born! Ye can't cully ol' Jake. Say, what do ye want to be called, now?"
The youth said, "My mother named me Perrozi."
Loquacious Jake scratched behind one of his leaf-shaped ears and repeated, "Yer mother." He shook his head and said, "Ye need a sea-name. That way, when ye goes in to port, and ye meets a lovely lassie--" He was interrupted when something the size of a quill pen whizzed past his head. A second shot, to the back of Jake's shoulder, came bursting through his lapel in front. "Mers!" he yelled as he dove for the deck.
Merfurres! Perrozi knew of them from stories- furre from the waist up, but some kind of fishlike thing below. An equine head with fins for a mane appeared from over the side of the ship. The mer's bared teeth were shaped like interlocking jagged mountain peaks. He was followed by two more, each carrying a weapon like a trident on one end and a small crossbow on the other. They were blue-gray with dapples, their bodies dark above and light below. Despite having no legs, they moved swiftly, something like jumping inchworms, upon tails and the thick fleshy fins at their hips.
Loquacious Jake drew his cutlass. Perrozi reached into his shirt for the pearl-handled knife, and found that it was not there.
Chapter 2: Captain Loquacious
It was the waking that was unpleasant. Perrozi found himself upon a long crate in the dark. His head was filled with a pounding ache. He sat up and set his feet down-- right into a finger-length of slimy foul-smelling water. The floor was wood and it sloped in a broad rounded V.
Perrozi became aware of a vague sourness in his stomach, small, bearable... but then suddenly it swelled up his throat, blossoming into full nausea. He tried to control it, tried to breathe deep. A little cough got by him and he choked, then he threw up from his mouth and both nostrils. Stomach acid and fish stew splattered to the ground, then Perrozi sat gaping and drooling.
The sound of stone sliding on stone behind him startled the canine so he turned. He saw the thin outline of a trapdoor in the ceiling. With the light that leaked in, Perrozi could make out a thick-necked head with short upright ears, a blunt muzzle and the tops of two bat wings. They were all oddly smooth. Then Perrozi realized he was looking at a sturdy gargoyle, somehow brought to life. He had heard of magic like this but he had never seen any. The terrier said shyly, "hello?"
The creature opened its eyes; they were two pale blue-glowing opals. They shed their own light on the powerful-looking chiseled body and made the slimy black water glint. Chains bound the gargoyle to the floor. It groaned, "...Hhhhelp." When it spoke in its grating voice, Perrozi realized the sound he had heard earlier was probably a sigh. Its jut-jawed face was contorted into a perpetual grimace or wince.
"Where am I?" the terrier lad asked cautiously.
The stone beast grunted, "Ship."
Perrozi asked, then, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
With an effort, it replied, "...Ballast."
The manacles were heavily encrusted with blackened rust and barnacles; Perrozi realized he must have been there a long time. The dog felt sorry for his fellow captive. He said, "I'll help you, sure. Who is the captain?" The gargoyle shrugged weakly.
Perrozi had to stoop as he walked closer, through the muck. He said, "where are these chains attached?" The creature raised its arms and the clanking links, each as long as Perrozi's hand, went taut. They were anchored somewhere in the muck. Perrozi crouched and felt around. The shackles were bolted solidly to the wood.
There came a creak and a sudden flash of light-- the gargoyle froze solid as the hatch was opened. The long-legged furre in the wide hat was standing at the opening. Posed like a dramatic sculpture where the tall one could not see him, the gargoyle apparently could not move.
Now that he wore no kerchief, Perrozi could see his captor was some sort of large exotic black deer in a faded velvet waistcoat, stained buccaneer's shirt, and trousers of black sailcloth. His hat was rakish, with holes for horns but this wasn't the season for them. His face seemed friendly except for black eyes surrounded by circles of pale fur, which were cold. He called down, "Me most sincere apologies for our abrupt initial introduction, but I wished to keep the location of me safe harbor most confidential. Won't ye come up from there?"
Perrozi did not trust the buck but he also did not wish to remain below the deck. Even before his eyes could stand the glare, he climbed up the ladder quickly. His head still hurt badly.
Shielding his eyes from the glare with a paw, he took in the sight of the most rundown schooner he had ever seen. All but one of the triangular sails was in tatters. The remaining one appeared to be sewn from large irregular pieces of at least three previous vessels. The only shelter from sun and storm was a covered area at the aft. On one side, most of the railing was missing.
Perrozi could hear the tall deer saying, "This 'ere was yer father's ship. I was his first mate. This is 'the Millarca'- the swiftest sea-vessel in all Kasuria." The young dog must have looked doubtful because the deer went on to say, "Well, not now, she isn't, but she just needs some minor fixin' up. Ye'll see."
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Perrozi; he quickly sat down on the splintery gray planks. The deer walked over and offered him a brown glass bottle, saying, "Drink a bit." Perrozi sipped; it turned out to be whisky, watered down but still strong enough to burn his throat. As the sun dried his grimy damp fur and he took a deep breath of fresh air, Perrozi decided he actually felt better.
He asked the black deer, "What's your name?"
"I be Loquacious Jake, the cleverest smuggler in all Kasuria," the captain announced. "Do me a good turn; I'll do ye ten, but cross me, and I'll make ye wish ye were never born! Ye can't cully ol' Jake. Say, what do ye want to be called, now?"
The youth said, "My mother named me Perrozi."
Loquacious Jake scratched behind one of his leaf-shaped ears and repeated, "Yer mother." He shook his head and said, "Ye need a sea-name. That way, when ye goes in to port, and ye meets a lovely lassie--" He was interrupted when something the size of a quill pen whizzed past his head. A second shot, to the back of Jake's shoulder, came bursting through his lapel in front. "Mers!" he yelled as he dove for the deck.
Merfurres! Perrozi knew of them from stories- furre from the waist up, but some kind of fishlike thing below. An equine head with fins for a mane appeared from over the side of the ship. The mer's bared teeth were shaped like interlocking jagged mountain peaks. He was followed by two more, each carrying a weapon like a trident on one end and a small crossbow on the other. They were blue-gray with dapples, their bodies dark above and light below. Despite having no legs, they moved swiftly, something like jumping inchworms, upon tails and the thick fleshy fins at their hips.
Loquacious Jake drew his cutlass. Perrozi reached into his shirt for the pearl-handled knife, and found that it was not there.
Chapter III
Chapter 3: A Craven Is Keelhauled
Having clambered aboard at the bow, two of the three merfurres charged Captain Jake. They stabbed in unison at his legs with their short tridents. He leapt high on his long deer legs and came slashing down at them with yells of "First! Third! And third again!" Loquacious Jake danced to keep the two in a line, so that only one could reach him at a time.
Fear was turning Perrozi's arms and legs to slow lumps of ice. He muttered, "I'm no warrior..." as his heart beat like something frantically trying to escape his chest. He had heard how excitement of a fight made a furre stupid, and he breathed deep, hoping that would help. He saw three choices-- the sea, the hold below, or the rigging.
With his mane of fins spread, the third merfurre advanced on Perrozi. He stopped to put a long urchin spine on his trident-crossbow, aimed, and fired. Perrozi yelled, "Ahhh!" in fear and scrambled for the trap door in the deck. Purely by luck, the spine went past the border terrier lad with a horrible whistling noise. The merfurre gave a sputtering snort that was probably a curse, then it began cocking its crossbow again.
By the time the next spine was loaded, Perrozi had reached the hatch. He raised it before him- the next spine shattered on the other side. He heard the sound of the merfurre reloading again. Perrozi yelled out, "Jake! My knife! Or anything!"
The deer's dark pelt gleamed like polished jet as he kept the merfurres at bay with quick unpredictable chops. He was saying, "Oh, ye're just lucky I don't have me horns today! I'd be pitchin' ye overboard both at the same time!" Frustrated by their quarry's agility, the merfurre in the middle went closer, trying to hook one of Jake's slender ankles with his weapon. Jake jumped, then gave the sea horse a kick to the nose.
It must have been painful; the merfurre fell back, eyes watering. Jake followed up with an overhand blow to the forehead. The merfurre froze, then slumped, and Jake barely managed to wrench the cutlass out of the flat area of the equine face. His voice strong despite his panting, the deer captain called to Perrozi, "The black chest, lad! Aft!"
Despite the stomach-turning reek that was coming up from the hold, the young dogfurre wanted nothing more than to throw himself down into the dark. He wondered why the merfurre who had fired at him was hanging back. The answer came to him like a bell's clear chiming: He was a coward!
Perrozi threw the hatch forwards- it crashed over with a loud slam. He waved his arms wildly and ran towards the merfurre with as loud a growl as he could muster. His opponent was caught in mid-reload. The merfurre's ears went back and he showed the whites of his eyes as he gallumped back a good several meters.
Suddenly, the terrier reversed his direction and ran for the back of the ship. The black seachest was obvious, its handles lashed to rings for the purpose. Perrozi threw the lid back and there was his precious knife, with its long slightly curved blade and thick counter-weighted handle. The distant thought occurred to him a dagger was nearly worthless for parrying a trident. He muttered to himself, "I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid."
In the chest, there was also a buckler of some kind of intricately carved iridescent blue ivory, so Perrozi took that as well. He slipped his hand through the strap, gripping the handle. It was light and the leafish shape covered his forearm and a handlength beyond his fist.
The merfurre still facing Loquacious Jake bellowed something; the language sounded like shrieking into a large seashell. Jake was not leaping as high, and he was being driven backwards, larboard, to the side of the ship without a rail. The merfurre cowering near the bow gave a wheezy reply, then turned its weapon trident-portion forwards and headed for Perrozi.
The young canine furre found himself cornered with the railing at his back. He saw a rope hanging from a horizontal boom. It would have been a magnificent opportunity to swing away if the other end of the rope had not been hanging loosely, unanchored some four meters away. Perrozi grabbed one end anyways and tied a loop with a running bowline, similar to a slipknot.
Meanwhile, Captain Jake's enemy was aware that the dark deer was tiring. He stabbed for the lean captain's ankle over and over. Jake watched the timing-- and leapt to stamp on the shaft of the weapon, trapping it on the deck. "Oho!" he crowed. It turned to a cry of pain as the merfurre's head darted forwards, sinking triangular teeth into Jake's thigh.
The terrier lad had no time to watch this. He had placed the knife between his teeth, the way he had heard pirates did it. He had never fought with a blade in his life! Ah, but he had sailed on fishing trips, and he knew how to cast a rope to secure the ship to the dock. Old Henk, a kind quartermaster, had made him practice when he was small.
Before the merfurre was in trident-range, Perrozi swung the rope. It cleared the merfurre's head, then encircled his neck. Rather than take it off, the sea-warrior backed away, causing the rope to tighten. In desperation, he threw his trident at Perrozi with all his strength.
It was then that Perrozi felt the little blue shield move of its own accord. It wrenched his arm awkwardly, committing force so that the incoming trident was slammed aside. Perrozi learned that parrying with a buckler was not merely a matter of putting a shield in the way of an oncoming weapon. The merfurre began shrieking hollowly as it headed towards the railing.
At the same time, Perrozi dove for a T-shaped metal cleat bolted to the deck. His paws a blur, he wound the rope in one figure eight after another, securing it. He had two completed when the panicking mer leapt overboard, and the rope went taut. The merfurre's blue-gray body was roughly slammed to the side of the moving ship. Perrozi saw it surface, only to be pulled under and repeatedly dashed against the hull in a repeating spiral.
The last merfurre was snapping at Loquacious Jake, who was fending it off with his cutlass. Deep gashes were open along the mer's side but blood was also running down Jake's thigh. Trusting to the power of the little blue buckler, Perrozi came running over, brandishing the pearl-handled knife.
Realizing he was unarmed in a fight that was now two against one, the mer immediately changed tactics. He rolled and flipped off the deck into the water. When Perrozi looked back, he saw blood-tainted foam.
Then he saw a flash of pointed fin and similar tailtip. Lured by the dragging carcass, sharks had probably gotten him. Perrozi pulled up the rope. There was only a frayed end.
For once Jake was quiet. He let down the remaining sail. When he licked his lips, Perrozi saw the deer's tongue was pale. He had lost quite a bit of blood. He said, "Ye did well." Then he pointed to the first mer's body, and said, "Push it into the hold. For Milady."
Perrozi dragged the dead mer to the trap door and shoved it down the hatch. The gargoyle, he saw, was still in the same immobile position it had been when Captain Jake had let the dog emerge. He wondered who Milady was, that she would want the corpse of a mer. The sun would be down within two hours. Maybe he could question Ballast some more tonight.
He was not given the opportunity to question the deer, though. When Perrozi looked up from his task, he saw that Loquacious Jake had wrapped whisky-soaked cloth strips about his leg, and passed out.
Chapter 3: A Craven Is Keelhauled
Having clambered aboard at the bow, two of the three merfurres charged Captain Jake. They stabbed in unison at his legs with their short tridents. He leapt high on his long deer legs and came slashing down at them with yells of "First! Third! And third again!" Loquacious Jake danced to keep the two in a line, so that only one could reach him at a time.
Fear was turning Perrozi's arms and legs to slow lumps of ice. He muttered, "I'm no warrior..." as his heart beat like something frantically trying to escape his chest. He had heard how excitement of a fight made a furre stupid, and he breathed deep, hoping that would help. He saw three choices-- the sea, the hold below, or the rigging.
With his mane of fins spread, the third merfurre advanced on Perrozi. He stopped to put a long urchin spine on his trident-crossbow, aimed, and fired. Perrozi yelled, "Ahhh!" in fear and scrambled for the trap door in the deck. Purely by luck, the spine went past the border terrier lad with a horrible whistling noise. The merfurre gave a sputtering snort that was probably a curse, then it began cocking its crossbow again.
By the time the next spine was loaded, Perrozi had reached the hatch. He raised it before him- the next spine shattered on the other side. He heard the sound of the merfurre reloading again. Perrozi yelled out, "Jake! My knife! Or anything!"
The deer's dark pelt gleamed like polished jet as he kept the merfurres at bay with quick unpredictable chops. He was saying, "Oh, ye're just lucky I don't have me horns today! I'd be pitchin' ye overboard both at the same time!" Frustrated by their quarry's agility, the merfurre in the middle went closer, trying to hook one of Jake's slender ankles with his weapon. Jake jumped, then gave the sea horse a kick to the nose.
It must have been painful; the merfurre fell back, eyes watering. Jake followed up with an overhand blow to the forehead. The merfurre froze, then slumped, and Jake barely managed to wrench the cutlass out of the flat area of the equine face. His voice strong despite his panting, the deer captain called to Perrozi, "The black chest, lad! Aft!"
Despite the stomach-turning reek that was coming up from the hold, the young dogfurre wanted nothing more than to throw himself down into the dark. He wondered why the merfurre who had fired at him was hanging back. The answer came to him like a bell's clear chiming: He was a coward!
Perrozi threw the hatch forwards- it crashed over with a loud slam. He waved his arms wildly and ran towards the merfurre with as loud a growl as he could muster. His opponent was caught in mid-reload. The merfurre's ears went back and he showed the whites of his eyes as he gallumped back a good several meters.
Suddenly, the terrier reversed his direction and ran for the back of the ship. The black seachest was obvious, its handles lashed to rings for the purpose. Perrozi threw the lid back and there was his precious knife, with its long slightly curved blade and thick counter-weighted handle. The distant thought occurred to him a dagger was nearly worthless for parrying a trident. He muttered to himself, "I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid."
In the chest, there was also a buckler of some kind of intricately carved iridescent blue ivory, so Perrozi took that as well. He slipped his hand through the strap, gripping the handle. It was light and the leafish shape covered his forearm and a handlength beyond his fist.
The merfurre still facing Loquacious Jake bellowed something; the language sounded like shrieking into a large seashell. Jake was not leaping as high, and he was being driven backwards, larboard, to the side of the ship without a rail. The merfurre cowering near the bow gave a wheezy reply, then turned its weapon trident-portion forwards and headed for Perrozi.
The young canine furre found himself cornered with the railing at his back. He saw a rope hanging from a horizontal boom. It would have been a magnificent opportunity to swing away if the other end of the rope had not been hanging loosely, unanchored some four meters away. Perrozi grabbed one end anyways and tied a loop with a running bowline, similar to a slipknot.
Meanwhile, Captain Jake's enemy was aware that the dark deer was tiring. He stabbed for the lean captain's ankle over and over. Jake watched the timing-- and leapt to stamp on the shaft of the weapon, trapping it on the deck. "Oho!" he crowed. It turned to a cry of pain as the merfurre's head darted forwards, sinking triangular teeth into Jake's thigh.
The terrier lad had no time to watch this. He had placed the knife between his teeth, the way he had heard pirates did it. He had never fought with a blade in his life! Ah, but he had sailed on fishing trips, and he knew how to cast a rope to secure the ship to the dock. Old Henk, a kind quartermaster, had made him practice when he was small.
Before the merfurre was in trident-range, Perrozi swung the rope. It cleared the merfurre's head, then encircled his neck. Rather than take it off, the sea-warrior backed away, causing the rope to tighten. In desperation, he threw his trident at Perrozi with all his strength.
It was then that Perrozi felt the little blue shield move of its own accord. It wrenched his arm awkwardly, committing force so that the incoming trident was slammed aside. Perrozi learned that parrying with a buckler was not merely a matter of putting a shield in the way of an oncoming weapon. The merfurre began shrieking hollowly as it headed towards the railing.
At the same time, Perrozi dove for a T-shaped metal cleat bolted to the deck. His paws a blur, he wound the rope in one figure eight after another, securing it. He had two completed when the panicking mer leapt overboard, and the rope went taut. The merfurre's blue-gray body was roughly slammed to the side of the moving ship. Perrozi saw it surface, only to be pulled under and repeatedly dashed against the hull in a repeating spiral.
The last merfurre was snapping at Loquacious Jake, who was fending it off with his cutlass. Deep gashes were open along the mer's side but blood was also running down Jake's thigh. Trusting to the power of the little blue buckler, Perrozi came running over, brandishing the pearl-handled knife.
Realizing he was unarmed in a fight that was now two against one, the mer immediately changed tactics. He rolled and flipped off the deck into the water. When Perrozi looked back, he saw blood-tainted foam.
Then he saw a flash of pointed fin and similar tailtip. Lured by the dragging carcass, sharks had probably gotten him. Perrozi pulled up the rope. There was only a frayed end.
For once Jake was quiet. He let down the remaining sail. When he licked his lips, Perrozi saw the deer's tongue was pale. He had lost quite a bit of blood. He said, "Ye did well." Then he pointed to the first mer's body, and said, "Push it into the hold. For Milady."
Perrozi dragged the dead mer to the trap door and shoved it down the hatch. The gargoyle, he saw, was still in the same immobile position it had been when Captain Jake had let the dog emerge. He wondered who Milady was, that she would want the corpse of a mer. The sun would be down within two hours. Maybe he could question Ballast some more tonight.
He was not given the opportunity to question the deer, though. When Perrozi looked up from his task, he saw that Loquacious Jake had wrapped whisky-soaked cloth strips about his leg, and passed out.
Chapter IV
Chapter 4: Milady
Now the schooner was adrift. It rocked from side to side, heaved about by the tireless waves. On deck, Loquacious Jake's lanky form lay sprawled and unmoving. While the sun was setting, the direction of west was known, but there was no way to know which direction to proceed.
The ship's tiller was tied in place. Although it was possible to sail the schooner alone, it had to have been difficult. Perrozi knew he himself could not do it. What had happened to the crew? And, what had happened to his father?
Although Perrozi knew a little about sailing, he knew nothing of physicking. He feared the captain would be dead long before morning, and there seemed nothing he could do. Hoping the sea-chest might hold answers, Perrozi dove through the contents with more care. He had found one artifact; he allowed himself to hope for more.
Amidst velvet and silk, the canine youth found a number of precious things. There was a small goblet of solid gold, heavy gems studding its sides. There was a necklace of clear blue stones,also held together by gold. Poor as he was, it never entered Perrozi's mind to take them for his own. He put the magical blue buckler back where he had found it.
Most important of all, though, he found a tube of blackened bronze, splotched with beautiful blue-green tarnish. The young dog uncapped it and slid out a map. He couldn't read the words but he could recognize a coastline and a drawing of a large city, presumably Malgrave. Several things were marked on the map in charcoal rather than ink.
The sun melted to a red oblong, and neither shorebird nor shore gave any clue as to where Millarca was meandering. The cloak of night was drawn across the sky. Perrozi shivered. He took a large scarf of silk and wrapped it around his torso like a toga. Despite its feather-light quality, it was quite warm.
From the open hatch came faint sounds of movement. There was a scrape of wood and a rattle of heavy chains. The dogfurre remembered the gargoyle locked up in the stinking hold, and rushed down the ladder.
Perrozi could hardly see anything; he called out, "Ballast?" The gargoyle's eyes like glowing bluish opals opened, casting dim light on a terrifying sight. Too late, he realized the noise he had taken for the lapping of bilge was slurping. A female furre, clad in some sort of very elegant pleated gown, crouched on the remains of the merfurre, her long tail waving above her haunches. She looked like a primitive cross between several sorts of furre, a cougar-like face with a large dog nose, and a weasel-ish slinky body. She was emaciated, and her lips were black. The copious blood of a severed artery covered her muzzle and dripped down her chin. Perhaps the worst of it was that she was smiling with bloody teeth, and she looked so happy about it. "A vampire!" Perrozi gasped.
Ballast lowered its great head in respectful obeisance, then it grated under its breath, "Bow..." Perrozi thought he detected some anxiety in the creature's voice.
Perrozi followed Ballast's advice and bowed. He was an orphan of the docks; it was a clumsy bow, done too fast and without grace. Still, the gesture had a good effect.
As if she were not standing ankle-deep in bad-smelling muck, as if she had not just been caught sucking greedily at the dead mer's throat, the vampire furre stood up and curtseyed cordially. She spoke in a heart-meltingly sweet voice: "I see Jacob found thee. Didst thou bring the knife?"
"Yes..." and he added, "Milady." because it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The more he looked at her, the less brutish she appeared. She seemed pretty, and nice. Like a pupil with a crush on teacher, he wanted her to think well of him. "I have it here. Want to see it?" He hoped she did.
As if this was funny, the vampiress said, "Oh, no, thou must carry it. So we can find thy father's treasure. Now, where is Jacob?"
Perrozi blinked, realizing she was speaking of Captain Jake. Sudden as the popping of a soap bubble, the dire events of the previous day returned to him. "-He's on deck. He's hurt bad. Can you help him?"
"Yes, pet. I am a doctor, know thou." Milady picked up her skirts and made her way to the ladder, ignoring Ballast. Perrozi did not want her to leave, did not want to leave her presence. Dimly, he realized that if Ballast was down here, it was either her doing, or something she condoned. And, something about that ought to bother him, but it was hard for him to remember what. Milady climbed out with a liquid sort of agility.
After she was out of sight, there came, again, a sudden sharp clearing of Perrozi's mind. He turned to the gargoyle. If it was possible for something carved of marble to look relieved, Ballast was doing just that. The border terrier turned back and saw the gargoyle trying to stretch a wing in the low-ceilinged confines of the hold. The unblinking opals regarded Perrozi with a baleful air.
For the first time, Perrozi started to worry about what kind of person his father had been. "Did a dog furre put you down here?" He was relieved when Ballast shook his head no. "Why do they keep you here?" Perrozi asked.
Ballast grated, "Lift." With stubby-fingered paws, he indicated the hull of the Millarca. Something the gargoyle did was the source of the schooner's remarkable speed. The chains went right into the hull. If the gargoyle was able to raise the ship from the sea, setting him free probably meant somehow shattering the timbers. Without the ship, how could Perrozi recover whatever his father had left him?
Although the gargoyle was not really a furre, Perrozi still knew in his heart that this was not right. It was slavery. Slavery was against the king's law, was it not? He was sure that good King Constantine would not stand for this, if he knew... but the king and all his be-robed mages and fancy knights were not here. "I'll break you out of here," Perrozi whispered to the stone creature. "I don't know how, but I will." He patted Ballast on the arm and left the hold.
Milady proved to be a most skillful physicker. Loquacious Jake lay under a blanket, dreaming peacefully, his wounds bandaged. Milady was also a very skilled sailor. She ran the sail back up and steered a course by the stars. How she knew where they presently were, Perrozi had no idea.
After a dipper of fresh, clean water from a small barrel, the terrier wedged himself into the prow of the ship, curled up and thinking. Captain Jake, he decided, might be skillful and brave and clever, but he was also ruthless and would care about somebody only when there was something to gain. Milady seemed to be the same way.
They clearly wanted Perrozi for something. But what? What proof was there that Jake had even known his father at all...? Perrozi found himself questioning every word Jake had ever spoken.
Chapter 4: Milady
Now the schooner was adrift. It rocked from side to side, heaved about by the tireless waves. On deck, Loquacious Jake's lanky form lay sprawled and unmoving. While the sun was setting, the direction of west was known, but there was no way to know which direction to proceed.
The ship's tiller was tied in place. Although it was possible to sail the schooner alone, it had to have been difficult. Perrozi knew he himself could not do it. What had happened to the crew? And, what had happened to his father?
Although Perrozi knew a little about sailing, he knew nothing of physicking. He feared the captain would be dead long before morning, and there seemed nothing he could do. Hoping the sea-chest might hold answers, Perrozi dove through the contents with more care. He had found one artifact; he allowed himself to hope for more.
Amidst velvet and silk, the canine youth found a number of precious things. There was a small goblet of solid gold, heavy gems studding its sides. There was a necklace of clear blue stones,also held together by gold. Poor as he was, it never entered Perrozi's mind to take them for his own. He put the magical blue buckler back where he had found it.
Most important of all, though, he found a tube of blackened bronze, splotched with beautiful blue-green tarnish. The young dog uncapped it and slid out a map. He couldn't read the words but he could recognize a coastline and a drawing of a large city, presumably Malgrave. Several things were marked on the map in charcoal rather than ink.
The sun melted to a red oblong, and neither shorebird nor shore gave any clue as to where Millarca was meandering. The cloak of night was drawn across the sky. Perrozi shivered. He took a large scarf of silk and wrapped it around his torso like a toga. Despite its feather-light quality, it was quite warm.
From the open hatch came faint sounds of movement. There was a scrape of wood and a rattle of heavy chains. The dogfurre remembered the gargoyle locked up in the stinking hold, and rushed down the ladder.
Perrozi could hardly see anything; he called out, "Ballast?" The gargoyle's eyes like glowing bluish opals opened, casting dim light on a terrifying sight. Too late, he realized the noise he had taken for the lapping of bilge was slurping. A female furre, clad in some sort of very elegant pleated gown, crouched on the remains of the merfurre, her long tail waving above her haunches. She looked like a primitive cross between several sorts of furre, a cougar-like face with a large dog nose, and a weasel-ish slinky body. She was emaciated, and her lips were black. The copious blood of a severed artery covered her muzzle and dripped down her chin. Perhaps the worst of it was that she was smiling with bloody teeth, and she looked so happy about it. "A vampire!" Perrozi gasped.
Ballast lowered its great head in respectful obeisance, then it grated under its breath, "Bow..." Perrozi thought he detected some anxiety in the creature's voice.
Perrozi followed Ballast's advice and bowed. He was an orphan of the docks; it was a clumsy bow, done too fast and without grace. Still, the gesture had a good effect.
As if she were not standing ankle-deep in bad-smelling muck, as if she had not just been caught sucking greedily at the dead mer's throat, the vampire furre stood up and curtseyed cordially. She spoke in a heart-meltingly sweet voice: "I see Jacob found thee. Didst thou bring the knife?"
"Yes..." and he added, "Milady." because it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The more he looked at her, the less brutish she appeared. She seemed pretty, and nice. Like a pupil with a crush on teacher, he wanted her to think well of him. "I have it here. Want to see it?" He hoped she did.
As if this was funny, the vampiress said, "Oh, no, thou must carry it. So we can find thy father's treasure. Now, where is Jacob?"
Perrozi blinked, realizing she was speaking of Captain Jake. Sudden as the popping of a soap bubble, the dire events of the previous day returned to him. "-He's on deck. He's hurt bad. Can you help him?"
"Yes, pet. I am a doctor, know thou." Milady picked up her skirts and made her way to the ladder, ignoring Ballast. Perrozi did not want her to leave, did not want to leave her presence. Dimly, he realized that if Ballast was down here, it was either her doing, or something she condoned. And, something about that ought to bother him, but it was hard for him to remember what. Milady climbed out with a liquid sort of agility.
After she was out of sight, there came, again, a sudden sharp clearing of Perrozi's mind. He turned to the gargoyle. If it was possible for something carved of marble to look relieved, Ballast was doing just that. The border terrier turned back and saw the gargoyle trying to stretch a wing in the low-ceilinged confines of the hold. The unblinking opals regarded Perrozi with a baleful air.
For the first time, Perrozi started to worry about what kind of person his father had been. "Did a dog furre put you down here?" He was relieved when Ballast shook his head no. "Why do they keep you here?" Perrozi asked.
Ballast grated, "Lift." With stubby-fingered paws, he indicated the hull of the Millarca. Something the gargoyle did was the source of the schooner's remarkable speed. The chains went right into the hull. If the gargoyle was able to raise the ship from the sea, setting him free probably meant somehow shattering the timbers. Without the ship, how could Perrozi recover whatever his father had left him?
Although the gargoyle was not really a furre, Perrozi still knew in his heart that this was not right. It was slavery. Slavery was against the king's law, was it not? He was sure that good King Constantine would not stand for this, if he knew... but the king and all his be-robed mages and fancy knights were not here. "I'll break you out of here," Perrozi whispered to the stone creature. "I don't know how, but I will." He patted Ballast on the arm and left the hold.
Milady proved to be a most skillful physicker. Loquacious Jake lay under a blanket, dreaming peacefully, his wounds bandaged. Milady was also a very skilled sailor. She ran the sail back up and steered a course by the stars. How she knew where they presently were, Perrozi had no idea.
After a dipper of fresh, clean water from a small barrel, the terrier wedged himself into the prow of the ship, curled up and thinking. Captain Jake, he decided, might be skillful and brave and clever, but he was also ruthless and would care about somebody only when there was something to gain. Milady seemed to be the same way.
They clearly wanted Perrozi for something. But what? What proof was there that Jake had even known his father at all...? Perrozi found himself questioning every word Jake had ever spoken.
Chapter V
Chapter 5: O, Fortunate Maiden!
By day, the schooner was left adrift, and all slept. At night, Milady came up from the hold reeking of death. Milady gave commands that sounded like mild suggestions, then Jake gave orders to Perrozi.
To the gargoyle down below, Milady would merely say, "Raise the ship." The chains would go taut and entire craft would rise half a meter. Each dawn, Ballast would let the ship drop back down, then curl forwards and pass out, exhausted and weak as a baby.
Loquacious Jake sat propped against the mast, his jacket mended and his shirt open in front in the fashion of a rake. The urchin spine wound and the bite on his thigh were healing slowly. Much of the work of sailing was up to the terrier. Some tasks Perrozi did not yet have the strength to do alone, so he and Jake did them together.
Each sundown, Perrozi prayed to Dahlsea for safety by tying three knots in a strip of cloth. He whispered his wishes to the Prime of the Seas as he did so, then cast it into the water. As the wind whipped about the tattered hem of her long dress, Milady watched, bemused.
Loquacious Jake, however, sneered, and said, "Ye ought to drop that silly superstition, lad."
Perrozi's ears lowered, his tail tucked, and he felt very uncomfortable. It was plainly evil to try to separate a furre and his faith. But, what should he expect from one who consorted with a vampire?
With hands imperiously perched on the edge of the ship's wheel, Milady said, "Leave off, thou! What harm's there in a prayer?"
Jake said, "'Tis a superstition, and such are traps for the mind. They say a knot-cloth won't work unless ye hold the belief that it works. So the lad's got to tell himself it is a truth, right from the start."
"And how does that harm anyone...?" the vampiress pressed on.
The dark deer replied, "He has no way to tell if the superstition be workin' or not. When it fails, he can either blame himself, thinkin' he did it wrong somehow, or he can tell himself he ain't done it enough. He's no choice but to throw more bloody knot-cloths into the water for the rest of his life!"
Milady said soothingly, "It matters not if he throweth one or a thousand, Jacob. Leave him be." Her voice was melodious and clear in the night.
Perrozi glanced at the lean captain, who looked about to argue. Male deer were known for their enjoyment of a good verbal sparring session. A moment later, though, Loquacious Jake was suddenly becalmed and smiling. He nodded to Milady and said, "Of course ye are right."
After Jake passed out from exhaustion, and Milady retired to below the deck, the dog had time to himself. He managed to find a fishing hook and some line wound around a stout length of stick, stashed in a chink at the aft. As the sun came up, he caught a fish he recognized as a rock frannard. For fear the Primes would think him ungrateful and withdraw their favor, Perrozi whispered a rhyming couplet to thank Dahlsea and Jemmion.
Without a fire, Perrozi had to eat the fish raw, which was not so bad now that he was very hungry. He and Jake both ate dry sailor's crackers. As they were made with a lot of dried green grass, Perrozi found them unpleasant.
There came numerous signs they were approaching the shore. A gull piped shrilly as it circled them. Gloppy green seaweed, sometimes tangled up with bits of wood, drifted by. Jake used a slim pole tipped with a hook to bring it aboard, and he ate the seaweed with gusto. Perrozi declined the deer's invitation to share it.
Milady brought out the map from the case and showed them where they were headed. She said, "This bay here has an old village. They pay no homage to the crown and they ask no questions. We will stop there for supplies." She turned to Perrozi and said, "You will tell no one about me, do you understand?" She looked at him the way she sometimes looked at Captain Jake, her eyes like wild honey, or dark amber, filling him with a sense of well-being.
Perrozi found himself saying, "Yes, Milady."
Distinctive in its disrepair, the Millarca drifted into port in the dead of night. There were a dozen fishing boats and another schooner at the docks, which seemed deserted. An elderly lady rat sold them everything they wanted except for tar and paint. She told them the furre who sold that was at the center of town for a big ritual.
Leaning on the fishing hook for a staff, the dark deer limped along the boardwalk. Perrozi followed him. They walked between neat buildings made of whitewashed wood. Their ears soon picked up the sound of a crowd gabbling excitedly.
A ring of stones surrounded a pile of wood. Rising up from the center of it was a long post. A female furre, some kind of brown-striped orange feline about seventeen summers in age, was struggling there, her wrists bound to a spike well above her head. Over some sort of noble's tunic and breeches, she wore a lacy yellow bridal gown decorated with pearly disks of shell. Her hair was very long and dark red and had nearly come free of its customary braid.
Perrozi whispered to Loquacious Jake, "Is she a witch?"
"Nay," replied the captain. "Methinks she is just a sacrifice." Killing furres in a ritual was against the King's law but in out-of-the-way places, old ways might continue if most of the people still accepted them.
Shocked by this, Perrozi whispered, "Are they starving...?"
The deer put a finger to his lips, "Shh."
The crowd fell silent when a well-dressed badger in robes mounted a nearby platform. He read from a book. He was saying, "Verily, her mortal form shall fall away as ashes. Her spirit shall rise up as smoke. Blessed is the bride given unto Morauz. O, fortunate maiden!"
Familiar with the rite, the local folk chanted, "O, fortunate maiden!" Their voices were charged with feeling. The crowd parted to let two respected villagers through. They were probably the local tavern owner and a senior shipwright, to judge by their clothing. They came forwards, a keg held between them.
Now the priest badger was speaking from memory, with no real need of the book in his paws, "Praise to thee, Morauz, who causes the river to seek the sea. Praise to thee, Morauz, who makes the trees grow into the shapes of timber. You send the rain to make the fields fertile; you give us the crab and the lobster to eat; praise to thee, Morauz!"
Overcome by emotion, an old woman furre burst out with a spontaneous wail of "Praise Morauz!"
The pair of furres bearing the tot of liquor removed its fist-sized cork, then sloshed the contents onto the dry wood. The smell of potent brandy filled the air.
A little girl pony with flowers in her mane had the honor of carrying the torch. It was made of pitch on a bundle of reeds bound with colorful ribbons. The assembly parted again, and she ran straight for the alcohol-doused pyre.
Chapter 5: O, Fortunate Maiden!
By day, the schooner was left adrift, and all slept. At night, Milady came up from the hold reeking of death. Milady gave commands that sounded like mild suggestions, then Jake gave orders to Perrozi.
To the gargoyle down below, Milady would merely say, "Raise the ship." The chains would go taut and entire craft would rise half a meter. Each dawn, Ballast would let the ship drop back down, then curl forwards and pass out, exhausted and weak as a baby.
Loquacious Jake sat propped against the mast, his jacket mended and his shirt open in front in the fashion of a rake. The urchin spine wound and the bite on his thigh were healing slowly. Much of the work of sailing was up to the terrier. Some tasks Perrozi did not yet have the strength to do alone, so he and Jake did them together.
Each sundown, Perrozi prayed to Dahlsea for safety by tying three knots in a strip of cloth. He whispered his wishes to the Prime of the Seas as he did so, then cast it into the water. As the wind whipped about the tattered hem of her long dress, Milady watched, bemused.
Loquacious Jake, however, sneered, and said, "Ye ought to drop that silly superstition, lad."
Perrozi's ears lowered, his tail tucked, and he felt very uncomfortable. It was plainly evil to try to separate a furre and his faith. But, what should he expect from one who consorted with a vampire?
With hands imperiously perched on the edge of the ship's wheel, Milady said, "Leave off, thou! What harm's there in a prayer?"
Jake said, "'Tis a superstition, and such are traps for the mind. They say a knot-cloth won't work unless ye hold the belief that it works. So the lad's got to tell himself it is a truth, right from the start."
"And how does that harm anyone...?" the vampiress pressed on.
The dark deer replied, "He has no way to tell if the superstition be workin' or not. When it fails, he can either blame himself, thinkin' he did it wrong somehow, or he can tell himself he ain't done it enough. He's no choice but to throw more bloody knot-cloths into the water for the rest of his life!"
Milady said soothingly, "It matters not if he throweth one or a thousand, Jacob. Leave him be." Her voice was melodious and clear in the night.
Perrozi glanced at the lean captain, who looked about to argue. Male deer were known for their enjoyment of a good verbal sparring session. A moment later, though, Loquacious Jake was suddenly becalmed and smiling. He nodded to Milady and said, "Of course ye are right."
After Jake passed out from exhaustion, and Milady retired to below the deck, the dog had time to himself. He managed to find a fishing hook and some line wound around a stout length of stick, stashed in a chink at the aft. As the sun came up, he caught a fish he recognized as a rock frannard. For fear the Primes would think him ungrateful and withdraw their favor, Perrozi whispered a rhyming couplet to thank Dahlsea and Jemmion.
Without a fire, Perrozi had to eat the fish raw, which was not so bad now that he was very hungry. He and Jake both ate dry sailor's crackers. As they were made with a lot of dried green grass, Perrozi found them unpleasant.
There came numerous signs they were approaching the shore. A gull piped shrilly as it circled them. Gloppy green seaweed, sometimes tangled up with bits of wood, drifted by. Jake used a slim pole tipped with a hook to bring it aboard, and he ate the seaweed with gusto. Perrozi declined the deer's invitation to share it.
Milady brought out the map from the case and showed them where they were headed. She said, "This bay here has an old village. They pay no homage to the crown and they ask no questions. We will stop there for supplies." She turned to Perrozi and said, "You will tell no one about me, do you understand?" She looked at him the way she sometimes looked at Captain Jake, her eyes like wild honey, or dark amber, filling him with a sense of well-being.
Perrozi found himself saying, "Yes, Milady."
Distinctive in its disrepair, the Millarca drifted into port in the dead of night. There were a dozen fishing boats and another schooner at the docks, which seemed deserted. An elderly lady rat sold them everything they wanted except for tar and paint. She told them the furre who sold that was at the center of town for a big ritual.
Leaning on the fishing hook for a staff, the dark deer limped along the boardwalk. Perrozi followed him. They walked between neat buildings made of whitewashed wood. Their ears soon picked up the sound of a crowd gabbling excitedly.
A ring of stones surrounded a pile of wood. Rising up from the center of it was a long post. A female furre, some kind of brown-striped orange feline about seventeen summers in age, was struggling there, her wrists bound to a spike well above her head. Over some sort of noble's tunic and breeches, she wore a lacy yellow bridal gown decorated with pearly disks of shell. Her hair was very long and dark red and had nearly come free of its customary braid.
Perrozi whispered to Loquacious Jake, "Is she a witch?"
"Nay," replied the captain. "Methinks she is just a sacrifice." Killing furres in a ritual was against the King's law but in out-of-the-way places, old ways might continue if most of the people still accepted them.
Shocked by this, Perrozi whispered, "Are they starving...?"
The deer put a finger to his lips, "Shh."
The crowd fell silent when a well-dressed badger in robes mounted a nearby platform. He read from a book. He was saying, "Verily, her mortal form shall fall away as ashes. Her spirit shall rise up as smoke. Blessed is the bride given unto Morauz. O, fortunate maiden!"
Familiar with the rite, the local folk chanted, "O, fortunate maiden!" Their voices were charged with feeling. The crowd parted to let two respected villagers through. They were probably the local tavern owner and a senior shipwright, to judge by their clothing. They came forwards, a keg held between them.
Now the priest badger was speaking from memory, with no real need of the book in his paws, "Praise to thee, Morauz, who causes the river to seek the sea. Praise to thee, Morauz, who makes the trees grow into the shapes of timber. You send the rain to make the fields fertile; you give us the crab and the lobster to eat; praise to thee, Morauz!"
Overcome by emotion, an old woman furre burst out with a spontaneous wail of "Praise Morauz!"
The pair of furres bearing the tot of liquor removed its fist-sized cork, then sloshed the contents onto the dry wood. The smell of potent brandy filled the air.
A little girl pony with flowers in her mane had the honor of carrying the torch. It was made of pitch on a bundle of reeds bound with colorful ribbons. The assembly parted again, and she ran straight for the alcohol-doused pyre.
Chapter VI
Chapter 6: A Blazing Exit
There was little time to think and no time to discuss. "Seize the child!" whispered Captain Jake as he put his bandit's kerchief on over his muzzle. With Perrozi in the lead, they moved out into the aisle that had opened to allow the torch-bearing girl.
This action was so unexpected that nobody stopped them. Perrozi picked the little one up from behind. She shrieked and nearly set his shin on fire. Despite his limp, Jake reached them swiftly. He seized the torch from the child, and brandished his cutlass. Loudly, he growled, "Back off, all of ye, lest I gut her!"
A mare furre in the crowd cried out, "Do as he says!" Muttering darkly, the villagers stepped back. The two holding the brandy keg threw it onto the pyre and turned to face these heretics. The mare pleaded, "My lord-- please!"
Perrozi had to admit that when Loquacious Jake wanted to, he could sound like a wolf or a hound. His boots and tail-covering waistcoat added to the illusion, and he had no horns to give him away. Jake snarled, "Set the lass free." as he pointed with his sword.
The tavern-keeper (a bull) frowned as he took his knife out. He climbed onto the woodpile and cut the ropes. Like a stone in an avalanche, the orange lady cat bounded down the heap, her skirts held up in her hands. She ran for Perrozi and Jake. Her mouth was still gagged.
Not quite satisfied, the half-masked captain said, "Now all of ye are going to run to yonder tavern, right now, and get inside!" He was so vehement, and sounded so imperious and savage, that no one doubted that he could slice the little girl to pieces if he so chose. "Do that and ye will find her on the docks."
"Do as he says!" bellowed the tavern-keeper. The mare led the stampede for the building. The priest hesitated until the tavern-keeper nudged him, and, as the latter held a blade, this was an especially bad time to disagree. The little pony girlchild whimpered in fear.
Confident and feeling like a hero, Perrozi whispered to her, "We won't hurt you." Confused and upset, she said nothing, but simply broke out into bawling.
She was getting too heavy to hold so he set her on her feet and held her wrist gently but firmly with both his paws. After the villagers had entered the building, and the door slammed shut, the four furres made their way to the docks.
Seen up-close, the freed sacrifice was bedraggled but pretty. The bonds at her wrists had left raw scrapes, swollen from her thrashing about earlier. She commented, "Mmph!" After a moment of struggle, she pushed the shell-adorned dress up and over her head, and left it on the dusty road behind them.
They reached the Millarca soon enough. Perrozi released the little horse.
She scampered off a ways, then turned and screamed, "Morauz will GET you!" Then she turned and continued running.
"Get aboard, please," said Jake to the feline female. He cut the ribbons on the torch, then divided it up, handing half to Perrozi. "Burn all the ships," Jake commanded.
"What?!" Perrozi yelped, his voice breaking. Most of the craft they could see were small, so he knew there was nobody aboard- but the idea of destroying the precious vessels was still horrible to him. The terrier shook his head, "They're just ordinary people. They need their boats, Jake!"
"They'll be after us in those boats, me lad." said the deer. "Or using them to seek help from other places on the coast. No guessing what lies they'll spread." When he saw Perrozi's tormented expression, he decided to try another tack. "They each had a part in tryin' to murder yonder orange lady."
After a moment's thought, Perrozi decided Jake was right. The principle of preserving the property of others came second to that of saving their own lives. That the people seemed to deserve punishment helped ease his conscience. The dog yelled and whooped "Ahoy there! Hello?!". Then, satisfied that there was nobody aboard, he set the other schooner ablaze.
By the time he was safely aboard the Millarca, the harbor was a row of burning tipping masts. Jake steered from a seated position, and Perrozi had to be his eyes to get them out of the mostly-enclosed bay harbor. When they were many knots' distance safely out to sea, Jake had them take down the sails. The dark deer limped to the covered part of the ship and lay down, exhausted.
Perrozi stared out at the waves, still feeling a bit sorry for the fisherfolk. He decided it was not their fault that they held such strange beliefs.
A faintly angry boyish girl's voice behind him brought Perrozi out of his moment of regret. "They have been doing that every year for three years. I was to be the fourth 'bride'." Perrozi turned and saw the orange cat lady. Her accent was highborn. They spoke without contractions. When she had eye-contact, her wrath faded and she said, "Thank you for what you did. My name is Zeliandra."
The terrier nodded, and said, "It would have been awful if they had burned you..."
Zeliandra smiled. She said, "What is your name?" Perrozi had not been around many nobles. Her crisp, clipped speech sounded odd to him.
"Perrozi, ma'am." he replied.
"My father will reward you," Zeliandra continued. "A new ship, if that is what you wish."
A reward was a wonderful thought. Perrozi's face lit up. "Your father must really be worried about you."
Zeliandra's smile shifted to look more cynical. "I am from a big family. I was not missed." She wrung her hands a bit. "Is there anything I can help with while I am here?"
The canine youth pondered. "Do you know how to sail?"
"Not a bit," Zeliandra admitted. "I can sew, I can weave, I can read, I can identify a knight by their shield..."
"Oh!" Perrozi said, "There's a map. I want to know what it says, maybe you can help me." Taking care not to wake Loquacious Jake, Perrozi fetched the dark metal scroll-case out of the sea chest. They moved away so they could speak over it.
Perrozi explained, "There's a rich lady sleeping in the hold and she navigates at night. She's doesn't want anyone to see her. This is her map."
Zeliandra nodded, and studied the charcoal. "Here is Malgrave. There is Kell, and the Tower of the Magi, and Falbert." Perrozi nodded; he had heard of them all. She continued, "Here is Drayvert, where you picked me up." She squinted, markings like gullwing eyebrows lowering in a faint frown. "What is this speck off the coast of Harfang? I have seen maps before, but this is not on them. It says 'Fumet Island'." It had been drawn in with charcoal.
"I've not heard of it," Perrozi said. "We're on our way to where my father hid his treasures. They say he was a smuggler." The brown wing-like smudges over Zeliandra's eyes rose and her ears went back a bit, at the word.
Chapter 6: A Blazing Exit
There was little time to think and no time to discuss. "Seize the child!" whispered Captain Jake as he put his bandit's kerchief on over his muzzle. With Perrozi in the lead, they moved out into the aisle that had opened to allow the torch-bearing girl.
This action was so unexpected that nobody stopped them. Perrozi picked the little one up from behind. She shrieked and nearly set his shin on fire. Despite his limp, Jake reached them swiftly. He seized the torch from the child, and brandished his cutlass. Loudly, he growled, "Back off, all of ye, lest I gut her!"
A mare furre in the crowd cried out, "Do as he says!" Muttering darkly, the villagers stepped back. The two holding the brandy keg threw it onto the pyre and turned to face these heretics. The mare pleaded, "My lord-- please!"
Perrozi had to admit that when Loquacious Jake wanted to, he could sound like a wolf or a hound. His boots and tail-covering waistcoat added to the illusion, and he had no horns to give him away. Jake snarled, "Set the lass free." as he pointed with his sword.
The tavern-keeper (a bull) frowned as he took his knife out. He climbed onto the woodpile and cut the ropes. Like a stone in an avalanche, the orange lady cat bounded down the heap, her skirts held up in her hands. She ran for Perrozi and Jake. Her mouth was still gagged.
Not quite satisfied, the half-masked captain said, "Now all of ye are going to run to yonder tavern, right now, and get inside!" He was so vehement, and sounded so imperious and savage, that no one doubted that he could slice the little girl to pieces if he so chose. "Do that and ye will find her on the docks."
"Do as he says!" bellowed the tavern-keeper. The mare led the stampede for the building. The priest hesitated until the tavern-keeper nudged him, and, as the latter held a blade, this was an especially bad time to disagree. The little pony girlchild whimpered in fear.
Confident and feeling like a hero, Perrozi whispered to her, "We won't hurt you." Confused and upset, she said nothing, but simply broke out into bawling.
She was getting too heavy to hold so he set her on her feet and held her wrist gently but firmly with both his paws. After the villagers had entered the building, and the door slammed shut, the four furres made their way to the docks.
Seen up-close, the freed sacrifice was bedraggled but pretty. The bonds at her wrists had left raw scrapes, swollen from her thrashing about earlier. She commented, "Mmph!" After a moment of struggle, she pushed the shell-adorned dress up and over her head, and left it on the dusty road behind them.
They reached the Millarca soon enough. Perrozi released the little horse.
She scampered off a ways, then turned and screamed, "Morauz will GET you!" Then she turned and continued running.
"Get aboard, please," said Jake to the feline female. He cut the ribbons on the torch, then divided it up, handing half to Perrozi. "Burn all the ships," Jake commanded.
"What?!" Perrozi yelped, his voice breaking. Most of the craft they could see were small, so he knew there was nobody aboard- but the idea of destroying the precious vessels was still horrible to him. The terrier shook his head, "They're just ordinary people. They need their boats, Jake!"
"They'll be after us in those boats, me lad." said the deer. "Or using them to seek help from other places on the coast. No guessing what lies they'll spread." When he saw Perrozi's tormented expression, he decided to try another tack. "They each had a part in tryin' to murder yonder orange lady."
After a moment's thought, Perrozi decided Jake was right. The principle of preserving the property of others came second to that of saving their own lives. That the people seemed to deserve punishment helped ease his conscience. The dog yelled and whooped "Ahoy there! Hello?!". Then, satisfied that there was nobody aboard, he set the other schooner ablaze.
By the time he was safely aboard the Millarca, the harbor was a row of burning tipping masts. Jake steered from a seated position, and Perrozi had to be his eyes to get them out of the mostly-enclosed bay harbor. When they were many knots' distance safely out to sea, Jake had them take down the sails. The dark deer limped to the covered part of the ship and lay down, exhausted.
Perrozi stared out at the waves, still feeling a bit sorry for the fisherfolk. He decided it was not their fault that they held such strange beliefs.
A faintly angry boyish girl's voice behind him brought Perrozi out of his moment of regret. "They have been doing that every year for three years. I was to be the fourth 'bride'." Perrozi turned and saw the orange cat lady. Her accent was highborn. They spoke without contractions. When she had eye-contact, her wrath faded and she said, "Thank you for what you did. My name is Zeliandra."
The terrier nodded, and said, "It would have been awful if they had burned you..."
Zeliandra smiled. She said, "What is your name?" Perrozi had not been around many nobles. Her crisp, clipped speech sounded odd to him.
"Perrozi, ma'am." he replied.
"My father will reward you," Zeliandra continued. "A new ship, if that is what you wish."
A reward was a wonderful thought. Perrozi's face lit up. "Your father must really be worried about you."
Zeliandra's smile shifted to look more cynical. "I am from a big family. I was not missed." She wrung her hands a bit. "Is there anything I can help with while I am here?"
The canine youth pondered. "Do you know how to sail?"
"Not a bit," Zeliandra admitted. "I can sew, I can weave, I can read, I can identify a knight by their shield..."
"Oh!" Perrozi said, "There's a map. I want to know what it says, maybe you can help me." Taking care not to wake Loquacious Jake, Perrozi fetched the dark metal scroll-case out of the sea chest. They moved away so they could speak over it.
Perrozi explained, "There's a rich lady sleeping in the hold and she navigates at night. She's doesn't want anyone to see her. This is her map."
Zeliandra nodded, and studied the charcoal. "Here is Malgrave. There is Kell, and the Tower of the Magi, and Falbert." Perrozi nodded; he had heard of them all. She continued, "Here is Drayvert, where you picked me up." She squinted, markings like gullwing eyebrows lowering in a faint frown. "What is this speck off the coast of Harfang? I have seen maps before, but this is not on them. It says 'Fumet Island'." It had been drawn in with charcoal.
"I've not heard of it," Perrozi said. "We're on our way to where my father hid his treasures. They say he was a smuggler." The brown wing-like smudges over Zeliandra's eyes rose and her ears went back a bit, at the word.
Chapter VII
Chapter 7: The Surfcutters
Perrozi said defensively, "I didn't get to choose who was my father."
Zeliandra lowered her eyes, an apology of sorts. "No, I understand. Believe me, I understand." She turned attention back to the map. There was a small paragraph of charcoal writing near where she indicated. The highborn orange feline read it aloud:
walk G W P
Raise gull stone. 1000 paces.
Me blood breaketh the seal.
The words were mysterious. Perrozi found the first line especially cryptic. "Walk gee, double you pee? The treasure is revealed by peeing?"
The lady remembered the boy did not read, and she kindly did not laugh at her rescuer. She explained, "G, W, and P are first letters of words, perhaps. They stand for something."
The air was growing cooler, a sign of the approach of night. Perrozi nodded, repeating it aloud softly to himself to commit it to memory. "Walk gee, double you pee."
Zeliandra tossed her hair and grinned. "Would you like to learn to read? It's not that hard."
"Sure," said Perrozi, his tail wagging. "Show me."
The young lady cat said, "Well, I need a charred stick first. Or a beach." They stopped there, because they had neither, and Perrozi put the map back. Then he led Zeliandra to where two large piles of ropes lay upon the deck. She could not tell how many different ropes there were; she counted at least eight frayed ends on one heap. They appeared to have been gnawed and cut in many places.
The terrier lad said, "Help me untangle the lines? Start with the ones in front of the the main mast."
"Which one is the main mast?" asked the orange lady.
Perrozi replied, "It's the the bigger and taller one at the back. The other is the forward mast. The foremast."
"Sensible names," said Zeliandra, and she knelt to get to work. The cords were as thick as three of her fingers together, and just moving the lengths paw over paw took effort.
Later, Zeliandra also helped with fishing, another task she had never done before. She was very excited as she pulled a struggling silver salmon from the brine. Perrozi cut up their catch with such speed that she was impressed, and said so.
The wind tangled her hair into unsightly mats and strings, and her shoulders and arms ached from working on the ropes, but she did not complain. She ate better than she had in weeks, and slept soundly through each night. It did not escape the captain's notice that the cat and dog were working well together, and the ropes had gone into neat bundles quickly.
Loquacious Jake had recovered well, and had a craving for fresh greens. He announced, "There should be no one on this stretch of shore for many miles. Still, I'll be keeping watch at night." They eased the Millarca into a sandy bay and dropped anchor.
Zeliandra turned out to be a competent swimmer. Jake gave Zeliandra a tinder box and told her to find them chunks of driftwood for a fire. Then he went back to the ship. Perrozi guessed the captain wished to secretly speak with Milady.
Once ashore, Perrozi's task was to dig up fresh shellfish. He showed Zeliandra the little tell-tale bubbles in the wet sand that betrayed the presence of clams. The dog had a good time digging them up with his short strong claws.
Past afternoons spent learning the herbal lore of Kasuria paid off for Zeliandra. Not only did she get the firepit ready, she found the edible greens to put together a big salad.
The captain was delighted. After a savory meal, including slightly sweet roasted clams for the carnivores, Loquacious Jake leaned back against a tree and said, "Are ye eager to go home, miss?"
Zeliandra said, "I am from Malgrave. My father will reward you well for my safe return."
The dark deer noticed that she had dodged his question. He said, "Although a reward appeals, I don't want the Millarca to be seen in her current condition; she's too distinct, and there are certain parties far too interested in her whereabouts and that of a certain dark, handsome, and eloquent deer." Jake went on smoothly, "We're short of paws aboard the Millarca and I'd welcome ye on our journey."
The orange she-cat thought about what he was saying. The captain was inviting her to join the crew. It was an exciting idea-- and she had to admit, she had never been happier than when she was aboard the schooner. So Zeliandra said, "It would be an honor, Captain Jake."
Jake did have a few reservations that he needed to express. "Still, I couldn't help but notice that ye are perhaps used t' finer accomodations... I can't afford to pay ye anything, as ye might've guessed." He looked at her with cold serious eyes. "And it can get dangerous upon the seas. This ship did not come to be this way all on its own."
Perrozi finally asked, "What happened?"
Jake took off his broadbrimmed hat. "The first strange thing was that the wind stopped. We were dead in the water. Then we heard a scratching all over the belly of the ship. Looking over the side, I saw ...things. They came up for air from time to time, then they disappeared below the waves to go back to their dastardly work."
Zeliandra asked, "What were they?"
Loquacious Jake sat up on the sand. He recalled, "They were long as me forearm. They had hard beaks, diamond-shaped flat tails, and fins like wings. I couldn't tell if they were birds or fish. Orrin (me second cousin) called 'em 'Surfcutters'." Jake took a deep breath, and his audience realized that the memory was a painful one. "Orrin was a mage, an' he cast some kind of spell to stop 'em from bitin' the hull. So then they came flyin' through the air-- they tore our sails to shreds."
The terrier said, "And they chewed through our rigging?"
"Aye," said Jake. "But that's not all. They kept a-flyin' at a sailor-goat by the name of Donaire. When we saw they was after Donny, we formed a circle around 'im. I sliced a good number of 'em out of the air with me cutlass. To get to Donny, they tore up Arrowvine, then Hearty Henna, then they got Remm, even though he was a mighty leopard." He paused, then went on. "Perrozi's father, Orrin, an' me was covered in cuts an' blood; we tried to stop 'em but more kept a-comin'. The damned things chewed Donny to a skeleton. Then, all of a sudden, they all fell dead!" With regret in his normally chill eyes, Jake added, "Orrin died in the night, an' after that, it was just the captain an' me."
Perrozi believed the tale was true, yet he had a hard time finding this tale of bird-fish frightening. Zeliandra, on the other paw, looked a bit shaken. She said, "That is very powerful and dark magic. Why were they after Donny, Captain?"
Jake realized he had little choice but to explain more. He took out his bottle, chugged a sizable swig of whisky, wiped his muzzle with the back of a paw and kept talking. "There was a storm and we saw a beached wreck from a ways off. So we paddled a dinghy for a closer look. The tide went out, then we could see four crates held down by a chain. Some kind of clay seal covered a big padlock."
The younger furres listened carefully. Jake continued, "Donaire was talented with a pick, so he went up with a rock in paw. When he smashed the seal, there was a little flash of light but we all thought it was just the rock hitting the metal. Donny opened the lock so we could take the crates. And that would be your father's legacy."
"What? What was in them?" Perrozi yelped most curiously.
"Yes! what was in the crates?" echoed Zeliandra.
Chapter 7: The Surfcutters
Perrozi said defensively, "I didn't get to choose who was my father."
Zeliandra lowered her eyes, an apology of sorts. "No, I understand. Believe me, I understand." She turned attention back to the map. There was a small paragraph of charcoal writing near where she indicated. The highborn orange feline read it aloud:
walk G W P
Raise gull stone. 1000 paces.
Me blood breaketh the seal.
The words were mysterious. Perrozi found the first line especially cryptic. "Walk gee, double you pee? The treasure is revealed by peeing?"
The lady remembered the boy did not read, and she kindly did not laugh at her rescuer. She explained, "G, W, and P are first letters of words, perhaps. They stand for something."
The air was growing cooler, a sign of the approach of night. Perrozi nodded, repeating it aloud softly to himself to commit it to memory. "Walk gee, double you pee."
Zeliandra tossed her hair and grinned. "Would you like to learn to read? It's not that hard."
"Sure," said Perrozi, his tail wagging. "Show me."
The young lady cat said, "Well, I need a charred stick first. Or a beach." They stopped there, because they had neither, and Perrozi put the map back. Then he led Zeliandra to where two large piles of ropes lay upon the deck. She could not tell how many different ropes there were; she counted at least eight frayed ends on one heap. They appeared to have been gnawed and cut in many places.
The terrier lad said, "Help me untangle the lines? Start with the ones in front of the the main mast."
"Which one is the main mast?" asked the orange lady.
Perrozi replied, "It's the the bigger and taller one at the back. The other is the forward mast. The foremast."
"Sensible names," said Zeliandra, and she knelt to get to work. The cords were as thick as three of her fingers together, and just moving the lengths paw over paw took effort.
Later, Zeliandra also helped with fishing, another task she had never done before. She was very excited as she pulled a struggling silver salmon from the brine. Perrozi cut up their catch with such speed that she was impressed, and said so.
The wind tangled her hair into unsightly mats and strings, and her shoulders and arms ached from working on the ropes, but she did not complain. She ate better than she had in weeks, and slept soundly through each night. It did not escape the captain's notice that the cat and dog were working well together, and the ropes had gone into neat bundles quickly.
Loquacious Jake had recovered well, and had a craving for fresh greens. He announced, "There should be no one on this stretch of shore for many miles. Still, I'll be keeping watch at night." They eased the Millarca into a sandy bay and dropped anchor.
Zeliandra turned out to be a competent swimmer. Jake gave Zeliandra a tinder box and told her to find them chunks of driftwood for a fire. Then he went back to the ship. Perrozi guessed the captain wished to secretly speak with Milady.
Once ashore, Perrozi's task was to dig up fresh shellfish. He showed Zeliandra the little tell-tale bubbles in the wet sand that betrayed the presence of clams. The dog had a good time digging them up with his short strong claws.
Past afternoons spent learning the herbal lore of Kasuria paid off for Zeliandra. Not only did she get the firepit ready, she found the edible greens to put together a big salad.
The captain was delighted. After a savory meal, including slightly sweet roasted clams for the carnivores, Loquacious Jake leaned back against a tree and said, "Are ye eager to go home, miss?"
Zeliandra said, "I am from Malgrave. My father will reward you well for my safe return."
The dark deer noticed that she had dodged his question. He said, "Although a reward appeals, I don't want the Millarca to be seen in her current condition; she's too distinct, and there are certain parties far too interested in her whereabouts and that of a certain dark, handsome, and eloquent deer." Jake went on smoothly, "We're short of paws aboard the Millarca and I'd welcome ye on our journey."
The orange she-cat thought about what he was saying. The captain was inviting her to join the crew. It was an exciting idea-- and she had to admit, she had never been happier than when she was aboard the schooner. So Zeliandra said, "It would be an honor, Captain Jake."
Jake did have a few reservations that he needed to express. "Still, I couldn't help but notice that ye are perhaps used t' finer accomodations... I can't afford to pay ye anything, as ye might've guessed." He looked at her with cold serious eyes. "And it can get dangerous upon the seas. This ship did not come to be this way all on its own."
Perrozi finally asked, "What happened?"
Jake took off his broadbrimmed hat. "The first strange thing was that the wind stopped. We were dead in the water. Then we heard a scratching all over the belly of the ship. Looking over the side, I saw ...things. They came up for air from time to time, then they disappeared below the waves to go back to their dastardly work."
Zeliandra asked, "What were they?"
Loquacious Jake sat up on the sand. He recalled, "They were long as me forearm. They had hard beaks, diamond-shaped flat tails, and fins like wings. I couldn't tell if they were birds or fish. Orrin (me second cousin) called 'em 'Surfcutters'." Jake took a deep breath, and his audience realized that the memory was a painful one. "Orrin was a mage, an' he cast some kind of spell to stop 'em from bitin' the hull. So then they came flyin' through the air-- they tore our sails to shreds."
The terrier said, "And they chewed through our rigging?"
"Aye," said Jake. "But that's not all. They kept a-flyin' at a sailor-goat by the name of Donaire. When we saw they was after Donny, we formed a circle around 'im. I sliced a good number of 'em out of the air with me cutlass. To get to Donny, they tore up Arrowvine, then Hearty Henna, then they got Remm, even though he was a mighty leopard." He paused, then went on. "Perrozi's father, Orrin, an' me was covered in cuts an' blood; we tried to stop 'em but more kept a-comin'. The damned things chewed Donny to a skeleton. Then, all of a sudden, they all fell dead!" With regret in his normally chill eyes, Jake added, "Orrin died in the night, an' after that, it was just the captain an' me."
Perrozi believed the tale was true, yet he had a hard time finding this tale of bird-fish frightening. Zeliandra, on the other paw, looked a bit shaken. She said, "That is very powerful and dark magic. Why were they after Donny, Captain?"
Jake realized he had little choice but to explain more. He took out his bottle, chugged a sizable swig of whisky, wiped his muzzle with the back of a paw and kept talking. "There was a storm and we saw a beached wreck from a ways off. So we paddled a dinghy for a closer look. The tide went out, then we could see four crates held down by a chain. Some kind of clay seal covered a big padlock."
The younger furres listened carefully. Jake continued, "Donaire was talented with a pick, so he went up with a rock in paw. When he smashed the seal, there was a little flash of light but we all thought it was just the rock hitting the metal. Donny opened the lock so we could take the crates. And that would be your father's legacy."
"What? What was in them?" Perrozi yelped most curiously.
"Yes! what was in the crates?" echoed Zeliandra.
Chapter VIII
Chapter 8: Lacuna
A night breeze made the trees sway and rustle. The crackling fire cast merry glints across Loquacious Jake's dark eyes. "In the first chest there was a topaz, the color of fair honey. In the second was a ruby. In the third was a sapphire. And in the fourth was an emerald. They were round, and rough on the outside, mind ye. Big. The size of a pregnant lady's belly, by Dahlsea. Somebody had wrapped them in belts made of thousands o' little silver links. Each had a small padlock wi' a clay seal, just like the chain Donny had opened before. Enough booty to make us each rich as a Count."
Even the highborn Zeliandra was amazed at this wealth. The captain took another pull of the whiskey. "Ye believe me, do ye?" he asked the two.
"Yes, of course," said the terrier lad Perrozi. Doubt didn't come naturally to his mind but he did remember to be privately wary of what Jake said.
Zeliandra tossed her head to flick back auburn bangs that had gotten way too long, and smiled. "Gems the size of great melons? Show me one and I might."
Captain Jake took off his big wide hat and moved aside a flap of the silky lining. From this pocket he showed pieces of crystal, in four colors, roughly the size of the end of a spoon. They looked like uncut gems to Perrozi.
"Glass..." said Zeliandra, still dubious.
The captain took a chip colored like blood, and rubbed the edge on his bottle. He made a number of scratches and raised a bit of glass dust. Then he tossed the fragment to Zeliandra. "Here, keep this, my dear little lady." he said in a jovial way.
She examined the thing. Its razor thin edges were unharmed and still just as sharp. Only some kind of gem would do that to glass. Bunching her knees below her chin, Zeliandra said, "No wonder some wizard wants them back..."
A feeling of dread made Perrozi unpleasantly light-headed, and his fingertips went a bit clammy. He remembered the attack by the Merfurres had made him feel a little this way. He thought he did not want to be rich if it meant being pursued by a powerful and dangerous magus. Still, perhaps there was a chance the magical traps could be avoided. He took control of his anxiety and asked, "How can you get the locks open without getting cursed?"
Unconcerned, Jake smiled but his smile did not make Perrozi feel any better. The captain said, "I've got a plan, don't ye worry now. Ol' Jake knows just what to do. We need one more to help us. His name is Roshan; he's a reclusive scholar. They call him Dragoneyes."
"Why is that?" asked Zeliandra curiously.
"Because he has the eyes of a dragon, miss." Jake laughed, the whiskey making him feel more carefree than ever. "Ah, you'll see soon enough." They could get no more out of him because he passed out.
The crew spent another night at that spot and returned to the ship feeling well-rested. Days went by and there was smooth sailing. Zeliandra found time to teach Perrozi how to write the alphabet. Perrozi's charcoal scrawls covered little bits of the deck. He also learned a few of the shortest words.
Then, one night, there came a foggy night when the hatch of the ship came open with a bang and a stench rolled out across the deck. Zeliandra twitched awake and winced at the horrible odor. She sat up and looked around, the fur at her nape rising ticklishly of its own accord.
It was hard to see much in the darkness and mist. She looked around-- where was Perrozi? where was Jake? They were asleep nearby. She tried to whisper but, although she could feel the air moving thickly through her throat and lips, no whispers emerged.
In fact, there was no sound at all. Zeliandra had a fleeting thought that she was dreaming. Suddenly, there was someone right in front of her, a female furre with primal features, as if she had once been a brute living in a cave. Her skin clung to her bones like leather dried around sticks. Through holes in her tattered lace-trimmed under-dress Zeliandra saw ribs almost as clearly as if she had no skin.
The stranger's large eyes, nose and lips were black, and she had only the slightest wispy white fur over pale bluish skin. She was neither living nor dead, neither canine nor feline. Her pupils, contracted to dots, held supernatural green fire. Transfixed by the glistening eyes of the apparition, Zeliandra realized she herself was trembling violently.
"There, there," mouthed the ghastly creature, but that was no comfort. Cold leathery paws with retractile claws took hold of Zeliandra's shoulders. The emaciated womanfurre mouthed something Zeliandra couldn't hear, then drew back her dark lips to expose a row of teeth all shaped like little daggers. The gaping muzzle released a stench of rotting meat.
Zeliandra tried to close her eyes to this sight and found she couldn't. The orange cat expected to be bitten, and savagely gnawed. Instead, she felt awful stinging pains, in her eyes and inside her nose and beneath her tongue.
Then she saw fine streams of her own blood going straight out of her tear ducts, nostrils, and mouth. It flew in five straight wet strands, going into the demonic being's open mouth. Blood was being drawn out of her like thread. She had an eerie sense of some of her insides liquefying, and being slowly drained out of her.
Through it all, Zeliandra somehow became aware of a terrible hole in her attacker, an emptiness that her blood was going to fill, but there was also an unhealable wound, forever leaking. There came a knowledge that no matter how much the demoness drank, she could never be filled, would always be hungry, would thus always bring ruin and desolation to any that she came near.
Despair washed over Zeliandra. She felt as if she were realizing that she herself had just contracted a terrible disease from which she could never recover. She felt foul, unclean; she could not hate her attacker but somehow, she loathed herself. Her eyes, nose, and the inside of her mouth hurt terribly, becoming agony, and she still could not blink or move.
It all transpired without a hint of any noise. With no end in sight, these awful feelings could not lessen, could not fade. It was so irrational there was no way to reason past it.
The closest thing to hope was a dim notion that she could end it all if only she could die. Breathing hard and feeling blood sputter and bubble at the back of her tongue, Zeliandra desperately wanted to throw herself off the deck and drown. Or, she thought, there was Perrozi's knife. She could sever her own throat and, in doing so, put a stop to both herself and her attacker's evil action.
Chapter 8: Lacuna
A night breeze made the trees sway and rustle. The crackling fire cast merry glints across Loquacious Jake's dark eyes. "In the first chest there was a topaz, the color of fair honey. In the second was a ruby. In the third was a sapphire. And in the fourth was an emerald. They were round, and rough on the outside, mind ye. Big. The size of a pregnant lady's belly, by Dahlsea. Somebody had wrapped them in belts made of thousands o' little silver links. Each had a small padlock wi' a clay seal, just like the chain Donny had opened before. Enough booty to make us each rich as a Count."
Even the highborn Zeliandra was amazed at this wealth. The captain took another pull of the whiskey. "Ye believe me, do ye?" he asked the two.
"Yes, of course," said the terrier lad Perrozi. Doubt didn't come naturally to his mind but he did remember to be privately wary of what Jake said.
Zeliandra tossed her head to flick back auburn bangs that had gotten way too long, and smiled. "Gems the size of great melons? Show me one and I might."
Captain Jake took off his big wide hat and moved aside a flap of the silky lining. From this pocket he showed pieces of crystal, in four colors, roughly the size of the end of a spoon. They looked like uncut gems to Perrozi.
"Glass..." said Zeliandra, still dubious.
The captain took a chip colored like blood, and rubbed the edge on his bottle. He made a number of scratches and raised a bit of glass dust. Then he tossed the fragment to Zeliandra. "Here, keep this, my dear little lady." he said in a jovial way.
She examined the thing. Its razor thin edges were unharmed and still just as sharp. Only some kind of gem would do that to glass. Bunching her knees below her chin, Zeliandra said, "No wonder some wizard wants them back..."
A feeling of dread made Perrozi unpleasantly light-headed, and his fingertips went a bit clammy. He remembered the attack by the Merfurres had made him feel a little this way. He thought he did not want to be rich if it meant being pursued by a powerful and dangerous magus. Still, perhaps there was a chance the magical traps could be avoided. He took control of his anxiety and asked, "How can you get the locks open without getting cursed?"
Unconcerned, Jake smiled but his smile did not make Perrozi feel any better. The captain said, "I've got a plan, don't ye worry now. Ol' Jake knows just what to do. We need one more to help us. His name is Roshan; he's a reclusive scholar. They call him Dragoneyes."
"Why is that?" asked Zeliandra curiously.
"Because he has the eyes of a dragon, miss." Jake laughed, the whiskey making him feel more carefree than ever. "Ah, you'll see soon enough." They could get no more out of him because he passed out.
The crew spent another night at that spot and returned to the ship feeling well-rested. Days went by and there was smooth sailing. Zeliandra found time to teach Perrozi how to write the alphabet. Perrozi's charcoal scrawls covered little bits of the deck. He also learned a few of the shortest words.
Then, one night, there came a foggy night when the hatch of the ship came open with a bang and a stench rolled out across the deck. Zeliandra twitched awake and winced at the horrible odor. She sat up and looked around, the fur at her nape rising ticklishly of its own accord.
It was hard to see much in the darkness and mist. She looked around-- where was Perrozi? where was Jake? They were asleep nearby. She tried to whisper but, although she could feel the air moving thickly through her throat and lips, no whispers emerged.
In fact, there was no sound at all. Zeliandra had a fleeting thought that she was dreaming. Suddenly, there was someone right in front of her, a female furre with primal features, as if she had once been a brute living in a cave. Her skin clung to her bones like leather dried around sticks. Through holes in her tattered lace-trimmed under-dress Zeliandra saw ribs almost as clearly as if she had no skin.
The stranger's large eyes, nose and lips were black, and she had only the slightest wispy white fur over pale bluish skin. She was neither living nor dead, neither canine nor feline. Her pupils, contracted to dots, held supernatural green fire. Transfixed by the glistening eyes of the apparition, Zeliandra realized she herself was trembling violently.
"There, there," mouthed the ghastly creature, but that was no comfort. Cold leathery paws with retractile claws took hold of Zeliandra's shoulders. The emaciated womanfurre mouthed something Zeliandra couldn't hear, then drew back her dark lips to expose a row of teeth all shaped like little daggers. The gaping muzzle released a stench of rotting meat.
Zeliandra tried to close her eyes to this sight and found she couldn't. The orange cat expected to be bitten, and savagely gnawed. Instead, she felt awful stinging pains, in her eyes and inside her nose and beneath her tongue.
Then she saw fine streams of her own blood going straight out of her tear ducts, nostrils, and mouth. It flew in five straight wet strands, going into the demonic being's open mouth. Blood was being drawn out of her like thread. She had an eerie sense of some of her insides liquefying, and being slowly drained out of her.
Through it all, Zeliandra somehow became aware of a terrible hole in her attacker, an emptiness that her blood was going to fill, but there was also an unhealable wound, forever leaking. There came a knowledge that no matter how much the demoness drank, she could never be filled, would always be hungry, would thus always bring ruin and desolation to any that she came near.
Despair washed over Zeliandra. She felt as if she were realizing that she herself had just contracted a terrible disease from which she could never recover. She felt foul, unclean; she could not hate her attacker but somehow, she loathed herself. Her eyes, nose, and the inside of her mouth hurt terribly, becoming agony, and she still could not blink or move.
It all transpired without a hint of any noise. With no end in sight, these awful feelings could not lessen, could not fade. It was so irrational there was no way to reason past it.
The closest thing to hope was a dim notion that she could end it all if only she could die. Breathing hard and feeling blood sputter and bubble at the back of her tongue, Zeliandra desperately wanted to throw herself off the deck and drown. Or, she thought, there was Perrozi's knife. She could sever her own throat and, in doing so, put a stop to both herself and her attacker's evil action.
Chapter IX
Chapter 9: Milady Disarmed
It is said that there is no rest for the wicked. In Kasuria, at least, this seemed to hold true, as the fate of most Vampyre Furres is to be held throughout the day in a paralysis brought on by fear. Milady had endured this regularly for so many centuries, however, that when the sun set each evening, she forgot about Day Terror almost instantly. A body-suffusing ache (which was how a Vampyre Furre's hunger normally manifested) had grown stronger and her body had grown much weaker.
It had taken all her strength just to open the hatch. What should she see, but a delightfully healthy ginger furred lass, sitting up as if waiting for her! Milady had immediately used the archaic Evil Way of the Circle of Silence lest she wake Jacob or that mangy young cur Perrozi. At thirteen or so years of age, he was too small to feed her.
Oh, but why was the orange-haired miss making such a fish-like face at her now...? Silly child. It was simple for Milady to apply the native Vampyrean talent for mesmerism.
Then came the Feeding. To bite was beneath her. She, Milady, was older than the Redeemers, older than the Covenant. She, a daughter of a daughter of one of the First Thirteen, need only concentrate, and a "vessel's" blood would hear this mystic summons, rushing to obey the will of the Deathless.
Such a rapture filled her! As the blood was consumed, her mind was overwhelmed by happiness and excitement. She could feel her strength returning... But why was the "vessel" still looking so distressed, now? Shouldn't everyone be at ease in her august presence, happy and helpful? She turned her face away from what threatened to be an unpleasant note upon her deliciously marvellous evening.
Zeliandra collapsed, curling forwards to hide her face in her hands. There was no hope for her; everything in the world was wrong. O Primes, but all she wanted was to die! Her whimper awakened the young sailor Perrozi as the Evil Way ended.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed over to Zeliandra. She looked haggard and weak. He could hear her saying softly, "...just... just give me a knife..." He put an arm around her and she tried clumsily to push him away, meowing weakly, "-stay away!". There were blood-tainted tears streaking her face. (A short distance away, the sleeping Captain Jake shifted position but went on snoring softly.)
Horrified, Perrozi looked up at Milady, her sinous posture silhouetted magnificently in the light of the moons. Yes, she was beautiful, he wanted to take time to admire her- but then his conscience nudged. Knowing the answer before even opened his muzzle, he yelped, "What did you do?!"
Her rounded ears flicked forwards (a cougar's? a pine marten's? Perrozi could not have said) and Milady turned to look down at him. As she spoke, she wove Vampyrean compulsions through her words effortlessly: "Keep thy voice down. Always begin or end what thou sayest with 'Milady'. Try again."
Perrozi discovered he couldn't resist the order. This time, he was aware that Milady was doing things, Vampyrean things. Under his breath he muttered, "Primes help us!" He swallowed hard and said, "Milady. What- what did you do?" He slipped his hand inside his shirt and drew his knife inside it.
At his side, Zeliandra also made an effort to speak but it was hard, so she gave an incoherent short sharp shriek instead. Milady still did not reply.
After a time, Zeliandra managed to speak; she said shakily "hurt..." The blood had been painfully forced out of her face; it filled her with rage now. It was on a par with her vengeful ire at the villagers who had tried to burn her at the stake. "...She hurt me!" The anger felt good; it helped to burn away her earlier misery.
Milady sat on a railing and said breezily, "Worry not. She will soon forget all about it." Perrozi could see bloodstains on her pale bluish skin; they made markings on either side of her mouth to give the illusion of jowls. She looked up at the furled sail. "We will set off again when the Name Stars have risen."
Far away, something in the air was coming towards them and Perrozi saw it. He squinted, trying to make it out. No one else saw it. He whispered, very softly, "Zeli, look. There's something out there..."
The cat stopped watching Milady with well-deserved hostility to search the sky. Her eyes were slightly keener than his in the darkness and she saw it right away.
It was shaped somewhat like a furre but with two arms too many. Its shoulders were broad and its waist was trim. She thought its hide was some sort of glossy brown or green by day. Some unspecified number of long appendages flailed in the air behind it, somehow propelling it forwards in frightening bursts of speed.
Perrozi and Zeliandra were going to slink to the back of the ship when Milady turned her head snakily towards them and said, her voice light, "The girl comes back and sits at my feet." Again, the Vampyrean compulsions were threaded through her words.
"No!" said Zeliandra. She began walking straight for Milady. Terrified on her behalf, Perrozi took hold of her hand and she grasped back as tightly as she could in her weakened state. She tried to fight the order. At this struggling, Milady broke into an honest laugh, which put a spur to Zeliandra's anger.
Perrozi said, "Milady, she doesn't want to be anywhere around you." He would have yelled if it were not for the previous compulsion. Milady ignored him.
"Come." said Milady with a beckoning gesture, insisting.
Zeliandra muttered, "I will not!" For half a minute she locked her legs and managed to stop, her teeth gritted and her knees shaking. Then her own controls gave out, and she marched to do as she was told, feeling just like a puppet on strings.
Perrozi stayed close, helped keep her from falling over. He realized that if he kept his grip on her paw, she would fall and probably hurt herself further. On a side Milady could not see, Perrozi slipped the pearl handle of the knife into her hand. She was smart and had the wits to keep it hidden. Then he let go.
Desperate, Perrozi went to try to wake Jake. Milady tended to be pleasanter when Jake was around, if only because she focussed her commanding nature mostly on him. Some kind of monster was coming; the captain's fighting strength would be desperately needed.
The gaunt gray-skinned creature, eerily attractive to those under her spell, was like a desert-mummified corpse to Zeliandra's clear sight. The magic could also mask her revolting odor. The young lady sat at her feet. Milady reached down a skinny hand to pet her hair. When Zeliandra naturally tried to get away, Milady said, in silken tones, "Hold still." Zeliandra was forced to endure Milady petting her tangled red-gold hair.
At the aft, Perrozi shook the sleeping deer furre. "Jake! Jake, wake up!" The captain was deep in the arms of the previous evening's whiskey, in which he had indulged more than usual. Perrozi tried for several more minutes, then gave up as Loquacious Jake was, for once, quiet.
At the aft, Perrozi drew Jake's cutlass, then dove into the black sea-chest and retrieved the enchanted blue buckler. His heart was beating too hard again, and his hands felt cold and sweaty. He was aware of faint nausea rising. It took some effort to keep from trembling in fear. Vaguely he wondered if successfully hiding the symptoms of being afraid actually meant he was less afraid. And if he was afraid, nobody was watching him anyways.
Meanwhile, from the corner of her eye, Zeliandra could clearly see the strange creature still approaching. In a moment it would be upon them. Now she could tell it was the size of a very large furre and had three reptilian tails. It wore a complex harness with bronze ornaments or armor around its body.
And now, like a comet of bronzey green flesh, the unknown being was flying right for Milady! Carefully clutching the fishing knife out of sight, the orange she-cat had chosen not to warn the VampFurre. Milady was no friend or ally of hers! At least seven long thick tentacles whipped forwards and wrapped around the Vampyre Furre, binding her slim arms tight to her body and lifting her clear off the deck.
Milady hissed loudly and venomously as Zeliandra heard dry bones being snapped. The attacker had at least six cherry-red eyes and a vertical mouth down the middle of its head. Two of its muscular arms grabbed Milady's wrist. The Vampyre Furre gave a wailing moan. The glistening green monster twisted... pulled...
Zeliandra covered her face. There was a sound of snapping tendons and ripping cartilege. Its face was so alien-looking that when it spoke, Zeliandra was surprised that such a creature would speak at all, and its voice was a growling bass. "Maggot-purse," it rumbled. "Moldy spawn of Mirmoggin." It threw the arm far out into the sea.
Then some of the bright red eyes swivelled to regard Zeliandra. "Arise, my princess. It is time Morauz, the son of Chatengo, reminded the world of our might."
Chapter 9: Milady Disarmed
It is said that there is no rest for the wicked. In Kasuria, at least, this seemed to hold true, as the fate of most Vampyre Furres is to be held throughout the day in a paralysis brought on by fear. Milady had endured this regularly for so many centuries, however, that when the sun set each evening, she forgot about Day Terror almost instantly. A body-suffusing ache (which was how a Vampyre Furre's hunger normally manifested) had grown stronger and her body had grown much weaker.
It had taken all her strength just to open the hatch. What should she see, but a delightfully healthy ginger furred lass, sitting up as if waiting for her! Milady had immediately used the archaic Evil Way of the Circle of Silence lest she wake Jacob or that mangy young cur Perrozi. At thirteen or so years of age, he was too small to feed her.
Oh, but why was the orange-haired miss making such a fish-like face at her now...? Silly child. It was simple for Milady to apply the native Vampyrean talent for mesmerism.
Then came the Feeding. To bite was beneath her. She, Milady, was older than the Redeemers, older than the Covenant. She, a daughter of a daughter of one of the First Thirteen, need only concentrate, and a "vessel's" blood would hear this mystic summons, rushing to obey the will of the Deathless.
Such a rapture filled her! As the blood was consumed, her mind was overwhelmed by happiness and excitement. She could feel her strength returning... But why was the "vessel" still looking so distressed, now? Shouldn't everyone be at ease in her august presence, happy and helpful? She turned her face away from what threatened to be an unpleasant note upon her deliciously marvellous evening.
Zeliandra collapsed, curling forwards to hide her face in her hands. There was no hope for her; everything in the world was wrong. O Primes, but all she wanted was to die! Her whimper awakened the young sailor Perrozi as the Evil Way ended.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed over to Zeliandra. She looked haggard and weak. He could hear her saying softly, "...just... just give me a knife..." He put an arm around her and she tried clumsily to push him away, meowing weakly, "-stay away!". There were blood-tainted tears streaking her face. (A short distance away, the sleeping Captain Jake shifted position but went on snoring softly.)
Horrified, Perrozi looked up at Milady, her sinous posture silhouetted magnificently in the light of the moons. Yes, she was beautiful, he wanted to take time to admire her- but then his conscience nudged. Knowing the answer before even opened his muzzle, he yelped, "What did you do?!"
Her rounded ears flicked forwards (a cougar's? a pine marten's? Perrozi could not have said) and Milady turned to look down at him. As she spoke, she wove Vampyrean compulsions through her words effortlessly: "Keep thy voice down. Always begin or end what thou sayest with 'Milady'. Try again."
Perrozi discovered he couldn't resist the order. This time, he was aware that Milady was doing things, Vampyrean things. Under his breath he muttered, "Primes help us!" He swallowed hard and said, "Milady. What- what did you do?" He slipped his hand inside his shirt and drew his knife inside it.
At his side, Zeliandra also made an effort to speak but it was hard, so she gave an incoherent short sharp shriek instead. Milady still did not reply.
After a time, Zeliandra managed to speak; she said shakily "hurt..." The blood had been painfully forced out of her face; it filled her with rage now. It was on a par with her vengeful ire at the villagers who had tried to burn her at the stake. "...She hurt me!" The anger felt good; it helped to burn away her earlier misery.
Milady sat on a railing and said breezily, "Worry not. She will soon forget all about it." Perrozi could see bloodstains on her pale bluish skin; they made markings on either side of her mouth to give the illusion of jowls. She looked up at the furled sail. "We will set off again when the Name Stars have risen."
Far away, something in the air was coming towards them and Perrozi saw it. He squinted, trying to make it out. No one else saw it. He whispered, very softly, "Zeli, look. There's something out there..."
The cat stopped watching Milady with well-deserved hostility to search the sky. Her eyes were slightly keener than his in the darkness and she saw it right away.
It was shaped somewhat like a furre but with two arms too many. Its shoulders were broad and its waist was trim. She thought its hide was some sort of glossy brown or green by day. Some unspecified number of long appendages flailed in the air behind it, somehow propelling it forwards in frightening bursts of speed.
Perrozi and Zeliandra were going to slink to the back of the ship when Milady turned her head snakily towards them and said, her voice light, "The girl comes back and sits at my feet." Again, the Vampyrean compulsions were threaded through her words.
"No!" said Zeliandra. She began walking straight for Milady. Terrified on her behalf, Perrozi took hold of her hand and she grasped back as tightly as she could in her weakened state. She tried to fight the order. At this struggling, Milady broke into an honest laugh, which put a spur to Zeliandra's anger.
Perrozi said, "Milady, she doesn't want to be anywhere around you." He would have yelled if it were not for the previous compulsion. Milady ignored him.
"Come." said Milady with a beckoning gesture, insisting.
Zeliandra muttered, "I will not!" For half a minute she locked her legs and managed to stop, her teeth gritted and her knees shaking. Then her own controls gave out, and she marched to do as she was told, feeling just like a puppet on strings.
Perrozi stayed close, helped keep her from falling over. He realized that if he kept his grip on her paw, she would fall and probably hurt herself further. On a side Milady could not see, Perrozi slipped the pearl handle of the knife into her hand. She was smart and had the wits to keep it hidden. Then he let go.
Desperate, Perrozi went to try to wake Jake. Milady tended to be pleasanter when Jake was around, if only because she focussed her commanding nature mostly on him. Some kind of monster was coming; the captain's fighting strength would be desperately needed.
The gaunt gray-skinned creature, eerily attractive to those under her spell, was like a desert-mummified corpse to Zeliandra's clear sight. The magic could also mask her revolting odor. The young lady sat at her feet. Milady reached down a skinny hand to pet her hair. When Zeliandra naturally tried to get away, Milady said, in silken tones, "Hold still." Zeliandra was forced to endure Milady petting her tangled red-gold hair.
At the aft, Perrozi shook the sleeping deer furre. "Jake! Jake, wake up!" The captain was deep in the arms of the previous evening's whiskey, in which he had indulged more than usual. Perrozi tried for several more minutes, then gave up as Loquacious Jake was, for once, quiet.
At the aft, Perrozi drew Jake's cutlass, then dove into the black sea-chest and retrieved the enchanted blue buckler. His heart was beating too hard again, and his hands felt cold and sweaty. He was aware of faint nausea rising. It took some effort to keep from trembling in fear. Vaguely he wondered if successfully hiding the symptoms of being afraid actually meant he was less afraid. And if he was afraid, nobody was watching him anyways.
Meanwhile, from the corner of her eye, Zeliandra could clearly see the strange creature still approaching. In a moment it would be upon them. Now she could tell it was the size of a very large furre and had three reptilian tails. It wore a complex harness with bronze ornaments or armor around its body.
And now, like a comet of bronzey green flesh, the unknown being was flying right for Milady! Carefully clutching the fishing knife out of sight, the orange she-cat had chosen not to warn the VampFurre. Milady was no friend or ally of hers! At least seven long thick tentacles whipped forwards and wrapped around the Vampyre Furre, binding her slim arms tight to her body and lifting her clear off the deck.
Milady hissed loudly and venomously as Zeliandra heard dry bones being snapped. The attacker had at least six cherry-red eyes and a vertical mouth down the middle of its head. Two of its muscular arms grabbed Milady's wrist. The Vampyre Furre gave a wailing moan. The glistening green monster twisted... pulled...
Zeliandra covered her face. There was a sound of snapping tendons and ripping cartilege. Its face was so alien-looking that when it spoke, Zeliandra was surprised that such a creature would speak at all, and its voice was a growling bass. "Maggot-purse," it rumbled. "Moldy spawn of Mirmoggin." It threw the arm far out into the sea.
Then some of the bright red eyes swivelled to regard Zeliandra. "Arise, my princess. It is time Morauz, the son of Chatengo, reminded the world of our might."
Part 2 of Perrozi!
Chapter X
Chapter 10: Bitter Libations
With tentacles, green skin, four arms, and a face out of nightmare, Morauz looked like nothing Perrozi had ever seen. "A Half-Prime!" gasped the terrier, in spite of himself. He had always believed in Primes, and now, here was one of their children, close enough to bite him. But, as Chatengo was numbered amongst the Dark Primes, this was probably a being of great malice.
Morauz casually pressed the sides of Milady's head with two large hands. The Vampfurre went limp, and the green creature dropped her onto the deck. It turned, narrowed his red eyes, and saw a potential worshipper in this scruffy young sailor dog. It said, "No. Jai-Chatengo Mai-Nareetha. I am Bivion, born of two of the Dragon's first-born. We are rarer than rare." The halves of its face drew apart to show a thousand pointed teeth.
Perrozi's eyes went wide as his body hunched. Feeling Morauz's six eyes staring at him without blinking, Perrozi found himself lowering his gaze.
Standing and steadied by the rail, Zeliandra curtseyed and found her voice at last. She said, "Forgive me, Kidha Morauz. I did doubt that Thou wast real. I thought I was just going to burn to death..."
It put a tentacle around Zeliandra's shoulder and said, "Understandable, Kidhayin. But, that ritual is the pathway to becoming powerful enough to be worthy of Me."
She was brave enough not to shudder, but she froze.
Just seeing the thing touch his friend, Perrozi winced. As with Milady, there was no telling what powers Morauz possessed. The green creature did seem to think like a furre, so maybe there could be reasoning with it. Perhaps it could even be tricked. They definitely could not defeat it with dagger and cutlass, however. He focused on thinking of a way to get Zeliandra out of its clutches.
For her part, Zeliandra seemed at ease speaking to it in the formal fashion of Kasuria using archaic terms. She said, "Kidha, is there something Thou couldst do for the captain? He was loyal to me, not the VampFurre."
The monster said, "Thou hast a knife. Give him some of my ichor, my princess."
Trying to act as if she did this every day, Zeliandra walked to Jake. The fleshy snaky bronze-green arm stayed on her shoulder. Morauz obligingly held it over Jake's mouth. The young lady feline cut it the way she had seen Perrozi cut into a fish's belly. Glowing green goo dripped out of the cut and into the mouth of the dozing captain.
Jake awoke with a wide-eyed start and made a noise like, "--gyaaak!" Some of the ichor spattered onto his dark fur to look like green stars. That it tasted unbelievably foul was clear from his expression as he spent some time choking.
Perozzi went to Jake's side, gave him back his cutlass, and helped him stand. He whispered, "I'll explain later! It thinks Zeli is in charge." The deer looked at him gratefully, nodded, and put his wide plumed hat on.
"Now," Morauz went on imperiously, "thy brother Callistin the Pure has called upon me for a favor. He did not want thee to come home again."
At the mention of her brother's name, Zeliandra shook her head in denial. She had numerous siblings; Callistin was the one closest to her in age. Had he been tricked somehow? She said, "No, he would not have made such a deal..."
The creature said, "He did, and he put my blood on something thou carryest. That is how I found thee." Zeliandra knew then that the monster was speaking the truth. Callistin had asked to see something of hers. Her own brother had betrayed her.
Morauz put the tentacle about her shoulder again (it had healed in seconds), and continued, "I normally do not care much about the doings of mortals, and would have been content to wed thee in my forgotten little village. I have since learned more about thy family, and I have changed my mind..."
Because she turned away, Perozzi could see Zeliandra looked horrified. She bit her lip.
Then she thought quickly and said, "But of course." She even managed a cool expression as she said, "Let us invite many lords and ladies to be witness to my ascension."
The green creature made that vertical teeth-bared expression, which Perozzi decided must be a leer. It bowed, sending a wave to ripple through its tentacles. "I give thee a month to return to Kasuria. I shall choose a less unusual form. If thou dost not return, I shall come find thee." Before another word could be said, Morauz spread its tentacles and snapped them downwards to soar straight upwards.
Perrozi looked over to see Zeliandra was quietly weeping. He went over to her and held her in a hug. She said softly, "My own brother sent that thing after me!"
Having never known a sibling, Perrozi could not really understand, so all he could do was nod. Then he brought her a drink from the water barrel. She took a shuddery breath and looked a little better for it. The terrier said hesitantly, "I... I'll be your brother if you want, Zeli?" It brought a bittersweet smile to her face for reasons he did not understand but it made him feel happier.
When they looked over at Jake, he was on his knees by Milady's crumpled body. He picked her up and stood. Zeliandra had nothing to say but Perrozi said, "I'm sorry, Captain Jake..."
"Sorry, me boy? Sorry that this parasitic witch had me in thrall since we picked her up in Falbert?" The black deer smiled with bright teeth, and he walked to the side of the Millarca that lacked a rail. "Nay, this be no true tragedy. This be cause for a celebration!" With those words, he threw Milady's body overboard. Then he turned to the crew of two and said, "Now, shall we head for Kasuria, or Fumet Isle?"
Zeliandra was quiet because this was a difficult decision. If she went home, she would have her father's help. They could have more time preparing for Morauz's return. If she went with Jake and Perrozi aboard the Millarca, however, she would doubtless share in their riches. They could visit the Tower of the Magi and bring back an army of spellcasters. She would need something like that to face her immortal tentacled suitor and survive.
A bit shyly, Perrozi cleared his throat. "Captain Jake? Either way... before I'll sail anywhere... there's one thing I think we should do."
Chapter 10: Bitter Libations
With tentacles, green skin, four arms, and a face out of nightmare, Morauz looked like nothing Perrozi had ever seen. "A Half-Prime!" gasped the terrier, in spite of himself. He had always believed in Primes, and now, here was one of their children, close enough to bite him. But, as Chatengo was numbered amongst the Dark Primes, this was probably a being of great malice.
Morauz casually pressed the sides of Milady's head with two large hands. The Vampfurre went limp, and the green creature dropped her onto the deck. It turned, narrowed his red eyes, and saw a potential worshipper in this scruffy young sailor dog. It said, "No. Jai-Chatengo Mai-Nareetha. I am Bivion, born of two of the Dragon's first-born. We are rarer than rare." The halves of its face drew apart to show a thousand pointed teeth.
Perrozi's eyes went wide as his body hunched. Feeling Morauz's six eyes staring at him without blinking, Perrozi found himself lowering his gaze.
Standing and steadied by the rail, Zeliandra curtseyed and found her voice at last. She said, "Forgive me, Kidha Morauz. I did doubt that Thou wast real. I thought I was just going to burn to death..."
It put a tentacle around Zeliandra's shoulder and said, "Understandable, Kidhayin. But, that ritual is the pathway to becoming powerful enough to be worthy of Me."
She was brave enough not to shudder, but she froze.
Just seeing the thing touch his friend, Perrozi winced. As with Milady, there was no telling what powers Morauz possessed. The green creature did seem to think like a furre, so maybe there could be reasoning with it. Perhaps it could even be tricked. They definitely could not defeat it with dagger and cutlass, however. He focused on thinking of a way to get Zeliandra out of its clutches.
For her part, Zeliandra seemed at ease speaking to it in the formal fashion of Kasuria using archaic terms. She said, "Kidha, is there something Thou couldst do for the captain? He was loyal to me, not the VampFurre."
The monster said, "Thou hast a knife. Give him some of my ichor, my princess."
Trying to act as if she did this every day, Zeliandra walked to Jake. The fleshy snaky bronze-green arm stayed on her shoulder. Morauz obligingly held it over Jake's mouth. The young lady feline cut it the way she had seen Perrozi cut into a fish's belly. Glowing green goo dripped out of the cut and into the mouth of the dozing captain.
Jake awoke with a wide-eyed start and made a noise like, "--gyaaak!" Some of the ichor spattered onto his dark fur to look like green stars. That it tasted unbelievably foul was clear from his expression as he spent some time choking.
Perozzi went to Jake's side, gave him back his cutlass, and helped him stand. He whispered, "I'll explain later! It thinks Zeli is in charge." The deer looked at him gratefully, nodded, and put his wide plumed hat on.
"Now," Morauz went on imperiously, "thy brother Callistin the Pure has called upon me for a favor. He did not want thee to come home again."
At the mention of her brother's name, Zeliandra shook her head in denial. She had numerous siblings; Callistin was the one closest to her in age. Had he been tricked somehow? She said, "No, he would not have made such a deal..."
The creature said, "He did, and he put my blood on something thou carryest. That is how I found thee." Zeliandra knew then that the monster was speaking the truth. Callistin had asked to see something of hers. Her own brother had betrayed her.
Morauz put the tentacle about her shoulder again (it had healed in seconds), and continued, "I normally do not care much about the doings of mortals, and would have been content to wed thee in my forgotten little village. I have since learned more about thy family, and I have changed my mind..."
Because she turned away, Perozzi could see Zeliandra looked horrified. She bit her lip.
Then she thought quickly and said, "But of course." She even managed a cool expression as she said, "Let us invite many lords and ladies to be witness to my ascension."
The green creature made that vertical teeth-bared expression, which Perozzi decided must be a leer. It bowed, sending a wave to ripple through its tentacles. "I give thee a month to return to Kasuria. I shall choose a less unusual form. If thou dost not return, I shall come find thee." Before another word could be said, Morauz spread its tentacles and snapped them downwards to soar straight upwards.
Perrozi looked over to see Zeliandra was quietly weeping. He went over to her and held her in a hug. She said softly, "My own brother sent that thing after me!"
Having never known a sibling, Perrozi could not really understand, so all he could do was nod. Then he brought her a drink from the water barrel. She took a shuddery breath and looked a little better for it. The terrier said hesitantly, "I... I'll be your brother if you want, Zeli?" It brought a bittersweet smile to her face for reasons he did not understand but it made him feel happier.
When they looked over at Jake, he was on his knees by Milady's crumpled body. He picked her up and stood. Zeliandra had nothing to say but Perrozi said, "I'm sorry, Captain Jake..."
"Sorry, me boy? Sorry that this parasitic witch had me in thrall since we picked her up in Falbert?" The black deer smiled with bright teeth, and he walked to the side of the Millarca that lacked a rail. "Nay, this be no true tragedy. This be cause for a celebration!" With those words, he threw Milady's body overboard. Then he turned to the crew of two and said, "Now, shall we head for Kasuria, or Fumet Isle?"
Zeliandra was quiet because this was a difficult decision. If she went home, she would have her father's help. They could have more time preparing for Morauz's return. If she went with Jake and Perrozi aboard the Millarca, however, she would doubtless share in their riches. They could visit the Tower of the Magi and bring back an army of spellcasters. She would need something like that to face her immortal tentacled suitor and survive.
A bit shyly, Perrozi cleared his throat. "Captain Jake? Either way... before I'll sail anywhere... there's one thing I think we should do."
Chapter XI
Chapter 11: The Prodigy's Downfall
"What is it we should do?" asked Captain Jake. In a fine mood now, he straightened his flamboyant hat and held the sides of the coat that framed his dark bare chest.
Sailor Perrozi pointed towards the open trapdoor of the hold and said, "We should set the gargoyle free."
Zeliandra, who did not know about the stone creature chained in the hold, said, "A gargoyle? Where did you get it?"
Jake said, "Milady captured it shortly after Perrozi's father died. We've been using it to make the ship sail much faster. Quite a brute, he is! But turning him loose is out of the question."
Perrozi said, "Why's that?"
"Because," said Loquacious Jake, "without him, this ship would move like a plow drawn by an arthritic grandmother. We would never reach where we are going."
The terrier lad said, "I know... I'd be giving up my chance to get rich. You can find it someday, after Zeliandra's father gives you a new ship. But we can't keep the gargoyle prisoner. It's not right!"
Zeliandra spoke up, then. The orange-furred cat realized this decision fell to her. If Perrozi refused to crew the ship, she now knew barely enough to take his place. "Does the gargoyle talk, and think? Has he got feelings?"
"I've heard him talk, and I'm sure he thinks. I don't know if he has feelings..." said Perrozi.
"If he does," said the captain, "then he's most likely to be angry and take revenge once he's free. Me cutlass will have little effect on a flyin' rock statue." Having played this "angle" on the conflict, he leaned back smugly, sure that the others could not contradict him. "Keep him bound, for all our sakes."
Perrozi and Jake both looked to Zeliandra so she could have her say. She did not hesitate. "Captain, I agree the gargoyle could be dangerous. But I must also agree with Perrozi. If it can talk, and think, it is a sentient. By the king's law, it must go free."
The tall deer took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short black headfur, feeling the bumps where new horns would start growing in a month. What did the king, so far away, have to do with it? This was a matter for just the three of them. Lawful owner of the ship and most senior officer aboard he might be, but Jake knew that the captain who does not want mutiny is bound by the will of the crew. "Very well. But we will only do this after we've reached Master Roshan."
Jake nodded, and said, "Aye aye, captain." Satisfied that they had, indeed, made the most ethical choice, Zeliandra smiled and took up the position from which she helped raise the sail. In minutes, the Millarca was cutting through the waters once more. Was it just Perrozi's imagination, or was the ship moving a bit faster than usual tonight?
Without Milady navigating, their course had to be somewhat closer to the crinkled line of the coast. Perrozi could finally go down the ladder and visit Ballast. Zeliandra refused to go down there. It still smelled bad and there were bones in the sloshing blackish brine.
The sailor dog asked the gargoyle, "Where did you come from?" Ballast only shrugged. Perrozi asked, "If we set you free, will you hurt us?"
At this, Ballast appeared very confused and he grated, "...No?" He seemed fairly docile, not dangerous, to Perrozi. Perrozi went over and put his hand cautiously on the stone creature's foreleg. Ballast held still.
"I'll set you free, I promise," he said. "But I need you now."
Zeliandra frowned, her conscience troubled, but the choice was Perrozi's to make, not hers. Jake cheerfully accepted the decision without a murmur.
One day, to the south, Perrozi spotted a high forested hill with a castle at its summit. It was dominated by one especially tall spire, colored gold and white, which also served as a lighthouse. Unlike a castle, however, there was no village or town around its skirts.
"Behold," said Captain Jake, "the Tower of the Magi."
"Is that where this Roshan Dragoneyes lives?" asked Perrozi. He had just been writing words that began with the "J" sound, while Zeliandra was using her sewing skill to mend a sail. It was almost ready.
"Ah, no, I just thought you might like to see it. They exiled Roshan from there years ago," said the deer. "Up until then, he was a very promising student of magic."
In unison, Zeliandra and Perrozi asked, "What did he do?"
The captain mused, "Orrin said he was most talented at conjuration, which is makin' something from almost nothing, but he also had a flair for enchantments, which is addin' magical behaviors or effects. He conjured a soft red ball that would divide itself into two new ones just like itself."
"What is bad about that...?" puzzled Zeliandra.
Perrozi understood right away. "Each of the new ones divided themselves, too. There were four... then eight...then sixteen..." He did not know the number that came next, but Zeliandra had gotten the picture.
Captain Jake said, "It was against the rules, an' he knew it, but he could not resist."
"Did not the senior mages undo it?" asked Zeliandra.
Loquacious Jake said, "In time, aye, but not before great damage had been done. The way Orrin explained it, there's only so much power in a given place; all mages present must share it. The Tower of the Magi is special because it has much more of that power in one spot. Roshan's prank drained it all away."
Her sense of justice keen, Zeliandra frowned. She said, "So that's all? They exiled him because of a joke?"
"Ah," said Captain Jake, "some enchantments be evil but some be good. There was another student, a girl, whose neck had been broken in a riding accident. The magi had placed a spell upon her to let her walk an' move again. The red balls should have been harmless but then the magic waned. She was atop a parapet when it happened. She fell off the wall and was killed."
Zeliandra thought a moment. "He could have been hanged for that. Or thrown into the dungeons for life."
Jake shrugged. "They all knew it was an accident, an' he was just a high-spirited boy. They might have just caned his rear an' set him to cleanin' the privies for the rest of his apprenticeship. But he was a commoner, an' a freak to boot, while the girl was a highborn of House Giovarri. So he was exiled."
"Where did he go?" asked Perrozi.
With a grim smile, Captain Jake said, "To the Rovarrian Marsh. I've brought him old books for a great deal of silver several times before."
The Millarca now had a second sail mounted upon the mast. She moved faster than before, so they soon arrived at the mouth of a river choked with reeds. The Millarca was left anchored. They had to swim back and forth to and from shore to get the ropes and tools. Captain Jake built a marsh craft out of four trees. It was narrow; a passenger could have a foot in the water on both sides at the same time. Any wider, he said, and it would not be able to move between the reed islands. Shorter, and it would not keep the three of them and their gear out of the water and dry.
Perrozi and Zeliandra seated themselves precariously upon this raft, each holding a stout staff to prod them away from trees with plenty of long roots like stilts. Captain Jake pushed them along with a pole as he stood at the back. The river looked more like a lake filled with a maze of islands. There were thick stands of reeds and twisted stilt-trees draped with grey-green moss hanging like long shaggy beards. The air usually smelled musty but sometimes there was the fresh sweetness of myriad flowers on vines.
They had just begun a friendly discussion of whether it might be best to go back to Malgrave or on to Fumet Island after this. The conversation was interrupted by a loud flutter of wings as a covey of marsh-quail took frantically to the air. It was followed by an ominous hush.
Chapter 11: The Prodigy's Downfall
"What is it we should do?" asked Captain Jake. In a fine mood now, he straightened his flamboyant hat and held the sides of the coat that framed his dark bare chest.
Sailor Perrozi pointed towards the open trapdoor of the hold and said, "We should set the gargoyle free."
Zeliandra, who did not know about the stone creature chained in the hold, said, "A gargoyle? Where did you get it?"
Jake said, "Milady captured it shortly after Perrozi's father died. We've been using it to make the ship sail much faster. Quite a brute, he is! But turning him loose is out of the question."
Perrozi said, "Why's that?"
"Because," said Loquacious Jake, "without him, this ship would move like a plow drawn by an arthritic grandmother. We would never reach where we are going."
The terrier lad said, "I know... I'd be giving up my chance to get rich. You can find it someday, after Zeliandra's father gives you a new ship. But we can't keep the gargoyle prisoner. It's not right!"
Zeliandra spoke up, then. The orange-furred cat realized this decision fell to her. If Perrozi refused to crew the ship, she now knew barely enough to take his place. "Does the gargoyle talk, and think? Has he got feelings?"
"I've heard him talk, and I'm sure he thinks. I don't know if he has feelings..." said Perrozi.
"If he does," said the captain, "then he's most likely to be angry and take revenge once he's free. Me cutlass will have little effect on a flyin' rock statue." Having played this "angle" on the conflict, he leaned back smugly, sure that the others could not contradict him. "Keep him bound, for all our sakes."
Perrozi and Jake both looked to Zeliandra so she could have her say. She did not hesitate. "Captain, I agree the gargoyle could be dangerous. But I must also agree with Perrozi. If it can talk, and think, it is a sentient. By the king's law, it must go free."
The tall deer took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short black headfur, feeling the bumps where new horns would start growing in a month. What did the king, so far away, have to do with it? This was a matter for just the three of them. Lawful owner of the ship and most senior officer aboard he might be, but Jake knew that the captain who does not want mutiny is bound by the will of the crew. "Very well. But we will only do this after we've reached Master Roshan."
Jake nodded, and said, "Aye aye, captain." Satisfied that they had, indeed, made the most ethical choice, Zeliandra smiled and took up the position from which she helped raise the sail. In minutes, the Millarca was cutting through the waters once more. Was it just Perrozi's imagination, or was the ship moving a bit faster than usual tonight?
Without Milady navigating, their course had to be somewhat closer to the crinkled line of the coast. Perrozi could finally go down the ladder and visit Ballast. Zeliandra refused to go down there. It still smelled bad and there were bones in the sloshing blackish brine.
The sailor dog asked the gargoyle, "Where did you come from?" Ballast only shrugged. Perrozi asked, "If we set you free, will you hurt us?"
At this, Ballast appeared very confused and he grated, "...No?" He seemed fairly docile, not dangerous, to Perrozi. Perrozi went over and put his hand cautiously on the stone creature's foreleg. Ballast held still.
"I'll set you free, I promise," he said. "But I need you now."
Zeliandra frowned, her conscience troubled, but the choice was Perrozi's to make, not hers. Jake cheerfully accepted the decision without a murmur.
One day, to the south, Perrozi spotted a high forested hill with a castle at its summit. It was dominated by one especially tall spire, colored gold and white, which also served as a lighthouse. Unlike a castle, however, there was no village or town around its skirts.
"Behold," said Captain Jake, "the Tower of the Magi."
"Is that where this Roshan Dragoneyes lives?" asked Perrozi. He had just been writing words that began with the "J" sound, while Zeliandra was using her sewing skill to mend a sail. It was almost ready.
"Ah, no, I just thought you might like to see it. They exiled Roshan from there years ago," said the deer. "Up until then, he was a very promising student of magic."
In unison, Zeliandra and Perrozi asked, "What did he do?"
The captain mused, "Orrin said he was most talented at conjuration, which is makin' something from almost nothing, but he also had a flair for enchantments, which is addin' magical behaviors or effects. He conjured a soft red ball that would divide itself into two new ones just like itself."
"What is bad about that...?" puzzled Zeliandra.
Perrozi understood right away. "Each of the new ones divided themselves, too. There were four... then eight...then sixteen..." He did not know the number that came next, but Zeliandra had gotten the picture.
Captain Jake said, "It was against the rules, an' he knew it, but he could not resist."
"Did not the senior mages undo it?" asked Zeliandra.
Loquacious Jake said, "In time, aye, but not before great damage had been done. The way Orrin explained it, there's only so much power in a given place; all mages present must share it. The Tower of the Magi is special because it has much more of that power in one spot. Roshan's prank drained it all away."
Her sense of justice keen, Zeliandra frowned. She said, "So that's all? They exiled him because of a joke?"
"Ah," said Captain Jake, "some enchantments be evil but some be good. There was another student, a girl, whose neck had been broken in a riding accident. The magi had placed a spell upon her to let her walk an' move again. The red balls should have been harmless but then the magic waned. She was atop a parapet when it happened. She fell off the wall and was killed."
Zeliandra thought a moment. "He could have been hanged for that. Or thrown into the dungeons for life."
Jake shrugged. "They all knew it was an accident, an' he was just a high-spirited boy. They might have just caned his rear an' set him to cleanin' the privies for the rest of his apprenticeship. But he was a commoner, an' a freak to boot, while the girl was a highborn of House Giovarri. So he was exiled."
"Where did he go?" asked Perrozi.
With a grim smile, Captain Jake said, "To the Rovarrian Marsh. I've brought him old books for a great deal of silver several times before."
The Millarca now had a second sail mounted upon the mast. She moved faster than before, so they soon arrived at the mouth of a river choked with reeds. The Millarca was left anchored. They had to swim back and forth to and from shore to get the ropes and tools. Captain Jake built a marsh craft out of four trees. It was narrow; a passenger could have a foot in the water on both sides at the same time. Any wider, he said, and it would not be able to move between the reed islands. Shorter, and it would not keep the three of them and their gear out of the water and dry.
Perrozi and Zeliandra seated themselves precariously upon this raft, each holding a stout staff to prod them away from trees with plenty of long roots like stilts. Captain Jake pushed them along with a pole as he stood at the back. The river looked more like a lake filled with a maze of islands. There were thick stands of reeds and twisted stilt-trees draped with grey-green moss hanging like long shaggy beards. The air usually smelled musty but sometimes there was the fresh sweetness of myriad flowers on vines.
They had just begun a friendly discussion of whether it might be best to go back to Malgrave or on to Fumet Island after this. The conversation was interrupted by a loud flutter of wings as a covey of marsh-quail took frantically to the air. It was followed by an ominous hush.
Chapter XII
Chapter 12: Fyre
Something had spooked the birds. Despite warm sun glittering silvery on the water of the marsh, the dog Perrozi felt cold. A wave passed through the water, making the log raft on which he was seated cross-legged bobble slowly. He could feel his heart starting to pound, so he worked on breathing evenly. Not too fast- that would make him dizzy. It was hard to think. When he remembered his knife, he drew it quickly.
Zeliandra's ears went back, and she mewed softly, "What is that...?" as she scooted closer to behind the terrier lad. She clutched her pole in both paws, ready to strike.
Standing alert at the back of their long makeshift raft, Captain Jake pulled his pole out of the water and said, "I know not." He kept his balance effortlessly, the slender hoofed legs flexing as waves roiled along below them. He searched alertly all around. Then, with bravado, he announced loudly, "Show yourself! Friend or foe?"
A furless head, arms, and mottled torso burst from the water at the side of the log craft and Zeliandra let out a scream. The face was scaled and snakelike, with black eyes and a childish gaping expression. Numerous necklaces of orange and white beads adorned it. One of its paws shot out to take hold of Zeliandra's staff between her paws. Immediately she struggled to wrench it free. Delighted at this game, the snakish creature gave several enthusiastic tugs and squalled, "--My!"
"Primes save us!" Perrozi said as he slid into the water. He felt plant growth brushing him all over yet his feet could not feel the bottom. He kicked and paddled towards the front of the long raft.
Loquacious Jake's eyes widened, and he said quickly, "'Tis a nagafurre. Let him have the stick."
Zeliandra did so. The nagafurre gnawed at the pole, its eyes on Zeliandra.
In the water, Perrozi heard Jake saying, "Back off! They spit fyre!"
Near Zeliandra's side, Perrozi could see its skin was very smooth, and covered in mottled patterns of dark gray, parchment, and reddish brown. Large translucent ears were held tight to its diamond-shaped head as the serpent turned towards the furre. The naga's throat suddenly glowed from inside, and it spread its mouth open wide. With a gasping noise it coughed a fist-sized glob of flame at him, as swift as a child might hurl a stone.
Perrozi had no time to draw in a breath; he threw himself under the water as hard as he could, diving to surface a good two meters back. When he came up, he saw that whatever the nagafurre had spit at him was floating on the water and still burning.
Zeliandra reached for Perrozi's pole from behind her.
The nagafurre was making the hollow sound in its throat again, gathering up another wad of naga's fyre. It turned towards Jake and yowled, "You! No like you. You go!"
The dark-furred deer said, "I'm going; no need t' do anything hasty." He tossed his broad hat onto the raft and stepped backwards with a splash.
The nagafurre snickered with its jaws apart, the forked tongue fluttering at the air. It might be playful and childish but its actions were malicious and deadly. Out of sheer spite, it coughed its fyre at Jake. The stuff grazed Jake and his coat caught fire where it brushed past. Knowing better than to touch it, Jake tore the jacket off as he tread water.
Zeliandra was trying to paddle the raft with her stick when the naga's hand grasped front of the raft. The naga's undulating body propelled it powerfully forwards. It was longer than the raft. With no sympathy for such a monster, Zeliandra stopped trying to row and instead, brought the stick down on its fingers. "I hate being kidnapped!" she exclaimed.
The naga flared its ears and hissed, sucking at its broken fingers. Its change in mood also manifested as a change in its skin color to shades of angry red, black, and cold ivory. Its throat lit up again as it made the rasping noise. Zeliandra took the opportunity to leap into the water!
Perrozi and Jake swam for the nagafurre as fast as they could, shoving the raft back as they moved. It was Perrozi who reached it first. Holding the pearl-handled knife point-downwards, he jabbed it into the naga's thick body. The sharp metal bit into tough skin over hard muscle, like stabbing a log. Jake's cutlass flashed up, throwing off droplets of water, then hacking into the nagafurre's flank. Blood billowed into the murky water.
It growled and roiled, gathering its long body up. The captain's muzzle was caught by the resulting wave. He took in a mouthful of water and had to sputter.
The terrier pulled back his dagger and stabbed for the naga again but missed.
Unarmed now, Zeliandra took hold of the far end of the raft and stayed back.
Loquacious Jake caught his breath, flicked his head to shake water from his eyes, and yelled, "Ye have to pierce its heart!"
In something half furre and half serpent, though, where might that be, Perrozi thought wildly. "Chest?" he called back.
"Aye, the chest!" Jake said, as he came up along the nagafurre once more. He took a swing but only gave it another deep gash.
The terrier lad felt himself growling. It wasn't loud but it was quietly fierce. The naga twisted to face him. Perrozi gathered his strength again, and drove his father's knife forwards, squarely to the middle of the nagafurre's torso. The young sailorfurre gave a triumphant, "Ha!" Heart pierced, the naga doubled forwards in agony, face in the water as its life's blood poured from the hole in its chest. After what seemed a long time, it stopped writhing.
Zeliandra said, "Verily, that was amazing!"
Captain Jake said, "'twas well done, me lad!"
Perrozi took in a breath to reply. Without warning, blazing pain attached to his stomach, forcing a ragged howl out of him, as the water before him flared with an unquenchable bright light.
The eyes of the nagafurre had raised above the water level. With its dying breath, it had spit its last ball of fyre at its destroyer. Then, the light went out of its eyes and it rolled over to float on its back.
Chapter 12: Fyre
Something had spooked the birds. Despite warm sun glittering silvery on the water of the marsh, the dog Perrozi felt cold. A wave passed through the water, making the log raft on which he was seated cross-legged bobble slowly. He could feel his heart starting to pound, so he worked on breathing evenly. Not too fast- that would make him dizzy. It was hard to think. When he remembered his knife, he drew it quickly.
Zeliandra's ears went back, and she mewed softly, "What is that...?" as she scooted closer to behind the terrier lad. She clutched her pole in both paws, ready to strike.
Standing alert at the back of their long makeshift raft, Captain Jake pulled his pole out of the water and said, "I know not." He kept his balance effortlessly, the slender hoofed legs flexing as waves roiled along below them. He searched alertly all around. Then, with bravado, he announced loudly, "Show yourself! Friend or foe?"
A furless head, arms, and mottled torso burst from the water at the side of the log craft and Zeliandra let out a scream. The face was scaled and snakelike, with black eyes and a childish gaping expression. Numerous necklaces of orange and white beads adorned it. One of its paws shot out to take hold of Zeliandra's staff between her paws. Immediately she struggled to wrench it free. Delighted at this game, the snakish creature gave several enthusiastic tugs and squalled, "--My!"
"Primes save us!" Perrozi said as he slid into the water. He felt plant growth brushing him all over yet his feet could not feel the bottom. He kicked and paddled towards the front of the long raft.
Loquacious Jake's eyes widened, and he said quickly, "'Tis a nagafurre. Let him have the stick."
Zeliandra did so. The nagafurre gnawed at the pole, its eyes on Zeliandra.
In the water, Perrozi heard Jake saying, "Back off! They spit fyre!"
Near Zeliandra's side, Perrozi could see its skin was very smooth, and covered in mottled patterns of dark gray, parchment, and reddish brown. Large translucent ears were held tight to its diamond-shaped head as the serpent turned towards the furre. The naga's throat suddenly glowed from inside, and it spread its mouth open wide. With a gasping noise it coughed a fist-sized glob of flame at him, as swift as a child might hurl a stone.
Perrozi had no time to draw in a breath; he threw himself under the water as hard as he could, diving to surface a good two meters back. When he came up, he saw that whatever the nagafurre had spit at him was floating on the water and still burning.
Zeliandra reached for Perrozi's pole from behind her.
The nagafurre was making the hollow sound in its throat again, gathering up another wad of naga's fyre. It turned towards Jake and yowled, "You! No like you. You go!"
The dark-furred deer said, "I'm going; no need t' do anything hasty." He tossed his broad hat onto the raft and stepped backwards with a splash.
The nagafurre snickered with its jaws apart, the forked tongue fluttering at the air. It might be playful and childish but its actions were malicious and deadly. Out of sheer spite, it coughed its fyre at Jake. The stuff grazed Jake and his coat caught fire where it brushed past. Knowing better than to touch it, Jake tore the jacket off as he tread water.
Zeliandra was trying to paddle the raft with her stick when the naga's hand grasped front of the raft. The naga's undulating body propelled it powerfully forwards. It was longer than the raft. With no sympathy for such a monster, Zeliandra stopped trying to row and instead, brought the stick down on its fingers. "I hate being kidnapped!" she exclaimed.
The naga flared its ears and hissed, sucking at its broken fingers. Its change in mood also manifested as a change in its skin color to shades of angry red, black, and cold ivory. Its throat lit up again as it made the rasping noise. Zeliandra took the opportunity to leap into the water!
Perrozi and Jake swam for the nagafurre as fast as they could, shoving the raft back as they moved. It was Perrozi who reached it first. Holding the pearl-handled knife point-downwards, he jabbed it into the naga's thick body. The sharp metal bit into tough skin over hard muscle, like stabbing a log. Jake's cutlass flashed up, throwing off droplets of water, then hacking into the nagafurre's flank. Blood billowed into the murky water.
It growled and roiled, gathering its long body up. The captain's muzzle was caught by the resulting wave. He took in a mouthful of water and had to sputter.
The terrier pulled back his dagger and stabbed for the naga again but missed.
Unarmed now, Zeliandra took hold of the far end of the raft and stayed back.
Loquacious Jake caught his breath, flicked his head to shake water from his eyes, and yelled, "Ye have to pierce its heart!"
In something half furre and half serpent, though, where might that be, Perrozi thought wildly. "Chest?" he called back.
"Aye, the chest!" Jake said, as he came up along the nagafurre once more. He took a swing but only gave it another deep gash.
The terrier lad felt himself growling. It wasn't loud but it was quietly fierce. The naga twisted to face him. Perrozi gathered his strength again, and drove his father's knife forwards, squarely to the middle of the nagafurre's torso. The young sailorfurre gave a triumphant, "Ha!" Heart pierced, the naga doubled forwards in agony, face in the water as its life's blood poured from the hole in its chest. After what seemed a long time, it stopped writhing.
Zeliandra said, "Verily, that was amazing!"
Captain Jake said, "'twas well done, me lad!"
Perrozi took in a breath to reply. Without warning, blazing pain attached to his stomach, forcing a ragged howl out of him, as the water before him flared with an unquenchable bright light.
The eyes of the nagafurre had raised above the water level. With its dying breath, it had spit its last ball of fyre at its destroyer. Then, the light went out of its eyes and it rolled over to float on its back.
Chapter XIII
Chapter 13: The Wild Mage
As the scruffy canine lad cried out in pain, fire bloomed from his abdomen making a brilliant glow under the water. It felt like something was very slowly eating into him with thousands of tiny teeth. The glob of Fyre that the dying nagafurre had belched onto him was sticky, and it looked like burning pitch. It roiled and bubbled.
When Perrozi convulsed; his head went under the surface of the water. He choked and involuntarily inhaled liquid. Agony and raw terror overtook him as he was both on fire and drowning at once. Paralysis was spreading to his arms and legs.
In the water with him, the black deer captain, Loquacious Jake, was still in command of his wits. Jake bellowed, "Get him onto the raft!" He dove under the surface. "But don't let the Fyre touch it!"
The tabby lass in her teens came closer using her pole. She tried to use it to lift Perrozi out of the water. She managed to push him upwards but then he slipped off the pole.
Jake was a strong swimmer. Using the top of his head, he pushed Perrozi so that Zelliandra could seize his arm and haul him aboard. The ends of his legs dangled in the water and fire blazed up from near the center of his torso.
Perrozi coughed a bit of water, and immediately began howling in pain, over and over again. Tears ran down his face and his body heaved as he breathed hard.
The four-log raft pitched alarmingly and Zelliandra grabbed for nearby ropes with one hand. Jake had heaved himself aboard without overturning it. The water sloshed onto the raft and flowed off. The stuff burning on him had a unique foul smell like nothing she had experienced before, mixed with the scent of burning hair and meat. A trail of smoke rose into the air.
Thinking quickly, Zelliandra grabbed the floating circular leaves of nearby swamp-plants. They were wider than a broad-brimmed hat and fleshy, with ridges like a spiderweb on its underside. They were still attached by thick stems as she stacked and pressed them to Perrozi's body, thinking to smother the dreaded Fyre.
Instead, the blaze ate palm-sized holes through them, setting the leaves afire. Hastily, the golden-orange cat lass threw them back into the swamp. She screamed, "It will not go out!"
Zelliandra sobbed but wouldn't give up. Through tears, she kept bringing leaves over, trying to smother the fire on Perrozi's body, then throwing them back overboard. The little pockets of air in the leaves were making popping sounds as they burned. The flames, now mundane fire, spread to other plants and a furre-sized blaze leapt up upon the dark surface of the swamp.
The tall dark deer swallowed hard, looking past Zeliandra's shoulder at the dying Perrozi. He hated to lose another sailing companion. He fought off sorrow with rage, and drily muttered, "damn..." Then he took up Zelliandra's pole, intending to continue their journey.
Perrozi's repeated screams, one with each breath, rapidly grew weaker until he passed out. He was still breathing, though. Around his neck, the dagger upside-down. Zelliandra drew it, leaving the sheath, and, with despair, she cried, "I will cut it out!"
"No!" Jake bellowed, and he seized her wrist before she could go through with such a desperate plan. "The fyre might go out, but cuttin' around his heart an' lights will kill him for sure."
Now another disturbance was approaching in the water. Jake's head whipped around as he caught it out of the corner of his eye. He released Zelliandra's wrist and pointed. "Sweet Primes," Zelliandra murmured. She held the dagger in both hands.
In the water, something was rushing towards them with a sinuous motion.
"Another one! I'll take this flame-drooling devil down with me, as sure as me name is Loquacious Jake!" Jake swore as he drew his cutlass.
With a spray and splashing, a large grimacing silver face with eyes like two huge spheres, broke the water some six meters away. Zelliandra realized it was a mask strapped to the head of some kind of enormous animal, its scaly skin dark blue.
Behind it a slim blue furre was clinging to its back and dripping water, his long black hair plastered to his body in weedy stripes. This rider was wearing a smaller mask to match his mount, but two long slim horns projected on either side, and they were swept back. A necklace of huge white teeth adorned his neck. He was bare except for this and a loincloth made of knotted dark brown reeds. His pelt and skin were somehow dyed dark blue, and when Zelliandra saw his scaly tail, she at last identified him as a rat furre.
Perrozi still lay draped across the log raft, the fyre eating at his chest. Now its center was a pinkish glow almost too bright to look at.
When the creature and its passenger drew close enough, Zelliandra saw, to her surprise, that the mount was a watchwyrm- a rare quadruped creature of the sort kept chained up as a guard creature. She knew their tails had fins, but she had never seen one swimming. Now it was obvious the creature's body, so ungainly on land, was graceful and perfectly suited for the water. They normally hid during the day, their huge opal eyes too sensitive for the light. It floated in the water peacefully enough.
The black deer Jake exclaimed, "Roshan, you sly vinegaroon!"
The watchwyrm swam alongside the boat, and, without a word, the rider extended his paws towards Perrozi's body. His claws scratched the air in very precise and intricate motions, and a gray stone bowl appeared in his hand. Roshan used it to scoop the fyre out of Perrozi's body, and he whispered things under his breath. Zelliandra recognized it as Taigorian, an ancient language, and she could not understand it.
The rat mage set the crucible on the raft. When the blaze went out, it left a tiny blackened creature with a head and two forearms and a tail but no legs. Thousands of black teeth lined its jaws. Then Roshan moved his paws above Jake's body as if he were weaving several dozen invisible strings together. The charred wound into which a fist could almost have fit grew smaller and smaller. When he finished, the only sign that anything was different was the fur at that spot was now a blue patch.
The rider lifted his mask. He was beyond striking; he had the kind of looks that would turn heads when he entered a room. His muzzle was streamlined, with jaws that spoke of crushing strength when not formed into the warm smile they now held. His eyes were dark red shot through with metallic gold around pupils like four-pointed stars or crosses. The colors were lovely but the alienness of them made Zelliandra shudder.
Loquacious Jake reached out and shook Roshan's hand, saying, "Where'd you get this strange water-beast?"
The handsome blue-furred rat lowered his chin, and replied, in a whispery voice, "Mycroft. I've had him a long time. You just never met him, Jake. And who are your friends?" He looked up at Zelliandra. "Normally, he just brings me books."
The orange-striped Zelliandra sat straight and held Perrozi's hand for comfort. She said, "My name is Zelliandra mai'Lorinda. This is Perrozi. Thank you for saving him. How did you find us?" He had such disturbing eyes; she looked away in spite of herself.
Roshan Dragoneyes noticed her reaction-- he had seen it plenty of times before. He closed his eyes to spare her his crimson and gold glare, and murmured, "I generally notice when someone starts setting my marsh on fire. Come, let us retire to my humble dwelling."
Chapter 13: The Wild Mage
As the scruffy canine lad cried out in pain, fire bloomed from his abdomen making a brilliant glow under the water. It felt like something was very slowly eating into him with thousands of tiny teeth. The glob of Fyre that the dying nagafurre had belched onto him was sticky, and it looked like burning pitch. It roiled and bubbled.
When Perrozi convulsed; his head went under the surface of the water. He choked and involuntarily inhaled liquid. Agony and raw terror overtook him as he was both on fire and drowning at once. Paralysis was spreading to his arms and legs.
In the water with him, the black deer captain, Loquacious Jake, was still in command of his wits. Jake bellowed, "Get him onto the raft!" He dove under the surface. "But don't let the Fyre touch it!"
The tabby lass in her teens came closer using her pole. She tried to use it to lift Perrozi out of the water. She managed to push him upwards but then he slipped off the pole.
Jake was a strong swimmer. Using the top of his head, he pushed Perrozi so that Zelliandra could seize his arm and haul him aboard. The ends of his legs dangled in the water and fire blazed up from near the center of his torso.
Perrozi coughed a bit of water, and immediately began howling in pain, over and over again. Tears ran down his face and his body heaved as he breathed hard.
The four-log raft pitched alarmingly and Zelliandra grabbed for nearby ropes with one hand. Jake had heaved himself aboard without overturning it. The water sloshed onto the raft and flowed off. The stuff burning on him had a unique foul smell like nothing she had experienced before, mixed with the scent of burning hair and meat. A trail of smoke rose into the air.
Thinking quickly, Zelliandra grabbed the floating circular leaves of nearby swamp-plants. They were wider than a broad-brimmed hat and fleshy, with ridges like a spiderweb on its underside. They were still attached by thick stems as she stacked and pressed them to Perrozi's body, thinking to smother the dreaded Fyre.
Instead, the blaze ate palm-sized holes through them, setting the leaves afire. Hastily, the golden-orange cat lass threw them back into the swamp. She screamed, "It will not go out!"
Zelliandra sobbed but wouldn't give up. Through tears, she kept bringing leaves over, trying to smother the fire on Perrozi's body, then throwing them back overboard. The little pockets of air in the leaves were making popping sounds as they burned. The flames, now mundane fire, spread to other plants and a furre-sized blaze leapt up upon the dark surface of the swamp.
The tall dark deer swallowed hard, looking past Zeliandra's shoulder at the dying Perrozi. He hated to lose another sailing companion. He fought off sorrow with rage, and drily muttered, "damn..." Then he took up Zelliandra's pole, intending to continue their journey.
Perrozi's repeated screams, one with each breath, rapidly grew weaker until he passed out. He was still breathing, though. Around his neck, the dagger upside-down. Zelliandra drew it, leaving the sheath, and, with despair, she cried, "I will cut it out!"
"No!" Jake bellowed, and he seized her wrist before she could go through with such a desperate plan. "The fyre might go out, but cuttin' around his heart an' lights will kill him for sure."
Now another disturbance was approaching in the water. Jake's head whipped around as he caught it out of the corner of his eye. He released Zelliandra's wrist and pointed. "Sweet Primes," Zelliandra murmured. She held the dagger in both hands.
In the water, something was rushing towards them with a sinuous motion.
"Another one! I'll take this flame-drooling devil down with me, as sure as me name is Loquacious Jake!" Jake swore as he drew his cutlass.
With a spray and splashing, a large grimacing silver face with eyes like two huge spheres, broke the water some six meters away. Zelliandra realized it was a mask strapped to the head of some kind of enormous animal, its scaly skin dark blue.
Behind it a slim blue furre was clinging to its back and dripping water, his long black hair plastered to his body in weedy stripes. This rider was wearing a smaller mask to match his mount, but two long slim horns projected on either side, and they were swept back. A necklace of huge white teeth adorned his neck. He was bare except for this and a loincloth made of knotted dark brown reeds. His pelt and skin were somehow dyed dark blue, and when Zelliandra saw his scaly tail, she at last identified him as a rat furre.
Perrozi still lay draped across the log raft, the fyre eating at his chest. Now its center was a pinkish glow almost too bright to look at.
When the creature and its passenger drew close enough, Zelliandra saw, to her surprise, that the mount was a watchwyrm- a rare quadruped creature of the sort kept chained up as a guard creature. She knew their tails had fins, but she had never seen one swimming. Now it was obvious the creature's body, so ungainly on land, was graceful and perfectly suited for the water. They normally hid during the day, their huge opal eyes too sensitive for the light. It floated in the water peacefully enough.
The black deer Jake exclaimed, "Roshan, you sly vinegaroon!"
The watchwyrm swam alongside the boat, and, without a word, the rider extended his paws towards Perrozi's body. His claws scratched the air in very precise and intricate motions, and a gray stone bowl appeared in his hand. Roshan used it to scoop the fyre out of Perrozi's body, and he whispered things under his breath. Zelliandra recognized it as Taigorian, an ancient language, and she could not understand it.
The rat mage set the crucible on the raft. When the blaze went out, it left a tiny blackened creature with a head and two forearms and a tail but no legs. Thousands of black teeth lined its jaws. Then Roshan moved his paws above Jake's body as if he were weaving several dozen invisible strings together. The charred wound into which a fist could almost have fit grew smaller and smaller. When he finished, the only sign that anything was different was the fur at that spot was now a blue patch.
The rider lifted his mask. He was beyond striking; he had the kind of looks that would turn heads when he entered a room. His muzzle was streamlined, with jaws that spoke of crushing strength when not formed into the warm smile they now held. His eyes were dark red shot through with metallic gold around pupils like four-pointed stars or crosses. The colors were lovely but the alienness of them made Zelliandra shudder.
Loquacious Jake reached out and shook Roshan's hand, saying, "Where'd you get this strange water-beast?"
The handsome blue-furred rat lowered his chin, and replied, in a whispery voice, "Mycroft. I've had him a long time. You just never met him, Jake. And who are your friends?" He looked up at Zelliandra. "Normally, he just brings me books."
The orange-striped Zelliandra sat straight and held Perrozi's hand for comfort. She said, "My name is Zelliandra mai'Lorinda. This is Perrozi. Thank you for saving him. How did you find us?" He had such disturbing eyes; she looked away in spite of herself.
Roshan Dragoneyes noticed her reaction-- he had seen it plenty of times before. He closed his eyes to spare her his crimson and gold glare, and murmured, "I generally notice when someone starts setting my marsh on fire. Come, let us retire to my humble dwelling."
I suppose it would be up to the players and Roleplay administrators to decide amongt themselves the best way to fill in the gaps.
Speaking of which, why don't we do that? Hammer out for Greystone what is what, and make it easier for folks?
For consorts I've always believed that consorts should be calm. Not happy. Happiness isn't possible in war usually and so, calm makes more sense.
For stories, I'm not the greatest writer but I would be happy to help out anywhere you need me!
As for !Furre I would love a dice system in place but I only really use dice for combat and irrational judgement.
For stories, I'm not the greatest writer but I would be happy to help out anywhere you need me!
As for !Furre I would love a dice system in place but I only really use dice for combat and irrational judgement.
Here's some maps I scrounged up. I'm composing a map for our area as well to help you understand location.
Traditional Map of Kasuria
Detailed Map
Greater and Lesser House Jurisdiction
Traditional Map of Kasuria
Detailed Map
Greater and Lesser House Jurisdiction
you guys are the bomb diggty look at all this infooo!
Surfing Google for Dragonlands info, have run across a few things but this was was pretty long and helpful from Talz regarding magic! HERE
Magic
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
Another tidbit about Names! Some of this I have posted here before but I was able to find the SOURCE
Names
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Naming Conventions
Many fictional worlds have rules that govern character names. For example, in Middle Earth, many proper names are derived from Elven languages, and most names that end in "a" are masculine. Are there any naming conventions for characters based on the Dragonlands (other than longnames)?
In Drakoria, names are generally formed of open syllables (start with a consonant and end with a vowel). So "Ravena" is fine but they'd think "Obama" is weird because it starts with a vowel. They sound "primitive".
Wyrmme names are hissy and snarly and get longer with status; see their city names.
In Kasuria, names are similar to medieval European names but tend to end in a consonent. R, T, N, TH, and S are typical. Carsir, Raven, Lumareth, and Vernos would fit. Commoners don't have last names; they don't own real estate so there's no "family land" to pass on. Wealthy people often do, because there's something to inherit. Kasurian nobles do- they must belong to the canon Houses, and must be ti'This and ti'That.
Names from the Olde World such as Ana, Jean, Fyodor, and Pieter may also appear.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Do different races and cultures have separate naming conventions?
Furres did long ago but don't anymore. Some of their names date back to the long-ago Taigorean Empire or the Kingdom of Tellish.
They've been a cross-species melting pot for a long time.
http://www.furcadia.com/roleplay/charsht3.txt
There are three Kasurian martial arts traditions: Tonboka, Kiraal, and Pakchay. They're kept hush-hush, sort of ninja-style. Tonboka includes a lot of biting; it's canine in origin. Kiraal includes the use of the tail as a weapon and is preserved by marsupials. Pakchay involves kicking, and comes from rodents with powerful feet.
The Faerie-furres have their own culture; they can speak their own language, Glimmerish.
Mages are into a kind of magic-bloodline-promoting eugenics and consider themselves a separate race. They have a kind of subculture, with its own esoteric and private writing system called Magian.
Wyrmmes, Bugges, and the Mythicals do have names reflecting different cultures. The Phoenixes still have a homeland, with a loose ruling council, but the other Mythicals don't.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Ferians
As I understand, Ferians have always been a part of the Dragonlands, having originated as a form of Lycanthian. What's the official version of the origin and nature of Ferians? Are Ferians born that way, or did they begin life as regular furres?
It's always a curse. Ferians are always born as furres. There are a number of ways that someone can become a Ferian but not many ways to undo it. The vast majority of Ferians die Ferians. They also usually go crazy. Sometimes the madness is, they forget they were ever furres.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What kind of cultures do Ferians have? Do their cultures vary according to their species?
Most of the Ferians don't. They're normally far too rare to form anything of this sort. The Wolven Ferians are the exception. Night Music pretty much exemplifies what little culture they have.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
In Night Music, one of the Ferians can assume a furre form at will. What are the limitations on this power?
This question will have to wait until I've written up powers and their limitations in "Furre!". smile.gif Whatever control there is... it's never good enough for being a Ferian to stop being a major curse! They can't trust themselves around "normal" people.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
"Night Music" is about Wolven Ferians. Are there any stories about Tygard Ferians, Leonen Ferians, or Foxen Ferians?
Not yet, but there are Ferians in unexpected places. The ill-tempered creature that King Callistin rides is actually a Ferian.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What is the relationship between Foxen Ferians and Floxes? (In other words, how did the flower get on the Flox?) Do Floxes have any special abilities?
There's no relationship at all (except they are both adorable!) Floxes are not canon; they don't appear at all in the Dragonlands.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What is the canon's take on Kiwis, Bats, Penguins, and Chinchillas? Where do they come from? Are they sentient?
Those are more "seasonal" avatars, put in for fun.
Kiwis, however, are canon and appear fairly often. They're a common bird in Kasuria.
If you see a kiwi in-canon, it won't be sentient... unless it's a Ferian.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Naming Conventions
Many fictional worlds have rules that govern character names. For example, in Middle Earth, many proper names are derived from Elven languages, and most names that end in "a" are masculine. Are there any naming conventions for characters based on the Dragonlands (other than longnames)?
In Drakoria, names are generally formed of open syllables (start with a consonant and end with a vowel). So "Ravena" is fine but they'd think "Obama" is weird because it starts with a vowel. They sound "primitive".
Wyrmme names are hissy and snarly and get longer with status; see their city names.
In Kasuria, names are similar to medieval European names but tend to end in a consonent. R, T, N, TH, and S are typical. Carsir, Raven, Lumareth, and Vernos would fit. Commoners don't have last names; they don't own real estate so there's no "family land" to pass on. Wealthy people often do, because there's something to inherit. Kasurian nobles do- they must belong to the canon Houses, and must be ti'This and ti'That.
Names from the Olde World such as Ana, Jean, Fyodor, and Pieter may also appear.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Do different races and cultures have separate naming conventions?
Furres did long ago but don't anymore. Some of their names date back to the long-ago Taigorean Empire or the Kingdom of Tellish.
They've been a cross-species melting pot for a long time.
http://www.furcadia.com/roleplay/charsht3.txt
There are three Kasurian martial arts traditions: Tonboka, Kiraal, and Pakchay. They're kept hush-hush, sort of ninja-style. Tonboka includes a lot of biting; it's canine in origin. Kiraal includes the use of the tail as a weapon and is preserved by marsupials. Pakchay involves kicking, and comes from rodents with powerful feet.
The Faerie-furres have their own culture; they can speak their own language, Glimmerish.
Mages are into a kind of magic-bloodline-promoting eugenics and consider themselves a separate race. They have a kind of subculture, with its own esoteric and private writing system called Magian.
Wyrmmes, Bugges, and the Mythicals do have names reflecting different cultures. The Phoenixes still have a homeland, with a loose ruling council, but the other Mythicals don't.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
Ferians
As I understand, Ferians have always been a part of the Dragonlands, having originated as a form of Lycanthian. What's the official version of the origin and nature of Ferians? Are Ferians born that way, or did they begin life as regular furres?
It's always a curse. Ferians are always born as furres. There are a number of ways that someone can become a Ferian but not many ways to undo it. The vast majority of Ferians die Ferians. They also usually go crazy. Sometimes the madness is, they forget they were ever furres.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What kind of cultures do Ferians have? Do their cultures vary according to their species?
Most of the Ferians don't. They're normally far too rare to form anything of this sort. The Wolven Ferians are the exception. Night Music pretty much exemplifies what little culture they have.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
In Night Music, one of the Ferians can assume a furre form at will. What are the limitations on this power?
This question will have to wait until I've written up powers and their limitations in "Furre!". smile.gif Whatever control there is... it's never good enough for being a Ferian to stop being a major curse! They can't trust themselves around "normal" people.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
"Night Music" is about Wolven Ferians. Are there any stories about Tygard Ferians, Leonen Ferians, or Foxen Ferians?
Not yet, but there are Ferians in unexpected places. The ill-tempered creature that King Callistin rides is actually a Ferian.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What is the relationship between Foxen Ferians and Floxes? (In other words, how did the flower get on the Flox?) Do Floxes have any special abilities?
There's no relationship at all (except they are both adorable!) Floxes are not canon; they don't appear at all in the Dragonlands.
QUOTE (Kamose @ Sep 10 2008, 04:12 PM) *
What is the canon's take on Kiwis, Bats, Penguins, and Chinchillas? Where do they come from? Are they sentient?
Those are more "seasonal" avatars, put in for fun.
Kiwis, however, are canon and appear fairly often. They're a common bird in Kasuria.
If you see a kiwi in-canon, it won't be sentient... unless it's a Ferian.
Now, I swear there used to be some sort of webpage that listed all the Colleges of the Elements, as well as the Colleges of the Shadows (or whatever the evilevilevil version is), as well as most or all of the spells that each college could teach and cast. I also remembered it listing a really different prep order with something around six or seven being the maximum, and listing off a bunch of different ways furres could cast spells with different advantages and disadvantages (writing runes, gesturing, vocal casting, etc.), but for the life of me I can't find it anymore
Jenamore wrote:
Surfing Google for Dragonlands info, have run across a few things but this was was pretty long and helpful from Talz regarding magic! HERE
Magic
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
An account of the Primes from a Drakorian's perspective, where they are believed to be Evil and the Dark Primes are good!
The Way of Things - By Talz
Throughout this Furcadian world known as the Dragonlands, there are the Furres, who walk upon two legs, and there are the birds and reptiles, which are hunted or farmed for food. It is said that the Primes of Light created the Furres, before they parted company with the Dark Primes.
If fur-bearing creatures running upon four legs are seen, they are normally assumed to be the products of vilest magic. They are always hunted, for that is their curse. However, there is one place they are not always hated and feared, and that is, in the primitive provinces of Drakoria, far to the west.
It was 'The Winter Tears Froze On the Face.' Everyone in the tribe was a grassblade's thickness away from starving. They lived in danger of attack by Raukor, Eetrox, Leotaur, and more. Here, as even small furrelings know, it is the furre's lot in life to be food for many other creatures. That is the way of things.
Wrapped in clothes made of woven feathers, the wolf-lady Sah-may-may of the Aka Kota was hunting alone. Her name meant "Very Serious", and she liked to be the best at anything she could do. She was only thirteen, but she was already one of the best with spear-thrower. There, up ahead, walked a snow-kiwi, so she stealthily raised the long dart-spear to above her shoulder.
Was she beautiful? Maybe. Her brown hair was never brushed. She hid her face with leaves tied to woven netting to make it harder for prey to see her. Her boyfriend Teh-gla-ri liked to say, "Night makes all women beautiful," but even he had never seen her face.
The snow-kiwi began scratching at the snow with its feet, a sign that it smelled food underneath. Sah-may-may cast the flexible spear; it flew with the proper wobbling movement. The tip struck the kiwi like a stormbird diving into water; it was dead before it could make a sound.
Sah-may-may ran, the sinew nets on oval frames strapped to her feet keeping her above the snow. When she reached the kiwi, she lifted it by a leg and, with a small chip of sharpened stone, she ritually offered its blood to Suffrith, Sharpener of the Senses. Then Sah-may-may cut it open and pulled back her hunting veil to eat the steaming liver, the hunter's due. Oh, so soft and delicious!
It was without warning that blue snakes erupted from the ground to grab the Aka Kota huntress. Sah-may-may gave an enraged scream and beat at them with her free hand, not ready to let go of the precious bird carcass yet.
The icy ground broke open and a slender panther-furre appeared, her white fangs bared as she laughed. Her arms were crossed before her bare bosom. The panther woman wore no clothes or ornaments, yet she appeared not the least bit cold.
Sah-may-may gasped to see this strange being had no fur on her lean body. All Aka Kota are wolves; they know of other kinds of Furre but almost never meet them, so Sah-may-may did not know a feline when she saw one.
Countless pale scars criss-crossed that dark blue skin. Then the wolf furre realized that the things circling her body were some of this monster's many tails. One was around her waist; one was around her shoulders; one bound her ankles tightly together. Sah-may-may fell over with a thump on the blood-spattered snow.
The wolf-furre resumed furiously trying to cut through the tails with her hand-length flint knife. She could not mar the smooth hide. The blue panther-lady hooted and cackled merrily, a toss of her head sending a ripple through her long frosty-blue hair.
Then, in the Aka Kota's own language, the blue-skinned one said, "Stop! Stop! Or I will hurt myself laughing so hard!" Sah-may-may ignored her and kept sawing with the little knife.
So, the tails tightened until Sah-may-may found she could not expand her lungs. In fear and pain, Sah-may-may was finally forced to drop her knife. The world was growing darker when the tails relaxed- but only a small amount. The tails claimed Sah-may-may's possessions as spoils-of-war. The tall she-cat wiped a tear of hilarity from a yellow eye without pupil, and said, "Much better. So. What is your name?"
The tribal wolf-furre remembered her warrior's lineage, and spoke the proper ritual boast, "It is Sah-may-may's knife that will cut your throat." She glared back, not expecting this alien who knew her language to give her own name, as would be proper even between deadly enemies.
To Sah-may-may's surprise, her captor said, "It is Lokira's claws that will make snowshoe strings of your guts." Then the furless demon said sweetly, "...but not today. No, today, I have a different game to play with you. Do you pledge on your honor not to run away? Or must I crush the air out of you and leave your bones for the Raukors to pick?"
The war stories told by the elders spoke of this choice. She could die a warrior, or she could live as a slave. Sah-may-may had always told herself, it would be best to die. To be a slave would be a deep disgrace to the Aka Kota. How could she live with herself if she surrendered? Would it not be better to perish, and for her soul to go on to Suffrith's paradise?
Then Sah-may-may realized that she had never really accepted the old tales as true. She sacrificed blood in the ancient hunting ritual to Suffrith, of course-- everybody did. But, she did not, in her heart, believe.
She looked down. She was still gripping the dead bird by the neck. In her mind, she saw the faces of her hungry kinfolk, for whom this snow-kiwi would mean two more weeks of life. After that, they might still all die of hunger, but until then, every moment was precious. The true surrender was in choosing death; only in life was there any hope.
Sah-may-may decided she desperately wanted to live. She gulped, and forced herself to speak. Her voice was raspy, not at all normal, as she said, "I give my word."
Without another sound, Lokira released the she-wolf. Sah-may-may was aware the snowy ground was sucking precious warmth from her body, so she stood.
The blue panther pointed at the space behind Sah-may-may. When the Aka Kota huntress turned, there, on the ground, was a huge fluffy bird-pelt with a round bare patch at its center. This display of strange magic filled the Aka Kota with deep dread; she did not understand it.
Sah-may-may could see there were dicing bones and the square design for playing N'Jom, a traditional wagering game. Without a word, they each took a seat.
"So. I see you know this game." the she-panther said casually. "I wager four things. Your knife. Your spear-thrower with dart. Your freedom... and a boon that one such as I can grant. You do not know my name but I am Suffrith's sister."
The revered name sent a prickle up Sah-may-may's nape. Suffrith was supposed to be a great power of the universe but Sah-may-may had never heard of Lokira. Before she could stop herself, Sah-may-may demanded, "How do I know this is true?"
"Did I not conjure this great bird skin from nothing?" said Lokira.
Sah-may-may said, without a smile, "That only proves you can perform magic."
The freakish blue panther with the many lashing tails threw her head back to roar with laughter again. "Oh, daughter of the Aka Kota, you are unusually hard to impress! Never mind who I am. It is not important. For the fourth stake, I offer to use my conjuring skills to grant you a wish."
The wolf huntress considered, then nodded. She said, "I wager only three things. My veil of leaves and net. This snow-kiwi. My shirt of woven feathers."
With a nod, Lokira laid possessions in a line across from Sah-may-may's, a small handful of beads standing for Sah-may-may's freedom. They took the bones between their paws and tossed them, counting the circular marks and moving counters on the N'Jom grid.
Along the way there were choices to be made. N'Jom was a game of skill as well as luck. Sah-may-may had never taken any pleasure in gambling games, but she had enjoyed the thinking part of it. She played shrewdly, cautiously.
Sah-may-may's pebble reached the first wide line. Lokira smiled and pushed the stone knife towards Sah-may-may, signifying that it had been won back. They played onwards. Several throws later, Lokira was smiling a little less, and she pushed the spear-thrower back towards Sah-may-may as well.
Seeing that the unkempt huntress was so far ahead, Lokira began to play with more abandon. She moved her pebble along the risky path that promised a high return. She told Sah-may-may, "You have already won twice, so, I know you have used up your luck."
The huntress saw the blue panther was becoming more desperate. She was tempted to try the same strategy herself. She worried that her caution might cost her the game. She resisted, though, and kept to the slow track.
Eventually, it came down to a single throw of the bones for each. Lokira crowed triumphantly, "There!" as she scored enough points to make it difficult for Sah-may-may to win. The wolf felt her heart thudding harder and harder, as if at the back of her throat.
As Sah-may-may cast the bones for the final throw, her paws trembled, for the third stake was her freedom. The bones all showed pairs of dots, and Sah-may-may called out the traditional name for the configuration, "Flock-of-crows!" She was free!
"No!" Lokira exclaimed and she punched the thick feather rug in dismay.
The Aka Kota huntress scooped the beads up and put them into her neck-pouch. "I give you to the count of four-hundred. After that, if I see you, I will kill you!" She trusted in her own skills; she knew that not much could survive her spear-thrower and dart.
The blue-skinned panther's tails twisted and untwisted in agitation. She said, "Wait, let us play one more round." Sah-may-may had already fit the dimpled end of the long spear to the matching peg on the thrower. Lokira said, "All of your things, against my boon!" Then she waved both of her hands, and said, "See."
This time, when Sah-may-may turned, there were eight low tables made of planks, each covered with wooden troughs piled high with food. There were heaps of hot grain mixed with fat and salt, little fried cakes made from sweet crushed acorns, bowls of fruit (fresh despite the season), smoked fish, mounds of spiced and juicy beb-krah meat. Sah-may-may's eyes went wide. With this, her people need not go hungry...
The Aka Kota huntress turned, and walked back to the thick feather-fur. She put her goods down on one side, and picked up the bones.
The blue panther lady picked up a sweet orange root from the banquet, and placed it opposite Sah-may-may's possessions.
They played one more game, rolling and passing the N'Jom bones back and forth between them. Again, Lokira moved her pebble along the chancy path, but Sah-may-may held to her slower way. The bones gave Lokira a poor score. The wolf's pebble moved steadily on the grid towards the winning line. Finally, it was so far ahead that there was no way for Lokira to catch up.
"Impossible!" the blue panther railed, throwing the offending N'Jom bones far into the sky. "To win four times in a row is impossible!"
The Aka Kota huntress shook her head, "no, just rare." She picked up the delicious-smelling roasted root.
With salvaged dignity, Lokira stood herself back up, but all her serpentine tails writhed independently, and one of her white upper fangs was bared. She said, in a grumbling manner, "Name your boon, Serious One. An unconquerable weapon? Beauty such that all malefurres fall down at your feet in wonder?"
The huntress replied, "My people must never want for food ever again." Even if the sorceress could not grant such a thing, she was still honor-bound to fulfill it to the best of her ability, and Sah-may-may did not doubt that she would try.
The blue panther lady made a dismissive gesture towards Sah-may-may, and said easily, "...Done." Once again, she crossed her arms before her chest.
The wolf huntress nodded and triumphantly brought the roasted root to her jaws and bit into it. For some reason, this was the most amazingly delicious thing she had ever tasted. Whatever she was, this panther-witch was a fine cook. As she took a second bite, it seemed to be growing larger and larger. She glanced over at Lokira, who had lost her previous irritation and was now smiling slyly at her.
Sah-may-may felt her clothing swallow her up as the ground dropped away below her. She struggled out of the woven feather shirt, no longer a wolf furre, and, indeed, no longer even a furre.
Her hands had turned to clumsy paws. She was crouching on four limbs instead of two. All the sounds around her were too keen and her ears felt enormous atop her head. Whereas before, the array of food had smelled wonderful, now it was burnt and disgusting, especially the meat. Worst of all, Sah-may-may found it hard to think. Everything was confusing, frightening. She hopped from the heap of clothing, and began to run...
This new form, called Ferian Rabben, was swift. Effortlessly it bounced over the snow with its long hind legs. It was a creature that none of the Aka Kota wolf-people had seen before. It had fur, like a person, yet, like a bird or serpent, it was not intelligent.
Being desperately hungry, they brought it down with a spear. To their delight, it was yummy, and nourishing. Realizing it was a gift from the Mighty Ones such as Lokira, they made a practice of burying the skin and bones with honor.
Strangely, they never saw more than one. One moon after they ate it, another one just like it would always appear. As even small furrelings know, there is no need to understand.
It is just the way of things.
=====================================================================
Throughout this Furcadian world known as the Dragonlands, there are the Furres, who walk upon two legs, and there are the birds and reptiles, which are hunted or farmed for food. It is said that the Primes of Light created the Furres, before they parted company with the Dark Primes.
If fur-bearing creatures running upon four legs are seen, they are normally assumed to be the products of vilest magic. They are always hunted, for that is their curse. However, there is one place they are not always hated and feared, and that is, in the primitive provinces of Drakoria, far to the west.
It was 'The Winter Tears Froze On the Face.' Everyone in the tribe was a grassblade's thickness away from starving. They lived in danger of attack by Raukor, Eetrox, Leotaur, and more. Here, as even small furrelings know, it is the furre's lot in life to be food for many other creatures. That is the way of things.
Wrapped in clothes made of woven feathers, the wolf-lady Sah-may-may of the Aka Kota was hunting alone. Her name meant "Very Serious", and she liked to be the best at anything she could do. She was only thirteen, but she was already one of the best with spear-thrower. There, up ahead, walked a snow-kiwi, so she stealthily raised the long dart-spear to above her shoulder.
Was she beautiful? Maybe. Her brown hair was never brushed. She hid her face with leaves tied to woven netting to make it harder for prey to see her. Her boyfriend Teh-gla-ri liked to say, "Night makes all women beautiful," but even he had never seen her face.
The snow-kiwi began scratching at the snow with its feet, a sign that it smelled food underneath. Sah-may-may cast the flexible spear; it flew with the proper wobbling movement. The tip struck the kiwi like a stormbird diving into water; it was dead before it could make a sound.
Sah-may-may ran, the sinew nets on oval frames strapped to her feet keeping her above the snow. When she reached the kiwi, she lifted it by a leg and, with a small chip of sharpened stone, she ritually offered its blood to Suffrith, Sharpener of the Senses. Then Sah-may-may cut it open and pulled back her hunting veil to eat the steaming liver, the hunter's due. Oh, so soft and delicious!
It was without warning that blue snakes erupted from the ground to grab the Aka Kota huntress. Sah-may-may gave an enraged scream and beat at them with her free hand, not ready to let go of the precious bird carcass yet.
The icy ground broke open and a slender panther-furre appeared, her white fangs bared as she laughed. Her arms were crossed before her bare bosom. The panther woman wore no clothes or ornaments, yet she appeared not the least bit cold.
Sah-may-may gasped to see this strange being had no fur on her lean body. All Aka Kota are wolves; they know of other kinds of Furre but almost never meet them, so Sah-may-may did not know a feline when she saw one.
Countless pale scars criss-crossed that dark blue skin. Then the wolf furre realized that the things circling her body were some of this monster's many tails. One was around her waist; one was around her shoulders; one bound her ankles tightly together. Sah-may-may fell over with a thump on the blood-spattered snow.
The wolf-furre resumed furiously trying to cut through the tails with her hand-length flint knife. She could not mar the smooth hide. The blue panther-lady hooted and cackled merrily, a toss of her head sending a ripple through her long frosty-blue hair.
Then, in the Aka Kota's own language, the blue-skinned one said, "Stop! Stop! Or I will hurt myself laughing so hard!" Sah-may-may ignored her and kept sawing with the little knife.
So, the tails tightened until Sah-may-may found she could not expand her lungs. In fear and pain, Sah-may-may was finally forced to drop her knife. The world was growing darker when the tails relaxed- but only a small amount. The tails claimed Sah-may-may's possessions as spoils-of-war. The tall she-cat wiped a tear of hilarity from a yellow eye without pupil, and said, "Much better. So. What is your name?"
The tribal wolf-furre remembered her warrior's lineage, and spoke the proper ritual boast, "It is Sah-may-may's knife that will cut your throat." She glared back, not expecting this alien who knew her language to give her own name, as would be proper even between deadly enemies.
To Sah-may-may's surprise, her captor said, "It is Lokira's claws that will make snowshoe strings of your guts." Then the furless demon said sweetly, "...but not today. No, today, I have a different game to play with you. Do you pledge on your honor not to run away? Or must I crush the air out of you and leave your bones for the Raukors to pick?"
The war stories told by the elders spoke of this choice. She could die a warrior, or she could live as a slave. Sah-may-may had always told herself, it would be best to die. To be a slave would be a deep disgrace to the Aka Kota. How could she live with herself if she surrendered? Would it not be better to perish, and for her soul to go on to Suffrith's paradise?
Then Sah-may-may realized that she had never really accepted the old tales as true. She sacrificed blood in the ancient hunting ritual to Suffrith, of course-- everybody did. But, she did not, in her heart, believe.
She looked down. She was still gripping the dead bird by the neck. In her mind, she saw the faces of her hungry kinfolk, for whom this snow-kiwi would mean two more weeks of life. After that, they might still all die of hunger, but until then, every moment was precious. The true surrender was in choosing death; only in life was there any hope.
Sah-may-may decided she desperately wanted to live. She gulped, and forced herself to speak. Her voice was raspy, not at all normal, as she said, "I give my word."
Without another sound, Lokira released the she-wolf. Sah-may-may was aware the snowy ground was sucking precious warmth from her body, so she stood.
The blue panther pointed at the space behind Sah-may-may. When the Aka Kota huntress turned, there, on the ground, was a huge fluffy bird-pelt with a round bare patch at its center. This display of strange magic filled the Aka Kota with deep dread; she did not understand it.
Sah-may-may could see there were dicing bones and the square design for playing N'Jom, a traditional wagering game. Without a word, they each took a seat.
"So. I see you know this game." the she-panther said casually. "I wager four things. Your knife. Your spear-thrower with dart. Your freedom... and a boon that one such as I can grant. You do not know my name but I am Suffrith's sister."
The revered name sent a prickle up Sah-may-may's nape. Suffrith was supposed to be a great power of the universe but Sah-may-may had never heard of Lokira. Before she could stop herself, Sah-may-may demanded, "How do I know this is true?"
"Did I not conjure this great bird skin from nothing?" said Lokira.
Sah-may-may said, without a smile, "That only proves you can perform magic."
The freakish blue panther with the many lashing tails threw her head back to roar with laughter again. "Oh, daughter of the Aka Kota, you are unusually hard to impress! Never mind who I am. It is not important. For the fourth stake, I offer to use my conjuring skills to grant you a wish."
The wolf huntress considered, then nodded. She said, "I wager only three things. My veil of leaves and net. This snow-kiwi. My shirt of woven feathers."
With a nod, Lokira laid possessions in a line across from Sah-may-may's, a small handful of beads standing for Sah-may-may's freedom. They took the bones between their paws and tossed them, counting the circular marks and moving counters on the N'Jom grid.
Along the way there were choices to be made. N'Jom was a game of skill as well as luck. Sah-may-may had never taken any pleasure in gambling games, but she had enjoyed the thinking part of it. She played shrewdly, cautiously.
Sah-may-may's pebble reached the first wide line. Lokira smiled and pushed the stone knife towards Sah-may-may, signifying that it had been won back. They played onwards. Several throws later, Lokira was smiling a little less, and she pushed the spear-thrower back towards Sah-may-may as well.
Seeing that the unkempt huntress was so far ahead, Lokira began to play with more abandon. She moved her pebble along the risky path that promised a high return. She told Sah-may-may, "You have already won twice, so, I know you have used up your luck."
The huntress saw the blue panther was becoming more desperate. She was tempted to try the same strategy herself. She worried that her caution might cost her the game. She resisted, though, and kept to the slow track.
Eventually, it came down to a single throw of the bones for each. Lokira crowed triumphantly, "There!" as she scored enough points to make it difficult for Sah-may-may to win. The wolf felt her heart thudding harder and harder, as if at the back of her throat.
As Sah-may-may cast the bones for the final throw, her paws trembled, for the third stake was her freedom. The bones all showed pairs of dots, and Sah-may-may called out the traditional name for the configuration, "Flock-of-crows!" She was free!
"No!" Lokira exclaimed and she punched the thick feather rug in dismay.
The Aka Kota huntress scooped the beads up and put them into her neck-pouch. "I give you to the count of four-hundred. After that, if I see you, I will kill you!" She trusted in her own skills; she knew that not much could survive her spear-thrower and dart.
The blue-skinned panther's tails twisted and untwisted in agitation. She said, "Wait, let us play one more round." Sah-may-may had already fit the dimpled end of the long spear to the matching peg on the thrower. Lokira said, "All of your things, against my boon!" Then she waved both of her hands, and said, "See."
This time, when Sah-may-may turned, there were eight low tables made of planks, each covered with wooden troughs piled high with food. There were heaps of hot grain mixed with fat and salt, little fried cakes made from sweet crushed acorns, bowls of fruit (fresh despite the season), smoked fish, mounds of spiced and juicy beb-krah meat. Sah-may-may's eyes went wide. With this, her people need not go hungry...
The Aka Kota huntress turned, and walked back to the thick feather-fur. She put her goods down on one side, and picked up the bones.
The blue panther lady picked up a sweet orange root from the banquet, and placed it opposite Sah-may-may's possessions.
They played one more game, rolling and passing the N'Jom bones back and forth between them. Again, Lokira moved her pebble along the chancy path, but Sah-may-may held to her slower way. The bones gave Lokira a poor score. The wolf's pebble moved steadily on the grid towards the winning line. Finally, it was so far ahead that there was no way for Lokira to catch up.
"Impossible!" the blue panther railed, throwing the offending N'Jom bones far into the sky. "To win four times in a row is impossible!"
The Aka Kota huntress shook her head, "no, just rare." She picked up the delicious-smelling roasted root.
With salvaged dignity, Lokira stood herself back up, but all her serpentine tails writhed independently, and one of her white upper fangs was bared. She said, in a grumbling manner, "Name your boon, Serious One. An unconquerable weapon? Beauty such that all malefurres fall down at your feet in wonder?"
The huntress replied, "My people must never want for food ever again." Even if the sorceress could not grant such a thing, she was still honor-bound to fulfill it to the best of her ability, and Sah-may-may did not doubt that she would try.
The blue panther lady made a dismissive gesture towards Sah-may-may, and said easily, "...Done." Once again, she crossed her arms before her chest.
The wolf huntress nodded and triumphantly brought the roasted root to her jaws and bit into it. For some reason, this was the most amazingly delicious thing she had ever tasted. Whatever she was, this panther-witch was a fine cook. As she took a second bite, it seemed to be growing larger and larger. She glanced over at Lokira, who had lost her previous irritation and was now smiling slyly at her.
Sah-may-may felt her clothing swallow her up as the ground dropped away below her. She struggled out of the woven feather shirt, no longer a wolf furre, and, indeed, no longer even a furre.
Her hands had turned to clumsy paws. She was crouching on four limbs instead of two. All the sounds around her were too keen and her ears felt enormous atop her head. Whereas before, the array of food had smelled wonderful, now it was burnt and disgusting, especially the meat. Worst of all, Sah-may-may found it hard to think. Everything was confusing, frightening. She hopped from the heap of clothing, and began to run...
This new form, called Ferian Rabben, was swift. Effortlessly it bounced over the snow with its long hind legs. It was a creature that none of the Aka Kota wolf-people had seen before. It had fur, like a person, yet, like a bird or serpent, it was not intelligent.
Being desperately hungry, they brought it down with a spear. To their delight, it was yummy, and nourishing. Realizing it was a gift from the Mighty Ones such as Lokira, they made a practice of burying the skin and bones with honor.
Strangely, they never saw more than one. One moon after they ate it, another one just like it would always appear. As even small furrelings know, there is no need to understand.
It is just the way of things.
=====================================================================
Bryomancer wrote:
Now, I swear there used to be some sort of webpage that listed all the Colleges of the Elements, as well as the Colleges of the Shadows (or whatever the evilevilevil version is), as well as most or all of the spells that each college could teach and cast. I also remembered it listing a really different prep order with something around six or seven being the maximum, and listing off a bunch of different ways furres could cast spells with different advantages and disadvantages (writing runes, gesturing, vocal casting, etc.), but for the life of me I can't find it anymore
Jenamore wrote:
Surfing Google for Dragonlands info, have run across a few things but this was was pretty long and helpful from Talz regarding magic! HERE
Magic
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
There totally is actually! Paliana posted it in another thread because the site went down!
Ruvir's Magic Guide or something.
Found that thread, thank you so much!
There totally is actually! Paliana posted it in another thread because the site went down! Ruvir's Magic Guide or something.
Jenamore wrote:
Bryomancer wrote:
Now, I swear there used to be some sort of webpage that listed all the Colleges of the Elements, as well as the Colleges of the Shadows (or whatever the evilevilevil version is), as well as most or all of the spells that each college could teach and cast. I also remembered it listing a really different prep order with something around six or seven being the maximum, and listing off a bunch of different ways furres could cast spells with different advantages and disadvantages (writing runes, gesturing, vocal casting, etc.), but for the life of me I can't find it anymore
Jenamore wrote:
Surfing Google for Dragonlands info, have run across a few things but this was was pretty long and helpful from Talz regarding magic! HERE
Magic
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
The canon magic of Furcadia just doesn't rely on in-scene "prepping", and it never has.
Nor is this a standard practice "across Furcadia."
From time to time a Dream may put up its own rules and, of course, when in Rome, please, do as the Romans do-- those are other universes and that's fine.
However, Furcadia-wide, we have a default, and that default is the Dragonlands, where magic has a longstanding tradition of being instantaneous.
Here's our standard:
Think of everything you could do if you had a sword or a cocked-and-loaded crossbow in your hands. Magic is no less effective than that.
Could you stab somebody who wasn't wearing armor and kill them in one shot? Yes.
Do you have to let everybody in the room pose once before you do so? No.
Say there's a bucket across the street, sitting on a wall. Could you just fire at it and try knock the bucket over? Of course you could. You'd just do it.
If magic were any less effective than that, you'd be an idiot to use it in combat.
Prepping implies wrongly that spell power is 'built up' somehow. If that were true, then weak mages would be able to get huge effects just by winding up a long time. Can a little beginner apprentice knock over Mount Rushmore because he'd gone through 500 poses? Well, no.
Pure and simple, the effectiveness of magic is limited by the effectiveness of the mage. Not by how long they bake some spell.
So, what ARE the limitations on magic? Here's four:
1. Fallibility. Spells can fail to go off. It's the mystic equivalent of a gun jam.
2. Natural resistance. Just about everyone has some inherent resistance to magical effects. (In diced gaming it would be an automatic modifier to a chance of success.)
3. Aim. The activating of magic is limited to line of sight. It is dodge-able. Whether it's a fireball or a love spell, you know who did it. (This is true of Dragonlands psychic abilities too-- there's a telltale shimmer in the air. Always. There are no anonymous psi or magical abilities in the Dragonlands.)
4. Ambient mana. Every time a magical effect actually goes off, it drains some of the mana in the area. There are not "types" of mana in the Dragonlands; mana is mana.
Because of the way ambient mana functions, there is one possible way time might play a part in spell-casting. A spell of monumental scale could temporarily drain an area of its mana.
You pretty much have to be lifting whole cities before that occurs, though.
There totally is actually! Paliana posted it in another thread because the site went down!
Ruvir's Magic Guide or something.
A note on Primes and Religion! The poster's name is Paliana, maybe it is our own local Pali! HERE
HEREPrimes
QUOTE
Do you have any stories pertaining to the 9 lesser primes(?)
One day those tales may be told; there aren't any posted, though. smile.gif
QUOTE
(is it) okay to write my own stories (which would be used in context occasionally in the Strict RP dream of Challiston Cross) (?)
Yes, for your Dream, it's totally cool. You're welcome to elaborate upon, re-imagine, interpret and reinterpret, the "official" stuff so that it works best for your Dream's Continuity!
For the record, one of the main canon idea of the Primes is their philosophy against direct interference with the lives of furres. They no longer beget any Half-Prime children, for instance. They don't want to be worshiped. Most furres think the Primes are pretty cool-- well, the Primes think the furres are amazing, too!
Devotees of Primes are asked to be more like fans for the Primes to inspire, not followers that they order about. They even insist that furres accept that Primes can make errors. They would rather that mortals stop respecting them instead of blindly going along with a mistake. They choose to earn love instead of forcing obedience.
By contrast, the Dark Primes are very willing to monkey around with furres and other sentient beings of the Dragonlands. They perform little stunts to encourage furres to bow and scrape before them.
The power of the Dark Primes is actually very limited but they work on getting fanatics to obey them in the mortal world. When questioned why they don't do more, they tell the mortals that they're being tested, and that to question in this fashion is to fail that test.
The Dark Primes do everything they can to convince furres to do as they say; control is the name of their game. Telling furres that they will get amazing rewards when they die is one of their most fruitful ploys. Questioners don't get into their wonderful afterlife paradise.
Dark Primes especially want furres to give them credit for EVERYTHING (including the furres' own accomplishments). All the Dark Prime has to do, is promise that they will grant success. If a general then succeeds in battle, he/she will attribute his victory to a Dark Prime's patronage. The number of believers increases.
If the general fails, well... he/she will be out of power, and it doesn't matter what he/she happens to believe.
If your general interpretation of the Primes and Dark Primes follows this "enlightened kindly Star Trek aliens versus manipulative cosmic con artists" sense, then you'll still be pretty "canon".
If your interpretation has the Primes being more "interference-oriented", then it'll be less canon. It's not wrong, it's just, not quite in line with the "official" stuff.
If your stories are set in the past, then the Primes can be less like abstract concepts, and actually doing things. Long long long time ago, the Primes did do things something like the way the Norse and Greek deities did, like sneaking around in disguise.
It's entirely possible for a furre to totally make up a fictitious Prime, and get furres to go along with their cult. It *is* a medieval setting, so, furres are undemanding of real evidence. ("Does Jujinka exist? Of course she does! Otherwise, we wouldn't have Spring.")
It's possible for a mage (or other supernatural being) to set themself up as a Prime. (They'd probably have to follow the example of a Dark Prime, and be a lying scumbag, to accomplish it.)
It's also possible for there to be regions where various Primes or Dark Primes are unknown. A really really peaceful culture could forget about Reegarr, the Prime of Valor. A colony of deformed inbred mutants might not have much use for Danival the Prime of Beauty.
By the way, in Drakoria, the Primes are believed to be evil, and the Dark Primes are worshipped. Here is a short story I wrote, from a Drakorian furre's perspective.
http://talzhemir1.livejournal.com/71939.html
QUOTE
Do you have any stories pertaining to the 9 lesser primes(?)
One day those tales may be told; there aren't any posted, though. smile.gif
QUOTE
(is it) okay to write my own stories (which would be used in context occasionally in the Strict RP dream of Challiston Cross) (?)
Yes, for your Dream, it's totally cool. You're welcome to elaborate upon, re-imagine, interpret and reinterpret, the "official" stuff so that it works best for your Dream's Continuity!
For the record, one of the main canon idea of the Primes is their philosophy against direct interference with the lives of furres. They no longer beget any Half-Prime children, for instance. They don't want to be worshiped. Most furres think the Primes are pretty cool-- well, the Primes think the furres are amazing, too!
Devotees of Primes are asked to be more like fans for the Primes to inspire, not followers that they order about. They even insist that furres accept that Primes can make errors. They would rather that mortals stop respecting them instead of blindly going along with a mistake. They choose to earn love instead of forcing obedience.
By contrast, the Dark Primes are very willing to monkey around with furres and other sentient beings of the Dragonlands. They perform little stunts to encourage furres to bow and scrape before them.
The power of the Dark Primes is actually very limited but they work on getting fanatics to obey them in the mortal world. When questioned why they don't do more, they tell the mortals that they're being tested, and that to question in this fashion is to fail that test.
The Dark Primes do everything they can to convince furres to do as they say; control is the name of their game. Telling furres that they will get amazing rewards when they die is one of their most fruitful ploys. Questioners don't get into their wonderful afterlife paradise.
Dark Primes especially want furres to give them credit for EVERYTHING (including the furres' own accomplishments). All the Dark Prime has to do, is promise that they will grant success. If a general then succeeds in battle, he/she will attribute his victory to a Dark Prime's patronage. The number of believers increases.
If the general fails, well... he/she will be out of power, and it doesn't matter what he/she happens to believe.
If your general interpretation of the Primes and Dark Primes follows this "enlightened kindly Star Trek aliens versus manipulative cosmic con artists" sense, then you'll still be pretty "canon".
If your interpretation has the Primes being more "interference-oriented", then it'll be less canon. It's not wrong, it's just, not quite in line with the "official" stuff.
If your stories are set in the past, then the Primes can be less like abstract concepts, and actually doing things. Long long long time ago, the Primes did do things something like the way the Norse and Greek deities did, like sneaking around in disguise.
It's entirely possible for a furre to totally make up a fictitious Prime, and get furres to go along with their cult. It *is* a medieval setting, so, furres are undemanding of real evidence. ("Does Jujinka exist? Of course she does! Otherwise, we wouldn't have Spring.")
It's possible for a mage (or other supernatural being) to set themself up as a Prime. (They'd probably have to follow the example of a Dark Prime, and be a lying scumbag, to accomplish it.)
It's also possible for there to be regions where various Primes or Dark Primes are unknown. A really really peaceful culture could forget about Reegarr, the Prime of Valor. A colony of deformed inbred mutants might not have much use for Danival the Prime of Beauty.
By the way, in Drakoria, the Primes are believed to be evil, and the Dark Primes are worshipped. Here is a short story I wrote, from a Drakorian furre's perspective.
http://talzhemir1.livejournal.com/71939.html
See more
Iiiii don't remember if this was posted on here or not. But! This one is an in depth explanation about Taigoria from Talz. HERE
Taigoria
Dec 25 2008, 07:37 AM
"Taigoria" is based on Goryeo (which, in the real world, existed from 900-1392.) 'Tae" means "Great" and "Goryeo" comes from an older country name "Goguryeo". The origins of "Goguryeo" aren't clear but may have to do with the Korean word "guri", which means copper. Their wealth is from the mines; their strength is the mountains that they know better than anybody else.
They use it in the glaze of the famous Celadon pottery.
http://www.asianart.com/exhibitions/korea/index.html
Taigoria covers Southern Manchuria, southern Russia's Maritime Province, and most of Korea (the peninsula they called Joseon back then). Its rivals kingdoms are Pakchay and Shilla, each of which makes alliances to keep the other at bay.
There were lots of other Asian nations that are not so well-known in the West today. We sort-of lump some of them under the banner of 'China' and refer to them as "Dynasties" but they all had independent ethnic identities.
The Liao were originally Khitans (not Kittens smile.gif ), nomads of Mongolia. They have contact with the Turks and there's a Silk Road influence to their culture. Their language is now extinct.
http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o11/yhjow/khitan13.jpg
The Jin were originally Jurchens who lived in Manchuria; their language is now extinct. Amazing archers, they ruled what is now northern China from 1115 to 1234. They were succeeded by the Manju culture.
http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o11/yhj...31715317674.jpg
The Sui were a dynasty that only lasted twenty years. Nearly all of these Asian ethnic groups had professional warrior women.
[img]file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/ROGER_%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-2.jpg[/img][img]file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/ROGER_%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-3.jpg[/img]http://www.mnsu.edu/emuseum/prehistory/china/classical_imperial_china/sui.html
The Tang wear much the same wrap-around midsection and baggy pants that will someday be seen upon the Samurai of Japan. The Tang were once ruled by an empress.
http://chineseswords.freewebspace.com/custom2.html
The Song did everything big. This painting, "Games in the Jin Ming Pool" shows military exercises of their famous navy. One of the ships is like a small floating building, and we think these paintings show actual, not imaginary, watercraft. They were great engineers.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...ial-Garden1.jpg
This is a Song map carved in stone in 1147.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...Dynasty_Map.JPG
This is a Song clock, mass-published via a printing press in 1092.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...ng%27s_Book.JPG
Rather like Eleanor's Aquitaine in Europe, these folks are bent on having their Renaissance in the 11th rather than the 15th century. The Song use gunpowder bombs in battle. This is one of their "delivery wagons."
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...1-intransit.jpg
I imagine the Taigorians hearing a seemingly fanciful story and saying, "Ah, but that was thousands of years ago. We're enlightened now." That's how they feel about themselves.
Chinese opera still celebrates the Song era's Mu Guiying, a famous woman general from a family of woman officers. Her grandmother, She Taijun, is also a famous woman general. It is recorded that she led the emperor's troops at the age of 100. The emperor owed his military victories to the She Taijun and Mu Guiying, who personally trained his warriors.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/photo...005-10-15/1.htm
The possibility of women warriors is one of the things that I think sets Taigoria apart from our common conception of medieval Asia. It's a tradition that goes very far back. During the Shang Dynasty (1250-1192 BC), Lady Fu Hao had an army of 13,000 under her command. Her astonishing tomb was discovered in 1976.
The Maiden of Yue trained King Goujian's troops in the 5th Century B.C. for the wars between the kingdoms of Yue and Wu. She's said to be the first recorded martial arts hero. The story of Mulan is a poem, a ballad, from the 6th century. We don't know if the maiden of Yue or Mulan were real people, but we've found female skeletons buried with their favorite archery equipment, swords, shin guards, and so on.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1926482/posts
Martial Arts do exist in Taigoria. In the real world, around the year 520, the Buddhist Tat Moh comes from India to China, where he teaches Kung Fu to the monks of Shao Lin. He eventually becomes Boddhi Dharma, and then "Daruma"-- the little red egg-shaped effigy with the staring empty eyes that you paint.
http://www.jun-gifts.com/specialcollection...darumadolls.htm
http://www.planetdianne.com/earl/blog_images/Di-Daruma.jpg
The tradition of ladies in martial arts continues steadily, through the Buddhist monasteries and nunneries both. Ving Tsun was invented in the 1600's by a woman named Yim Ving Tsun. Tradition!
Rather than pick apart which people become 'The Chinese' and 'The Koreans' and 'The Japanese' and so on, I prefer to think that it was much more chaotic and complex. The groups and lineages defeat; they annex; they suppress; they adopt; they adapt; they innovate. Here, nothing is ever truly forgotten or lost; everything old becomes new again. There's a sense that the present is a little block being added to a vast pyramid of the past. If you can get a sense of that across, I think that's "Taigoria." It's not "primitive pan-Asian" and it's not "proto-Chinese/proto-Korean", it's all its many and varied selves.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/t...00px-Jangsu.jpg
Liu Quan
Dec 25 2008, 08:16 AM
So does Taigoria include the 'Dynasties', or is it just Goreyo? Also, is Taigoria East Asia combined into its own state, or is it split up? From what you are saying, Taigoria and the Dynasties are seperate, but I just want to be sure. Oh, Merry Christmas!!!!
Talzhemir
Dec 27 2008, 12:22 AM
Merry Merry!
Taigoria is the largest region, and it's beset on all sides by rivals. I'd draw a map but I haven't got the background to do that yet. In a way, it's better without, because it is so turbulent. Many of the polities (group or country or faction or nation or intertribal alliance) have rapidly changing borders. Some are nomadic people who don't measure territory in terms of borders, they measure it in control of gigantic trade routes and tribute from the vassal states.
Goguryeo (the "old days") from 6th-9th century:
http://www.kokuryo.com/images/Goguryeo_map1.jpg
The Dragonlands is a rough amalgam of 9th-12th century.
Liu Quan
Dec 28 2008, 10:46 AM
So essentially, Taigoria and the Dynasties are two seperate regions. I could assume that the Dynasties would resemble the Tang Dynasty as it was around during the 9th century.
Dec 25 2008, 07:37 AM
"Taigoria" is based on Goryeo (which, in the real world, existed from 900-1392.) 'Tae" means "Great" and "Goryeo" comes from an older country name "Goguryeo". The origins of "Goguryeo" aren't clear but may have to do with the Korean word "guri", which means copper. Their wealth is from the mines; their strength is the mountains that they know better than anybody else.
They use it in the glaze of the famous Celadon pottery.
http://www.asianart.com/exhibitions/korea/index.html
Taigoria covers Southern Manchuria, southern Russia's Maritime Province, and most of Korea (the peninsula they called Joseon back then). Its rivals kingdoms are Pakchay and Shilla, each of which makes alliances to keep the other at bay.
There were lots of other Asian nations that are not so well-known in the West today. We sort-of lump some of them under the banner of 'China' and refer to them as "Dynasties" but they all had independent ethnic identities.
The Liao were originally Khitans (not Kittens smile.gif ), nomads of Mongolia. They have contact with the Turks and there's a Silk Road influence to their culture. Their language is now extinct.
http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o11/yhjow/khitan13.jpg
The Jin were originally Jurchens who lived in Manchuria; their language is now extinct. Amazing archers, they ruled what is now northern China from 1115 to 1234. They were succeeded by the Manju culture.
http://i116.photobucket.com/albums/o11/yhj...31715317674.jpg
The Sui were a dynasty that only lasted twenty years. Nearly all of these Asian ethnic groups had professional warrior women.
[img]file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/ROGER_%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-2.jpg[/img][img]file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/ROGER_%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-3.jpg[/img]http://www.mnsu.edu/emuseum/prehistory/china/classical_imperial_china/sui.html
The Tang wear much the same wrap-around midsection and baggy pants that will someday be seen upon the Samurai of Japan. The Tang were once ruled by an empress.
http://chineseswords.freewebspace.com/custom2.html
The Song did everything big. This painting, "Games in the Jin Ming Pool" shows military exercises of their famous navy. One of the ships is like a small floating building, and we think these paintings show actual, not imaginary, watercraft. They were great engineers.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...ial-Garden1.jpg
This is a Song map carved in stone in 1147.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...Dynasty_Map.JPG
This is a Song clock, mass-published via a printing press in 1092.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...ng%27s_Book.JPG
Rather like Eleanor's Aquitaine in Europe, these folks are bent on having their Renaissance in the 11th rather than the 15th century. The Song use gunpowder bombs in battle. This is one of their "delivery wagons."
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/comm...1-intransit.jpg
I imagine the Taigorians hearing a seemingly fanciful story and saying, "Ah, but that was thousands of years ago. We're enlightened now." That's how they feel about themselves.
Chinese opera still celebrates the Song era's Mu Guiying, a famous woman general from a family of woman officers. Her grandmother, She Taijun, is also a famous woman general. It is recorded that she led the emperor's troops at the age of 100. The emperor owed his military victories to the She Taijun and Mu Guiying, who personally trained his warriors.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/photo...005-10-15/1.htm
The possibility of women warriors is one of the things that I think sets Taigoria apart from our common conception of medieval Asia. It's a tradition that goes very far back. During the Shang Dynasty (1250-1192 BC), Lady Fu Hao had an army of 13,000 under her command. Her astonishing tomb was discovered in 1976.
The Maiden of Yue trained King Goujian's troops in the 5th Century B.C. for the wars between the kingdoms of Yue and Wu. She's said to be the first recorded martial arts hero. The story of Mulan is a poem, a ballad, from the 6th century. We don't know if the maiden of Yue or Mulan were real people, but we've found female skeletons buried with their favorite archery equipment, swords, shin guards, and so on.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1926482/posts
Martial Arts do exist in Taigoria. In the real world, around the year 520, the Buddhist Tat Moh comes from India to China, where he teaches Kung Fu to the monks of Shao Lin. He eventually becomes Boddhi Dharma, and then "Daruma"-- the little red egg-shaped effigy with the staring empty eyes that you paint.
http://www.jun-gifts.com/specialcollection...darumadolls.htm
http://www.planetdianne.com/earl/blog_images/Di-Daruma.jpg
The tradition of ladies in martial arts continues steadily, through the Buddhist monasteries and nunneries both. Ving Tsun was invented in the 1600's by a woman named Yim Ving Tsun. Tradition!
Rather than pick apart which people become 'The Chinese' and 'The Koreans' and 'The Japanese' and so on, I prefer to think that it was much more chaotic and complex. The groups and lineages defeat; they annex; they suppress; they adopt; they adapt; they innovate. Here, nothing is ever truly forgotten or lost; everything old becomes new again. There's a sense that the present is a little block being added to a vast pyramid of the past. If you can get a sense of that across, I think that's "Taigoria." It's not "primitive pan-Asian" and it's not "proto-Chinese/proto-Korean", it's all its many and varied selves.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/t...00px-Jangsu.jpg
Liu Quan
Dec 25 2008, 08:16 AM
So does Taigoria include the 'Dynasties', or is it just Goreyo? Also, is Taigoria East Asia combined into its own state, or is it split up? From what you are saying, Taigoria and the Dynasties are seperate, but I just want to be sure. Oh, Merry Christmas!!!!
Talzhemir
Dec 27 2008, 12:22 AM
Merry Merry!
Taigoria is the largest region, and it's beset on all sides by rivals. I'd draw a map but I haven't got the background to do that yet. In a way, it's better without, because it is so turbulent. Many of the polities (group or country or faction or nation or intertribal alliance) have rapidly changing borders. Some are nomadic people who don't measure territory in terms of borders, they measure it in control of gigantic trade routes and tribute from the vassal states.
Goguryeo (the "old days") from 6th-9th century:
http://www.kokuryo.com/images/Goguryeo_map1.jpg
The Dragonlands is a rough amalgam of 9th-12th century.
Liu Quan
Dec 28 2008, 10:46 AM
So essentially, Taigoria and the Dynasties are two seperate regions. I could assume that the Dynasties would resemble the Tang Dynasty as it was around during the 9th century.
Moderators: Calliste Ahmose (played by FishyFi) Mikhael Solberg (played by minizeries)