The Top Nine

[Opal]

Right, here they are! I'll put them up on the main site and send out the details to the contestants a little later on. But for now I figured I'd get them up so people can exhale.

Thank you so much to everyone that tried out. There were so many great entries and it was so close, it was really tough choosing just nine of you. I hope you'll all stick around and watch the story unfold!

































Name: Bellona Littlebrush
Species: Dormouse
Gender: Female

?We was runnin?, half oor clothes left by t?e river wit sleep still gummin? oor eyes, an? five rats hard on oor tails,? Sailpaw explained to the enthralled beasts gathered around the fire at the main camp. ?An? t?is lass has t?e gall t?stop right a?front o? a tree ten badgers high an? turn t?me sayin?: ?Ah?m like as t?t?ink Ah c?n get higher in t?at tree t?an ye?. So then I says t?Bell, I says: ?Ye t?ink a dormouse c?n outclimb a squirrel?? An? she says-?

??Looks like a mighty fine time to find out, sir,?? the dormouse in question, Bellona Littlebrush, grinned. Captain Sailpaw certainly knew how to spin a yarn. A quality the terse warrioress had always appreciated.

?But how?d ye manage t?get outta there, Cap?n?? a young mouse ? Brandon? The war took so many young creatures, it was getting harder to keep track of their names. ? enquired while chuckling.

?O, t?e regular way,? Sailpaw laughed lightly, but Bell noted the darkness that clouded his eyes as he stared past the questioner. Her own smile had momentarily dipped into a frown.

The rats hollered insults at them as they clung, shivering, in the wispy upper branches of the great pine tree. Bell had her knife, strapped, as always, to her leg, and Sailpaw had his sling. The warriors glanced at one another and a silent conversation began.

?Wait them out, sir?? Bell quirked an eyebrow.

?No.? Sailpaw shook his head.

?How many?? She held up five fingers.

The squirrel grimaced, then opened his paw and brought it closed in a fist. ?All.?

Bell blinked before shoving the memory of the rat?s angry yells turning to horrified screams to the back of her mind. It could fester with the rest of her nightmare material. She looked at Brandon who continued to laugh with the carefree abandon of one whose experience of battle started and ended with bedtime stories of heroes of yore. Young beasts who had to ask these sorts of questions?

We?re robbing the cradles these days, the dormouse realized, finally noting that the mouse was not the only creature just emerged from dibbunhood in their midst. But Martin?s Shadow needed bodies. Warm bodies full of youth and fire and revenge. They died with honor to be replaced by their littler brothers and sisters. Ever younger to replace the dead.

Except some of us don?t die.

One of the older fighters picked up on the mood of the veterans and changed the subject. ?So, what?s the plan for t?morrow, Cap?n? We marchin? or is it another day?s rest? Have t?say I?m rather partial t?this relaxin? bit. ?

?Tch! Says the fellah who?s seen some action,? Brandon sneered. ?I wanna get out there and kill some vermin.? He emphasized this by grasping the hilt of his sword.

?Enjoy the time while you can,? Bell cautioned before Sailpaw, whose eyes had narrowed at the flippant remark, could say something he?d regret. ?I expect we?ll be staying another few days. Still waiting for some recruits from the Dread Swamp to arrive. It?s safe here, too, so -?

?To arms!? A warning horn blared. ?To arms!?

?Now that?s more like it!? Brandon cried, jumping up on the rock he?d been using as a seat and drawing his sword with a flourish.

?Get down!? Bell commanded and lunged for him while whipping out her dirk.

?What? Wh-? An arrow pierced his neck and the mouse fell over dead.

The dormouse didn?t bother to stop, just jumped over the corpse and continued, keeping her head low to the ground. He didn?t matter anymore, just as Freyr didn?t matter anymore. He didn?t. Not at all. Both were dead.

And Bellona had to keep living.







Name: Revel
Species: Stoat
Gender: Female


Revel sighed and threw the dress aside. It didn't fit. None of them fit. But what had she expected from a vole's wardrobe?

The stoat slipped back into her muddied tunic, buckled on her sword belt and tottered into the kitchen. The dishes needed doing and the table was a mess. She ignored them for now and hunkered down by the glowing woodstove. She licked her paw and touched the door ? it hissed.

"A fine trouble," she said, surveying the range of knives in a drawer. All for bread ? they simply wouldn't do. She'd have to use the cutlass.

Revel returned to the cave's main chamber with a half-eaten buttered bun in one paw and stared thoughtfully at the two dead bankvoles slumped over the carpet. She closed one eye and drew her sword, drawing imaginary lines over the bodies while she chewed.

A scuffling noise caught her ear, but she didn't turn around until she heard the gasp.

It was a young vole, barely awake, his nightcap hanging over one eye. He stared at the scene behind her, mouth agape. Revel brightened.

"Lovely morn' today," she said, swallowing the last of the bun. "Food aplenty!"

He didn't even try to run, not until she was two paces away.

There was no snap, not like his parents; his neck bones were still soft. She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, then took hold of his footpaws and began dragging.

______________________


The dishes had been washed in the stream, the table set, the bodies hauled outside and the carpet rolled away neatly. Revel sat in wicker chair, paws folded over her round stomach. The roof of the bankvole's cave was fogged with delicious smoke from the kitchen.

An elderly rat poked his head in through the cave's entrance and waggled a walking stick in the air.

"Revel... ye weren't supposed to kill 'em yet."

"What?" she said. "Why not?"

"Bruscus wanted to interrogate 'em first. Ye were only supposed to find th'place."

"I made 'im dinner," she said. "He should be more thankful."

"Smells nice," the rat admitted. "What is it? Woodpigeon wit' spices?"

"Come see! I already 'ad a leg off 'im, meself."

Revel pulled him into the kitchen. The rat opened the oven door with his stick. He turned away and was promptly sick into a pot full of just-cleaned spoons.

"What?" Revel frowned.

"That's disgustin'!"

"Ye 'aven't even tasted it yet, ye old flabtail!"

The rat stormed out of the cave. Revel chased after him.

"I'm tellin' Bruscus! Next thing yer know, ye'll be eatin' us!"

Revel paled. "I'd never!"

"Yer a horror, stoat! Bruscus'll see to it ye leave us alone once I tell 'im! Ye can't foller orders, yer sick in th' head ? only a matter o' time!"

Revel jawed wordlessly at the rat's back, then turned tail and bolted into the forest. She didn't understand why he was so horrified, but his intentions were clear. And if Bruscus agreed, it was, as the rat said, only a matter of time. She had to get far away from here.

She stopped running as darkness fell on the woodlands. She fell back between the roots of a large oak, in a nice spot of grass without too many acorns to sweep away. She closed her eyes and put her paws over her stomach again. It only took a few minutes before a smile crept onto her face.

"We'll find s'more food, don't worry," she whispered. "Someplace nice to stay when it rains. Warm in th'winter. Lots ter eat... Sog it all! I forgot me cutlass."







Name: Suellyn
Species: hedgehog
Gender: Female


?Please eat somethin', Su. Thee didn' eat anythin' a'tall fer breakfast an' now thy lunch is sittin' there on thy plate an' thee haven' touched a bite.?

?I did eat breakfast,  Mother. Only it was afore you an' Father got up this mornin'.? Suellyn tried to smile but she did hate lying to her in-laws. She was sure they had noticed her tightening her belt, once, twice, three times, over the last couple of seasons, since Baez went missing.

?Starvin' thyself won't bring 'im back any sooner,? the older female chided as if her son was just out for a stroll in the woods.

The young hogwife puffed out her spikes and tried to appear a little fatter. ?I'm just goin' out fer a breath o' air.? And with that she slipped out of the small dwelling and found her way to the spot she and her husband had once loved to sit together.

Suellyn ran her paw over one of the smooth stones, Baez's seat, and whispered, ?Where are you, M'love?? The signs left behind on the day of his disappearance had spoken of vermin slavers. ?I do hope they're treatin' you well, an' givin' you 'nough t' eat.?

Chuckling sadly, the thin hedgehog thought of how her husband would scold her if he could see how she had returned to her old ways. Her paw then went to the belt at her waist, the belt he had given her to track her progress. It was almost down to the size she had been when he found her half dead. ?I'll  eat sumthin' fer supper. By m'spikes, I will,? she promised him. ?In fact I'll try to eat sumthin' right now.?

Suellyn stood from her stone seat and looked around. She knew she had seen a bush full of ripe berries somewhere near. Ah, yes. Just there. The hogwife hurried to it, picked several and popped them into her mouth. They tasted like ashes and it hurt to swallow them. She spat them back out. ?I just can't do it, Baez. What's the use if you're not 'ere??





Name: Eliza Lacrimosa
Species: Pine Marten
Gender: Female.


Nobeast threw a party like Baron Lehman. His annual ball, thrown at his hilltop mansion overlooking the sea, was the highlight of any social season. Notable notables travelled from far and wide to attend, even if it was only say that they had.

Eliza Lacrimosa was one the more fanciful revelers, whirling the evening away on Lehman?s polished dance floor. As an overeager lad tried to lead her through a waltz, the marteness absently roamed the scene with mahogany eyes. Prospective male entertainment aplenty. Lehman, you magnificent host, you.

At the bar, the society queens were busily engaged in the usual activities for those incapable of dancing: nursing tumblers of wine and slicing others to ribbons with their gossip. With a twirl of her skirt, Eliza tossed the harpies a coquettish wink.  She knew exactly what they were saying.

Her dress? Too revealing, and besides, jade fabric was out of style. Her jewelry? Tasteless, and too expensive to boot. Her dancing? Scandalously inappropriate.

Oh, how the tongues shall wag tonight.

Of course, she did encourage it. Eliza could never pass up an opportunity to manipulate the envious old biddies. Beauty had passed them by, no matter much denial they tried to slather onto their faces. Their hatred was practically a compliment.   

A debonair fellow with decidedly horizontal horizons had been trying to cut in for most of the night, and after the appropriate amount of teasing, Eliza finally draped a paw.

He turned out to be a surprisingly graceful dancer, leaving her breathless by the final arpeggio. As the double bass struck up another lively tune, his paw extended for a second dance.

Just as she reached to take it, a discordant cracking sound pricked Eliza?s sable ear.

She turned just in time to see a hail of glass and rain cascading upon the crowd. Shrieks and panicked wails rose from the masses, and then grew in intensity as a second window shattered.

Debonair Dashing?s departing tail flicked a most un-chivalrous adieu, and Eliza felt quite compelled to follow suit. Mass exodus eliminated the front doors as a viable means of egress, so she instead dashed across the slippery tiles for the kitchen. Arriving at the same idea, an obese weasel lurched forward awkwardly. His flabby shoulder rammed Eliza aside, and the floor rushed upwards to fetch her a welcoming smack.

=~=~=~=

?Miss Lacrimosa??

Light was stabbing through her eyelids. Eliza scrunched them tighter, trying to shut out the painful glare.

?Miss Lacrimosa??

Eliza allowed one baleful lid to rise. A doughy bespectacled face stared down at her, looking every inch a physician. The air smelt of medications.

?What?s going on?? she demanded of the spectacles.

?All in good time, Miss. Right now, you just need to lie down and relax.? Unseen digits began to stroke her paw in a ludicrous attempt at tenderness.

She snapped her wrist out of the pudgy fingers and pulled the sheet up to her chin. ?Don?t touch me!? Spluttering, the oaf pulled back.

?You dare lay a paw on me again, and I?ll snap it off and feed it to you! Is that clear??

The spectacles bobbed nervously. ?Yes, Miss.?

Eliza glanced downwards. A tunic? ?What in Hellgates have you done with my dress? If you?ve soiled it, I?ll ??

The threat trailed off as her peripheral vision caught a reflection from the window pane.

Eliza deflated slowly, sinking into the sheets. All adrenaline leaked away, and a thousand aches and pains welled up to replace it. Her throat, her back, her paws. Her face. Oh, her face...

The physician began stammering something about a storm, but Eliza heard nothing.

This must be a nightmare. The bruises, the blood... Surely that hideous, ruined face in the window couldn?t be hers!

She would rather die.





Name: Deadtail
Species: Rat
Gender: Male


The sound of clashing blades echoed in Deadtail's ears, and the scent of blood rose above the riverbanks. ?They're gettin' away!? scowled a young horderat.

?Go after 'em, then,? Deadtail muttered.

?What'd you say, you old geez?aah!? The rat fell, a rapier protruding from his chest.

One young fool was almost the same as the next, and Deadtail had seen plenty of them come and plenty more go through the seasons. And the southland shrews didn't change either?whatever they called themselves, their throws were often as not deadly. Shaking his head, Deadtail jumped several paces backwards as another rapier approached. That one had been thrown from too far away to hit anybeast; the shrews truly were retreating.

The battle had been short, decisive, and?most importantly?hadn't injured him, which was just the way Deadtail liked it. The old rat couldn't rely on luck much longer, and couldn't dodge as quickly as he once had. Still, Bulgam's army was large enough and its members dumb enough that there were plenty of creatures to hide behind.

?There, that's the one that killed Halfnose!? cried a weasel officer. He looked like an officer, anyway, if only because of the silver badge he wore. The last horde Deadtail had deserted had plenty of badges, most of which twinkled in the dusk. The day after the woodland squirrels figured that out, he had taken off.

?Get her!? called the weasel, pointing at one of the shrews. She didn't look any different than the others, at least not to Deadtail. Perhaps the weasel had been too focused on studying her appearance to get about the business of slaughtering the enemy.

Three young rats took off. Working together, their longswords quickly made short work of the shrew, but one of them was hit by another rapier. The other two left him, turning and sprinting back to join the rest of the horde.

?All right, that's enough,? Bulgam declared. ?You sentries, start patrol. The rest of you, get yerselves fed.?

There was a grove by the stream, with enough food for several days. Perhaps longer; some of the younger rats ignored the fruit and began trekking with weapons out, in search of larger prey. Deadtail helped himself to berries growing from a bush, and was comfortably full well before many of his cohorts.

As night fell, the horde gathered in the camp; whether out of sense or laziness, there was no fire.?Well done out there, lads,? said Bulgam. ?It's always a pity to lose yer comrades, but they'd all have been proud of you.?

Deadtail remembered the glimpses he'd gotten of the dead faces. Indignation, regret, shock they might have felt?but pride seemed far from likely. He said nothing, of course. Bulgam was a more competent leader than most he'd seen, but even if he hadn't been, there was nothing to be gained from disagreeing with him.

?Moffa, Garnel, you're a couple of brave soldiers. There'll never be another rat like Halfnose, of course, but I think you two have what it takes for officer material.?

Perhaps Bulgam wasn't as smart as he let on. There was no mention of the third rat who had so briefly joined their quest for revenge. But the hordebeasts stared eagerly at their leader, taking in every compliment he offered, already forgetting dead whatever-his-name-had-been. Perhaps they, too, could become officers someday. As Bulgam turned his attention to praising the weasel, the young rats dreamed of glory.

Deadtail had no need to repeat his goal to himself. As always, his focus was clear; staying alive.





Name: Venril
Species: Stoat
Gender: Male


The newly promoted Captain Venril  could feel a headache coming on already.  In front of him in the storeroom-turned barracks were the horde soldiers he was supposed to be commanding, and even with his relatively limited experience with such beasts he could tell that this was not exactly the elite of Baron Proklyan?s army.  The stoat winced as he surveyed the 25 assorted vermin in front of him, with their motley weapons and uniforms that didn?t even look like uniforms anymore.  This was going to be even harder than he thought.

?Err, could I please have your attention??  Venril couldn?t help but wince at the sound of his less than impressive voice.  It didn?t help that he was a short, thin mustelid who looked every bit the clerk he had been until just two days prior.  In any case, his fellow vermin mostly ignored him, continuing their naps or their conversations.  One weasel made a mocking gesture with his canteen.

?No ye can?t.  I?m down to only two o? them.?  This remark drew several snickers from the other vermin.  For a brief moment Venril had a fantasy of some unusually conscientous hordebeast coming to his defense and dressing down the insolent mustelid.  This lasted for all of three seconds before he realized they weren?t even paying attention to him any more.

?Ah?.right, that?s it.  ATTENTION!?  The stoat tried very hard to imitate the sharp, loud staccato typical to the other Captains.  Unfortunately, coming out of his mouth the command was much shriller and more petulant sounding.  At the very least, however, it got the vermin to stop talking.  A few of them even kicked awake their sleeping messmates.

?Hello?I?m Captain Venril.  I got promoted after Captain Stanip came to the Captains? meeting drunk and Baron Proklyan..err, tossed him out the tower window.  And he died.  Because it was a very long fall and he landed on some rocks.?  Venril desperately tried to think of something else to say.  ?So I?m you?re new captain and now we?re going to start acting like proper hordebeasts.?  This last comment drew only derisive chuckles from the hordebeasts.

?Hey, I know you!?  The speaker, a ferret who looked a little smarter and fitter than his peers, sat up and looked more closely at the stoat.  ?You?re Baron Proklyan?s clerk.  When I was under Captain Morlel he took me to one of the meetings and I saw you there writing down all the things the captains were saying.  How did you get here??

Venril felt a wave of relief watch over him.  Finally, somebody who sounded competent.  ?You?re right.  I am?was, rather, His Highness? clerk and scribe.  Until two days ago when he threw Captain Stanip out the window and shouted at the others that even a clerk would be a better captain than the lot he had..?

The ferret looked at him quizzically.  ?Funny way of doing business if you ask me, just promotin? random beasts.?  The ferret pondered this for a moment, then shrugged.  ?Oh well.  When you get killed off, maybe he?ll promote me.?

?Wait, WHEN I get killed??  Venril couldn?t help but feel just a bit indignant at the lack of confidence.

?Yep, because cap?n, I?m afraid you have ?target practice? written all over you.  I?d give you about two weeks.?

?Two days grog ration says it?s one week!?  another hordebeast called out

?My knife says he gets killed the first time out!?

Venril groaned.  What kind of idiot made a clerk into a horde captain?





Name: Damask the Minstrel
Species: Robin
Gender: Male


From an inglorious perch on the side rail of the local's farm cart, Damask eyed the tavern up ahead -- though 'tavern' may have been too generous a term. The building was little more than a large-scale lean-to. One side tipped steeply inward, like a sapling in a stiff wind; the opposite was bowed to the point of mistaken identity. It looked more like the hull of a boat, so great was the curve. Mind you the smell and the clientele evoked similar seafaring images. The whole structure seemed to be supported by a pair of outbuildings: as if two younger siblings tried to support an elder, inebriated brother. The effect was disorienting to the robin -- Fates knew what it would do to one already drunk.

"I've never played at a wreck like this before," Damask muttered to himself, ruffling his feathers in annoyance, "though I'll at least be rid of this infernal, hole-seeking driver."

He gave a short cough and hopped down to the muddy path. Immediately regretting his hasty action, the bird began to march in place, trying to keep claws dry as he cursed silently that fate would offer a puddle for a quay. With little more than a short nod to the badger that had saved wings and claws from travel, the robin set off for the tavern's door.

He paused just outside, taking a pouch from the cord around his neck and shaking its contents liberally over his chest. Even after all these seasons, the dull, earthy scent revolted him, but Damask knew its value. Crushed carrot... smells like the back side of a compost heap, but nothing brings out a red breast like it.

Taking a last, full breath, the bird gave the door a sharp kick and bounded to the bartop, ignoring the sharp shouts of alarm and trying his best to make eye contact with the whole common room. Eyes whirling, he declared: "Ladies and gennelbeasts -- orwhatmaysubstitute -- I present to you the most bombastically brilliant bird for three leagues!"

He leaned in close to a nearby stoat, pointing a wingtip at him, his voice lowering in pitch to a stage whisper, "Now, you sir may have been astounded," he whirled to face a rat, "and you might have been amazed before." He hopped off the bar to a nearby table, nearly landing in the lap of a ferret, "You, ma'am, might have been flabbergasted and your breath taken away," he then made a short flight to the mantle, taking care not to impale himself on the spear mounted above it, "and everyone present could have thought they'd seen it all. But, my friends, you haven't heard it all. But fear not, for I -- Damascinous Argevian the Minstrel -- shall bestow upon you an auditory delight as never heard before."

As he began his song -- a local favorite about an ottermaid who just happened to be doing laundry when a pirate ship came by -- he began a headcount. He tried his best not to be distracted by the memory of the letter stowed a good day's flight to the south. The letter offering him a new form employment, one that might put food on the table again.

Just don't let 'em smell it on you, Damask. Keep your mouth open, your eyes peeled. Work the crowd. Sell the image -- you're the show, now. Don't be dinner and a show. Now, I wonder how many are back in their rooms...





Name: Rath the Whirlwind
Species: Ferret
Gender: Male


Vermin roars echoed around the pit, a counterpoint to the snarling weasel circling at one end, sword raised.

?It?s over, Whirlwind!? The weasel sneered.  ?I?ll carve out yer guts and leave da rest o?ya fer da worms!?

The ferret at the other end of the arena hefted a battleaxe.  ?Ye ain?t the first ter say that, an? ye won?t be th?last, scringeface!?

The weasel rushed forward as the crowd?s chanting surged, and the ferret skipped aside to avoid a crippling blow.  The weasel spun and sliced in an upward arc, a strike that was blocked by the haft of the ferret?s axe and then countered with a jab to the stomach.  Recovering, the weasel backed up and the two combatants circled one another.

The ferret?s footpaws kicked up clouds of dust as he rushed his foe.  He slashed, and his efforts were rewarded with blood and a collective roar from the spectators. Slicing down, he growled as the axe cleaved through nothing but air.  "Not bad, but try ?n dodge this!"

Just as his muscles tensed, he felt a terrible something spread inside of him, like a sort of rot.  He shuddered.  The ferret had never been a believer of omens, but he felt an electric chill as an image swam into view.

Silence reigned over a scene painted in bloody strokes.  A body sprawled, with a grim smile and the wink of bones bleached in the sun.  Worse than that, though...worse even than the ants picking apart the body, was the overwhelming force of loneliness that bludgeoned the ferret like a tidal wave.

There was a gasp, and before the ferret could question it, a sword was at his throat.

The weasel?s teeth were bared in a grin as he pushed just enough to draw blood.  ?Not so tough, are ya??

Not even a season ago, the prize fighter known as Whirlwind would have been howling for blood at such a defeat.  But the ferret, Rath, only saw that awful skull grinning at him while the carrion birds cheered?

--

?Ye?ll show ?em next time.?  The rat rushed forward to comfort the tall ferret as he wiped blood from his face with a rag.

Rath tossed the rag aside, revealing the gruesome slash that forced an eye shut.  ?It?s over.?

?Whaddya mean?? The rat squeaked.  ?Yer can?t do dat!  Yor Th? Whirlwind, me best fighter!?

?It?s?? The ferret put a paw to his eye and tried to form his thoughts into words.  I won?t die fer somebeast?s pleasure. But he could only manage an awkward. ?I can?t stay."

?Yer yellow-bellied coward!? The rat hurled a pebble at the ferret?s side.

With surprising speed, Rath spun and hefted the smaller creature by the collar.  ?Don?t ever call me a coward,? he snarled, baring yellowed fangs. Dropping the rat, he slung his axe over one shoulder and started off.

?Fine!  Git out!?  The rat howled.  ?Yer ain?t special; I kin pick up another fighter anywhere!  Dat?s all yer good for, rotface!?

The ferret half turned, but found that he had no snappy retort because the rat was right.   Instead, he limped off, covering his wounded face, and pride, as best he could.  He knew the choice he?d made was a poor one at best, but Rath found a smile worming its way onto his face despite the pain.

Rath had never been a stranger to violence.  He knew that he couldn?t live without it, and would most likely die from it.  But his life was his own, and woe betide anybeast who tried to tell him otherwise.





Name: Keane
Species: Wildcat
Gender: Male


Keane knocked thrice on the wooden door, worn smooth from use, and then reached for the handle.  He started when the door flew open before he reached it and dropped his paw.  The female cat inside peered out and smiled as recognition dawned.  ?Keane, darling, it's you!?

Keane grinned.  ?Yes, mum.?  His expression faded as he noted her bloodshot eyes and tangled fur; he had come none too soon.  ?Thought I'd drop by on my way home.?

?Come inside,? she invited, ushering him into the shadowed foyer.  The moment the door clicked shut, however, the warmth left her tone and she grasped his shoulders, claws prickling through his skin.  ?Did you bring it??  Her eyes were wide and anxious, her breath coming in short gasps.

Keane gritted his teeth.  ?It's right here, mum.?  The wildcat reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package, holding it out.

The female ripped her claws from his shoulders and Keane hissed as they left shallow gouges.  Snatching the package away from him, she clutched it tightly, crooning.  ?Darling, darling boy.  Would you like a drink??  She didn't look at him as she made the query, attention focused on ripping open the parcel.

?No.?  Keane, ears flattened against his head, attempted to keep his irritation from showing.  ?I'm only here for a minute.?

?Fine, fine.?  She opened the package.  Her paws shook as she measured out a portion and then snuffed it.

Keane stared, transfixed and horrified, as her pupils dilated and her twitching paws slowly stilled.

She met his eyes guiltily.  ?Don't look so sad,? she scolded and laughed, but it was half a sob.  ?Don't leave, Keane, come sit for a while.  I've missed you.?  The female led him to the kitchen and waved him into a chair.  ?Hungry??

?I ate already.?  He hoped she gave up quickly

She tried again.  ?How is business??

?Oh, you know,? Keane laughed lightly.  ?Plenty of demand.  I shan't go hungry or cold.?

?That's nice,? she replied absently, and Keane sighed, knowing she hadn't heard a word.  He couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been addicted to Field Balm, or Balm, as he termed it when selling the stuff.  Truth be told, that's why he'd gotten into the business in the first place; he'd spent too many nights listening to her cry.  Back then, it had seemed so simple.  Obtain the Balm, slip it to his mother, make sure that the affair stayed secret from his father, and every beast was happy.  Eventually, supplying her evolved into a little side business, and now...

Well, the way Keane saw it, what most beasts needed more than anything was just to learn how to have fun.  And his job was to show them the way.  After all, what was wrong with giving them a bit of a lift?  Cats from all families and castes patronized him, and Keane liked to think that he unified them in happiness.

Most of the time, he could even convince himself that this was the truth.  Times like now, he just hoped he didn't deserve to be gutted for what he did.

?I'd best be on my way.?  The male stood.

?Of course.  I don't mean to keep you.  Come back soon, darling!?  She smiled, eyes resting on his face for a second before wandering aimlessly.  ?You're a good beast, Keane.?

?I know, mum.?  Keane turned away to hide the tear that slipped down his cheek.  ?I know.?

[Ulrick Hammerpaw]

Congratulations to the Nine! And well done to everyone else that entered, it was very close at the end there.

[Dozystoat]

Hm! Lot of vermin. There's only two goodbeasts and a dubious robin. o.o How are they gonna last?

I have a feeling this'll be brilliant, though. Ah, what I wouldn't give to see my Celosia interact with some of these. Drug dealers, prize fighters, cannibals (as defined by Folgirm), narcissists, selfish old codgers, mopey anorexics ... hah! This is a wonderful crew.

Spin a tale worthy of cheer, you lot. ^^

[Ms Pearl]

aww piffle  :(  Well i guess that gives me more time to concentrate on stayin' alive o'er at Redscape.

Congrats y'all! Sounds like a great group!

[shorestar]

Just a note: I'm happy to share my evaluations of the apps, whether they made it in or not.

Of course, with six judges, I ended up really liking some who didn't make it in and not being particularly impressed with one or two who did... ^_~ So if you're thin-skinned, this may not be something you want. But if you want to know, all you need to do is ask!

[Kenner]

Shorey, I'd love your evaluation of Lykke and Alethia.  Although I'm pretty sure I know why Lykke didn't make the cut.

[Cricket Argyll]

Ah...congrats all around. I'm a bit disappointed about not making it, but what a unique bunch we have to watch in the coming weeks! So many vermin. I wonder what the angsty little woodlanders we have this go around will do. =O

[Captain Ashpaw]

Hee.  I banged out a quite flawed last-minute app, and quite duly didn't make it in, but...

Let's hear about Addison Keskin. 

[Damask the Minstrel]

I must say, Shorey, I'm curious about you judges' evaluations of me.

And *pats to all* if it makes you feel any better, you guys get to exact vengance in the form of death and destruction to those you deem unworthy. A consolation prize, so to speak.

[Jarrtail]

Oooh... >:D

[Wolverine]

Well, my sincere congratulations to the top nine. This ought to be a good contest.

That being said, Ghervase didn't make it, poor bugger. I might try and stay around for some reviewing, but I'm pretty swamped between RS and school, so we'll see how things go. Cheerio!

[IPlanToBiteYou]

And now, oddly enough, the forums have gone deathly silent... :P
You know what this place needs?
/Email notifications/.
So, when a contestant posts something, when a deathpoll opens, etc, all us folks who promised to read it and may just drift away because our characters didn't get in (mean but true, ask yourself the honest answer on that one :P) get an email pestering us to go read. :D
It'd keep us on our toes, for one. :P

(also, I do have a tiny bit of curiosity: Shorey-O, how nameist are the judges? :P As in, how many hated the name 'The Promise of Rain' on sight? :D)

(holy moley smiley OD)

[foxpen]

Aw, congratulations to the top nine! It appears, hardly any of my guesses at your names were even close. Good luck, then!

[Cairn Destop]

Good luck to all.  Let the adventure begin.

As to the heavy leaning to vermin, I'm thinking most of the applications went that was since there were no suggested catagories or prologues to guide anyone.

[shorestar]

Hehe, certainly... PM me if you want to see the evaluations privately. I know some people will be posting their failed apps and publicly requesting comment and I'd like to keep my stuff with everyone else's responses in those instances.

(At the same time, though, I wouldn't want my potentially-brutal responses to be aired publicly unless I'm quite sure that's what the author is asking for!)