The Soldier

[Airan]

The Character's name:  Hisobe of the Narcu Clan
Character's species:  Ferret
Character's gender:  Male
Character's age:  Mid 20's in human terms
Category:  Soldier

Hisobe left the inn as the sun sank to the horizon and mounted the goat cart he hired earlier.  He followed the road until it passed a corner marked by three tree stumps.  Hisobe turned his wagon away from the coast and followed a wide dirt path.  A snap of the harness set the goats trotting at a rapid pace.  He kept his eyes on the path, but took the time to scan the land behind him.

A quarter moon provided the sole illumination at his destination.  An abandoned Long Patrol camp bordered the road.  Peace removed its purpose and the hares abandoned the place.  Within a week, a tribe of hedgehogs converted the place it into a shipping depot.  Businesses learned of their reliability and they prospered.

He approached the administration building.  Hisobe jumped off his cart and hitched the two goats.  His nose and ears detected no other creature's presence.  It didn't bother him being late, better the client wait than running into an unexpected surprise.  The door opened on well oiled hinges, which allowed him to startle his contact.

"You took your bloody good time, ferret.  I've been here since noon," the hare growled.

"And you, sir, might be a passable officer but your incompetence at clandestine operations is bigger than a mountain."  Hisobe did not hide his contempt for the hare officer.

The hare coughed, looked around, and leaned forward.  Before he spoke, he checked out the room and stared out the window.  Such exaggerated caution made Hisobe laugh.

"Let's get down to the reason for our meeting, rabbit."  The insult had its desired affect and Hisobe gave the hare no chance to retort.  "You need eyes on that mad badger, along with the skill to send him into dark forest without dirtying your superior's paws.  Why the hurry?  His madness will kill him, eventually."

"My superior cannot wait, nor can he afford this quest to fail or succeed."

Hisobe nodded.  "Success will give your mad badger such wealth and power that none could challenge him.  Failure will deny this new order the funding necessary.  Your boss needs the wealth and a certain badger's death if he is to seize the throne.  His expansionist ideas offers your kind something you must have."

"What my kind needs isn't your concern.  Can you do the job?"

"The Narcu Clan prospers because we have adapted to this new age.  We recognize risks and rewards.  Spy, assassin, or banker, I can handle any or all as needed.  So how do you intend getting me onto this mission?"

"Your reputation as a banker will suffice.  I have a document declaring you the royal tax auditor, responsible for making sure our kingdom receives its due.  It comes with an officer's commission and the rank of captain, which should give you access to those in command."

"The document is a forgery, of that I'm certain."

"Time is short, they must depart soon as others seek the treasure," said the hare officer.  "They cannot verify its authenticity, and none will question it when you return with the treasure."

[Airan]

Character Name: Morti Dulshed
Character's Species: Mouse
Character's Gender: Male
Character's Age: 23
Category: Soldier

Morti hit the dirt snout first. Blood filled his nose and tears did his eyes the same as he struggled to get back to his feet, reeling from the sudden change in scenery.

?Get out of here, Morti, and don?t come back! Respectable beasts don? like bums hangin? around!? shouted the burly otter who had just thrown the mouse out of the tavern. With a derisive snort, the otter slammed the door shut, leaving the bruised mouse staggering in the streets. Before even managing to regain his balance, the beast spun himself towards the door.

?Eh, you?re brew was shoddy anyway!? Morti squeaked in a nasally voice, throwing the unoccupied space in the doorway an obscene gesture. The gesture was too much for the poor mouse?s balance to handle however, and Morti dropped right back into the dirt, this time landing painfully on his tail.

Maybe I?ll just?.get me wits back about me afore I try an? go standin? again. The mouse sat for a moment, rubbing his scratched and dirty paws on his equally filthy shirt. Sucking on the gap made from his missing front tooth, Morti observed his surroundings, lolling his head from side to side. The streets were depressingly empty, with every building?s windows shuttered and not a soul to be seen. The only light about was lazily glittering down from the half-moon above.

Huh. I was in there that long? Morti snorted, then spit the last bit of blood onto the dirt. After all that time an? not a single coin to show fer it. Rising steadily to his feet, the mouse made one last angry glare back at the tavern before trudging off alongside its adjacent shops. Kicking up dirt with every step, the mouse recoiled when his bare foot accidentally made acquaintance with a jagged rock.

?Aw Hell an? its Gates!? Morti howled, hopping around and grabbing his footpaw as he cursed some more. In the middle of this embarrassing display, however, the mouse spied something very intriguing. The pain suddenly forgotten, the beast lowered his foot and crept closer to the building at his side, its front door wide open.

Well, look at what?s goin? on here. Morti swiftly glanced around, assuring himself there was still no one in the streets as he made his way into the inviting shop. Once inside, the mouse quietly closed the door behind him. Peering around the shop, Morti saw nothing special lying around. Or, rather, saw nothing at all.

This?s?.odd. There ain?t nothin? in here. There ain?t even any dust- Morti paused in his thoughts when he suddenly spotted, lying on a table in the middle of the room, a sizeable sack of gold. It was shimmering in the moonlight sneaking in from a nearby window, overflowing with glimmering coins. . Scanning around once more for anybeast to ruin the evening, then double checking just to be sure, Morti gazed back at the sack. Clapping his paws together, the mouse?s eyes fluttered to the ceiling and he whispered, ?Thank you.?

Arms outstretched overhead, Morti raced for the gold, ignoring the cabinets smashing into his sides and knees. Snatching up the loot, the mouse laughed, giddily reaching in and kissing as many of the coins as he could. Shoving them back into the bag, Morti whirled around and sprinted for the door, slamming into anything and everything in his path once again in his mad dash. Wrenching open the exit, Morti was met with a sudden punch to the gut, the coins tumbling to the floor. Through the stars in his eyes, the mouse managed to make out the figure of the hare who socked him.

?Mortimer Dulshed, you are under arrest for theft. However, due to multiple infractions, you will now be drafted to serve in the Long Patrol.? With a chuckle, the hare crouched down next to the mouse. ?We?ve told you, Morti. Respectable beasts don?t appreciate bums like you.?

[Airan]

Character's Name: Fildering Dillwithers
Character's species: Hare
Character's gender: Male
Character's age: 17
Category: Soldier

The short, sandy-furred young hare swished his blade, clashing it with that of his dreaded foe- steel ringing on steel, the echoes of battle filling the air. At last they came together, swords crossed, faces gritted up into eachother's. "Y're no match f'justice, y'cad. Y'll pay today f'rall th' hares you've slain. 'Tis the honorable way, the way of warriors long before me, to crush scum like you an' your bally toads, wot wot!"

"Hah!" cackled the stoat with ravenous glee; a cat, playing with prey that would inevitably become its latest meal. "Ye've got no chance against me, fool. Yaer aunly option es death!"

Their faces were close enough now that their whiskers touched. The hare saw every detail of his enemy's face, smelled his foul breath, and felt his cold hatred. It was now or never... "Eulaliaaa!"

Fildering Dillwithers sputtered and howled, awakening in the warm, inviting dining room of Lady Albren Galbraith to icy cold Mountain Ale up his nose, over his whiskers, and in his ears. "Wot th' devil! Gerroff, y'ballyflippin' brunchscoffin' maroons, I'll give y'vinegar'n'applesauce, by jingo!" His outcry was met with giggling and chortles from the culprits, Twilbee and Qwirry, two of his most trusted allies (he jestingly made a mental note to add "former" to that status in the near future). "Oh I say there, Dilly m' old Filder; dozin' at th' table again. Won't do, wot, won't do h'at bloomin' all!"

"That it, eh naow? Come taste m'ages-honored blade, bounders!" Getting a bearing on his surroundings in the dining room of Galbraith Hall, he seized a length of celery. "Blighterin' fiends an' cowardly custards, wot wot!" A becrusted custard hurtled from what seemed nowhere, catching him across the head and sending him reeling and well-lathered in hazelnut meadowcream and light flaked pastry. He whirled, wiping off the debris with one paw and waving the celery shaft with the other. "I say, who's the benighted berryswiper threw this custard, eh wot? Own up, I say!" In response, a fully-fledged turtle pie, two summer salads and the contents of a pot of woodland stew flew from all directions. "Take cover!" he roared as, selecting an especially oozy raspberry turnover, he returned fire.


"We invited you in, let you stay with us here at my home," said the badger lady gravely, with a mock severity so convincing that it had the hare culprits wincing with her every word. "But you start fights- good-natured, perhaps, but fights nonetheless. You play your youthful games. You make a mess of this old castle; my home.  My Hall is no place for young hares. Fwynna, explain the plan you brought to me earlier, please."

The old harewife matron needed no second bidding. She cleared her throat. "Hrmph, yes, these poor devils've made quite a conundrum o' the old hall. Why, it hasn't seen this much action in a hundred seasons, I'd say! There's only one option."

The guilty troublemakers exchanged nervous glances as Lady Galbraith broke the silence. "Yes. There is only one option. You must leave my home. Go thither and hither and yon; wherever you please, as long as it isn't here. Roam south, where strapping young hares such as yourselves should have done long ago. The Mountain of the Fire Lizards calls you home."

Fildering cleared his throat, speaking for the others as he did. "But how will we know the way? Wot the deuce is a fire lizard an' wot've they got with a mountain? I don't chance meetin' one o' those on a dark night, an' Fates forbid a mountainful of the festerin' firebrands!"

"Tis called Salamandastron, home of the Badger Lords of ancient times and the finest military force from the rocky Northern Shores to Southsward's green lands. How to get there, you ask? That is but a simple thing. Your heart will show you the way."