The 2011 Audience Choice Awards!

[Opal]

(Otherwise known as "Here be them apps wot you can choose from 'n' sitch.")



Character's name: Yves

Category: Male Beaver

Application:

Right, right, left.

Rules never bothered Yves. Rules, he'd learned, bothered those who didn't bother with them.

He hummed jauntily as he passed guardbeasts and slaves, offering them waves and wide smiles and even jokes.

His path through Kotir had been memorized. He could almost see a stream of sand in his mind, time running out, as he turned the corner-- but this, too, had been carefully measured.

As he neared his destination, Yves stopped humming and carefully shuffled his webbed footpaws to avoid conspicuous slapping noises against the chilled stone of the castle floors. The castle was cold like a river was damp. Or so he'd gathered from the occupants. Yves had rarely been cold in his lifetime and didn't actually spend much time in the castle. Regardless, it was convenient, because his presence there had less to do with hauling wood for the various fortress needs and more with the fact that it was a bloody great castle. It was an easy in.

Not that difficulty would have been the slightest deterrent. It would actually have elicited quite the opposite effect, Yves mused. He stopped in front of the door, but couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his features.

There was nothing quite like the excitement of a challenge and the possibility of discovery at any moment, and so Yves held his breath, giddy, as he pulled out his wooden lock picking tools and set to work with practiced ease.

After a few moments, instead of the satisfying snick of a yielding lock, an ominous crunch greeted Yves' ears. He bit back a curse, rolling his eyes emphatically at his bad luck.

That was-- had been his best pick. Of course. Some of the excitement drained out of him, but it was okay, he could still work around this. Obviously, the lock was a lost cause for the moment. He absently freed the broken half of the pick, looking at it mournfully before putting the remains in his mouth and chewing. That was the evidence taken care of, at least.

It was a supreme irony, Yves thought, that he could so easily gnaw through the door to get at his prize. It was also a supremely inelegant solution, so he dismissed it.

His ears pricked at the sound of approaching pawsteps, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Clearly, this wasn't his night. Yves huffed out a sigh, turned from the door, and made as if he were strolling down the corridor with purpose. This, too, was exciting in its own way. Part acting, part mental acrobatics, and hopefully a good dose of luck, which he was sorely in need of at the moment.

The stoat-- Nash, his memory supplied-- grinned at him. Yves grinned back. He liked Nash. Not because he was stupid, which certainly didn't hurt Yves' plans, but because the stoat was like just about everybeast else in the castle. Bound to rules, the subtle ones, unable to imagine anyone breaking them.

?What're you doing here??

?On my way to fetch more wood; I'll bring extra to the barracks this time, aye?? Yves nodded, winking amiably.

Nash, predictably, nodded back, all suspicion dispersing, if there was any to begin with. ?Thanks, mate!?

?Sure.?

Yves liked rules. Rules said that thieves were meant to lurk in shadows, almost comically furtive-- not swagger about in plain sight, being helpful. Rules said that it was over when a thief was caught out, when his initial plan failed. Rules didn't mention anything about thieves being invited in regularly, being welcomed.

Rules never bothered Yves.

[Opal]

Character's name:  Simon

Category:  Male Fox

Application:

Simon was an artist.  When beasts said otherwise, he killed them and cooked them for dinner.  So far, it was a very profitable enterprise.

The fox started as the kitchen doors were thrown open behind him and he perked his ears, waiting for Maude to call out the orders.

?Foul cad!?

Simon turned from the roasted hare's leg he had been slicing, eyebrow arched.  ?I don't believe I serve that here.  Anything else I can do for you??

The intruder, a portly weasel wielding a cane, glowered at him.  ?You've done more than enough already, blackguard!?  He thwacked the floor with his cane and waddled closer.

?Enough name calling.?  Simon resumed his work.  ?It doesn't agree with me.  Now state your business or leave.?

?You're a poisoner and a dastard!? the beast hissed, and Simon flinched as the cane grazed his left footpaw.  He spun around, knife in paw.

?Care to explain?? he growled.

?One cannot explain.  One can only state facts and hope that they are understood.?  The venom in the weasel's whine was routine by now.  ?I've spent a week bedridden because of you and your filthy establishment.?

?Oh?  Must've been nice for the mistress, having a week off.?

The weasel spluttered.  ?Enough gutter humor!  I demand a full monetary refund for the meal I consumed, or I shall besmirch your name!?

Simon cursed; the hare meat was growing cold.  ?You can hardly blame me for your weak stomach.?

?So that's how it is?  The beasts you poison simply have 'weak stomachs'?  You, sir, are a petty thief, robbing beasts and repaying them with rubbish.  Do you believe that all your talk of spices and the way you arrange this scum on the plates can hide the truth?  We know what you are ? an impostor!?

Simon cleared his throat.  ?Is that all??

?Er...?

Simon stalled him.  ?My turn. Do you know what I think? And I do think, unlike the bourgeoisie snobs that deign to violate this temple of art!? His voice, hitherto passive, grew an ugly snarl. ?How dare you trounce in here and feed me lies?! Many beasts can't appreciate art, but you, sirrah, are a disgrace to the artistic world! My food is perfect. Perfect, I say!?

He snatched the weasel's collar and yanked him closer, angling the knife.  ?I have one last question for you.  What did you think of the roasted vole??

The mustelid wheezed. ?It was garbage in disguise, like yourself!?

Simon sighed.  ?I really hate to do this,? he apologized, and cut the weasel's throat.  ?But if you can't appreciate my culinary delights... well, life isn't worth living.?

Maude chose that moment to enter.  She eyed the weasel, bleeding guiltily onto the floor.  ?Shall I take him to the butchering room??

?Do be a dear.?  Smiling, he took stock of the work he'd been stopped at.  The meat was cold, but the interruption couldn't have been better timed; the storeroom had been running low.  Simon stared at the counter and a dreamy smile touched his maw.

?Maude,? he called, ?I'm about to stun the world.  Cold sammiches!?

After all, real artists could use anything in their works. 

[Opal]

Character's Name: Rexim

Category: Male fox

Application:

The room was filled with paper; maps and blueprints were affixed to the wall, stacked on tables, and the floor was beginning to be lost to the approaching tide. A rough path through the piles led from the door to the desk located against the far wall.

Rexim sat at that desk, preparing another piece of paper for its inclusion to the strata. It was slow going. The fox was not a speedy draftsbeast, and he had to constantly adjust his grip because of the lack of the last two claws on his right paw. His left paw, steadying the paper, was similarly mutilated though only minus the ring claw. Occasionally his half-tail would whip around in a circle when he drew a particularly interesting angle or buttress.

If Rexim?s single ring-festooned ear heard the newcomer enter, he was too intent on his work to notice. He did not realize that there was another beast in the room until it put a paw on his shoulder.

The fox flinched away from the touch, but when he turned the tenseness in his face dissolved into relief, ?Ah, freend Grall. How are you doeeng on thees fine day??

?Quite well, Builder,? replied the ferret. ?I just came up because you told me to tell you when the construction had finished on the walls, though if you?re busy...?

?No, no, thank you for telleeng me. Meestress Ula just wanted some papers copied, but eet can wait for another time. Thees ees far more eemportant.?

Rexim rose from the desk, wincing because of cramps. As he rose he took a bottle of wine from a half-buried cabinet and grabbed his long grey coat and fur-trimmed hat before following Grall out the door. A few minutes later, the pair emerged into the parade ground of Kotir castle.

The early evening chill did not seem to affect Rexim, who strode over to the construction site without even bothering to button his coat. A heavyset stoat hailed him with a shout.

??ey, Builder! Nice of you to come an? check up on us!?

The fox shook the beast?s paw heartily, grinning. ?But of course, Meester Edreeck. I am always eenterested een the progress of my castle. Freend Grall tells me that you have feenished weeth the walls. Ees that a fact??

?Oh, aye,? replied the stoat. ?You can see where the mortar?s still fresh over on the top of the wall over there. These slave fellows can build quite fast when they?re motivated. It?s only really window dressin? from now on, an? we should have that done in a bit over a week.?

?Ah, but thees calls for a celebration! Grall, come and join us een a toast.? Rexim produced a corkscrew from one of his many pockets and opened the wine bottle.

?To the castle Koteer, may eets walls never crumble, and to the Alphas Kovari and Teerian, may their glory outlast the seasons!?

After saying this, he took a generous swig from the bottle before passing it to the other two. The fox smacked his lips appreciatively.

?Ah, bloody good veentage. All they?re good for, down een the South.?

Edrick handed the bottle back to him, nodding. ?Aye, that?s the truth. I?ve been down here so long that I?ve forgotten what real cold feels like.?

?You might get a chance to feel it soon,? said Grall. ?Apparently it?s going to be a pretty bad winter.?

Rexim laughed. ?Compared to what? They don?t know what a real weenter ees here. Eet?s goeeng to be a boreeng few months, trust me.?

[Opal]

Character name: Dosin

Category: Male Fox

Application:

Dosin sat at the table with his head in his paws; his black ears splayed back, he wanted nothing more than to be back in the forest, sleeping in or against a tree. Instead, the young fox could only daydream about that nap in Mossflower, and his sigh didn?t go unnoticed by the vixen standing above him.

?Are you even listening to me, Dosin? That Tavric is even worse of an influence than I thought. He?s worthless, and you?re quickly becoming another bag of skin the hunters have to provide for.? She slapped the fox across the bridge of his muzzle.  ?Pay attention!?

Dosin whimpered and nodded, bringing paw to cheek. ?Yes, Ma?am.?

The vixen frowned but continued: ?You should be like your brother. At least he has the makings of someone useful. He can fish, cut wood. He?s been apprenticed with our blacksmith and can handle a sword. You?d run if we?re attacked again, wouldn?t you??

?Yes, Ma?am.? Dosin lowered his head and clenched his paws into fists, wanting to tell his mother that he wouldn?t run, that he?d fight for his tribe, but arguing was out of the question. The smell of alcohol was in the air, heavier than normal.

?I know you would. Hellsgates, you would run and not try to save anyone. Not your brother, not me, not even your boy. What?s the whelp?s name? You?ll make him a fine woman some day, if you don?t fail him.?

Dosin looked up, mouth hanging open. He quickly shut his mouth, though, when he was cuffed and nearly knocked out of the chair.  He whimpered, trying to ignore the stinging from his jaw and glanced up at his mother, seeing the vixen on the verge of growling. He clambered out of the chair and used the table as a barrier, raising his voice to match the vixen?s: ?I told you he?s a friend. Just a friend and nothing more. By Vulpis, why don?t you ever listen??

The vixen chuckled, turning around and grabbing a jug of mead, guzzling down the liquid. ?Why would anyone listen to a kit like you? What are you good for??

The fox swallowed, glaring at his mother and shivering from the rage. He flexed his paws, trying to keep himself from reacting to the taunt. His mother returned the stare with half-lidded eyes. ?Mother, I?m apprenticed to Tavric, and when you?re dying, you?ll be coming to me for the herbs to help you rest. I?ll?.? He had to stop and look away? His mother?s sharp breaths were coming across from him.

?You?ll what??

He exhaled slowly, shivering again when he realized how cool the air was becoming. ?I?ll make your last moments peaceful again,? he thought. He looked back up, pulling his tail between his legs. ?I?ll go get wood for the fire, Ma?am.?

?Good. Bring in enough for the next couple of days too to save your brother the trouble and then get out of my house!?

He didn?t cringe as she yelled the last bit, but he lowered his ears and sniffed, squeezing his arms. Nodding his head, Dosin padded out of the room to grab his gear: a coat, the walking stick his mother sometimes used on him, and the satchel he carried his herbs and dried meats in. He crept past the table, his mother leaning heavily on it, and stopped at the door.

He took a deep breath, thinking before?, ?Get the wood yourself!?

Dosin was out the door, moving too fast to bother shutting it. The last he heard of his mother was slamming of the door behind him.

[Opal]

Character's name: Clutus

Category: Male Owl

Application:

Clutus the Great puffed out his breast feathers, and basked in the praise of three singing and dancing mice.

?Who is wiser than Clutus?? Sang a chubby little morsel, whose lovely baritone was a credit to his kind.

?Who is wiser?? Echoed a tiny tid-bit of a mouse, not even worth eating.

?There are none less foolish!? A tasty looking female sang in reply.

The barn owl bobbed his head in agreement. Moments like this made him appreciate the tiny rodents for more than just their taste. Unfortunately, he had not had the pleasure of fresh mouse since he had lost his ability to fly. Now he lived off the charity, or rather gullibility of his former prey.

The trio finished their routine, and silence reigned for a moment.

?Only nine verses? I am disappointed in you, mice. I got more song out of a lone ferret last week.?

The fat baritone called out with a surprisingly shrill voice.

?Please forgive us. We will leave if you wish, and return with a longer song. I'm afraid the trout we caught for you may be spoiled before then though.

Clutus leaped from his perch on a fallen elm, slowing his decent with a pair of clipped wings. He landed heavily, sending the mice scurrying for cover.

?I find your plea a convincing one. Bring forth the offering, and you shall receive the answer to your question.?

The three mice crawled out from the bushes, and dragged a large trout with them. The offering pleased Clutus, but his flat features were motionless.

?Your gift is a pitiful example of fishdom, but it shall do.?

Without another word he ripped into the fresh trout. The mice stumbled over each other get away from the carnage. Clutus's razor sharp talons cut through the fish's skin, but his lethal beak did far more damage as it ripped out long strands of meat. The grisly feast continued until there was little left of the trout but its bones.

?If you enjoyed our gift, Great Clutus, then maybe I could get your advice??

Clutus turned his head to face the mice, half surprised they had stayed this long. The trio were sitting patiently, though they appeared more than a little disturbed from the spectacle they had just witnessed.

?Speak.? Clutus replied with a belch.

The chubby one explained his dilemma.

?Well you see, Mister Clutus, there's this pretty mousemaid I know...?

It was the same story Clutus had a hundred times before. Some young rip had fallen in love with some young miss. He wanted to make her his mate, but just couldn't find the right words. It was beautiful story. It made Clutus nearly sick enough to regurgitate his meal prematurely. He was the wisest creature in Mossflower, yet his wisdom was insulted by the insignificant questions of insignificant creatures. He had reached his limit.

?To gain her love,? he began with a sigh, ?you must woo her. Females like shiny objects, and it just so happens that I know where to find a very shiny object.?

The mouse's eyes widened.

?Not far from here, there is a cave which holds a great ruby. It is guarded by a giant adder...?

* * *

Clutus settled into his nest as the mice departed on their search. They would find the cave, and probably the adder too. However, it was doubtful that they would find the Great Jewel of Mossflower. That title belonged solely to himself.

[Opal]

Character's name: Tan Pha

Category: Female Rat

Application:

?Left paw to wrist, right paw to elbow. Pull with the left and push with the right ? you?ll drive them away. Watch carefully, if you please.?

Tan nodded once to her sparring partner, a heavily built female weasel by the name of Verita, who propelled a slow, deliberate punch at her face. The ratess stepped toward Verita, brought her left paw up and pushed the weasel?s fist aside with it, bringing her body round and placing her palm against the weasel?s elbow and pushing forward enough to make Verita lose her footing.

They demonstrated seven more times, with Verita attacking from a different direction each time.

?We?ll start with a slow punch. Partners please remember this until I say otherwise, and for now, please attack from the front only.? She clapped twice. ?To your feet, ladies.?

They stood, they paired off and they started to practice. Tan had made very sure, before inviting any of them to join her little group, that each and every one was motivated only by the desire for their own protection. Revenge had no place here and she had let everybeast know that.

That was why she had asked Raive to sit out this time around.

Tan Pha sat down beside the young marten girl, put an arm around her shoulder. ?How are you holding up??

She just stared. It was best likened perhaps to the stare of a very small child, who had not yet learned to look at anything in particular. The fur beneath her eyes was still damp and her voice cracked: ?Badly.?

Tan sat there, occasionally looking across at the girl?s face. After a little while, her presence paid off.

?I can?t stand to be in the same room as him anymore, Tan.? Raive had tears in her eyes. ?And when I think about it I get cold and I don?t care and I do care and I get angry??

Nobody looked. Tan had told them never to look when a beast was losing dignity. Most of the sparring pairs were improving their form and there were no bad habits in their body language just yet.

?Raive.? Tan took the marten?s shoulders and pulled her lightly around. She looked into the girl?s eyes ? or tried to, her gaze was wandering all over the place. ?Raive! I?m sorry that this has happened. You got hurt and that?s bad, but? but I need you to trust me.?

The marten stopped panicking, looked straight into Tan?s eyes with a stare that begged for release.

?You didn?t deserve that ? and neither did any of the others here deserve what happened to them. But it takes time, teaching you all. And when the time comes and we issue our demands, I don?t want a single female unable to defend herself. But for that to happen, I have to ask you to wait until everyone has learnt.?

Raive?s fear was dying away. That was good. She looked sidelong at the group, who were still drilling ? they had moved on to the other basic holds, locks and tumbles.

?For them?? Her eyes met Tan?s again, and this time they were kind. ?I can do it for them.?

A slow smile crept across Tan?s face as she realized the grace that the girl was showing. She leant forward and planted a kiss on Raive?s forehead. ?Good,? she said. ?That?s good. Hold on to that, and if it gets dark, just? remember it.?

Tan Pha stood with a smile, pulled Raive to her feet and shoved her gently toward the rest of the group.

[Opal]

Character's name: Alan Blacktip

Category: Male Mink

Application:

?Captain Blacktip, please open the door!?

Alan looked over at the door of the infirmary which was almost rattling on its hinges.

?If you?re not Ria, go away.?  He yelled.   Looking back toward the bed containing the one patient in the infirmary he winked. ?Special treat for you Konner.?  He said, pouring a glass of ale from a pitcher he?d smuggled upstairs.  ?From the master?s own stash.?  He set it at the sleeping beasts elbow.

?Captain, we have a situation in the barracks that needs attention!?

?Get the lieutenant, I?m busy.? He took a careless mouthful from the pitcher, the excess splashing across his tunic.

?I was told to get you directly!?

Alan took another swig.

?Sorry Radish, I only involve myself in situations that include pretty females.?

?Captain!?

The mink sighed, and going to the door, unlocked it and stuck his head out.  A thin gangly mouse gave him a hopeful look.

?Radish this better be important.?  Alan grumbled as he stepped outside and followed the mouse down the stairs.

Radish swallowed, his tail twitching on the rough stone floor.

?There?s been another death sir.?

Alan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  ?That?s a matter for Lord Tirian, not a lowly captain.  Goodbye.?

He turned to go back up the stairs, when the mouse caught the sleeve of his tunic and stopped him.

?It wasn?t the ghosts sir?  it? it was Kurt.?

Alan froze.  ?Again??

?One of Lady Kovari?s maids.?

Alan shivered in the winter air as they stepped outside.

?Captain!?

The mink looked up to see a pretty stoat in uniform running toward him, tears streaking her face.  He nodded.

?Private.?

She reached out and grabbed his arm.  ?It wasn?t his fault Alan, I swear, my brother didn?t do it!?

Alan smiled.  ?Of course he didn?t, Cass.  Don?t worry your gorgeous head about it, or the rest of your lovely self for that matter.?   He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away, her nose wrinkling.

?You?re drunk!?

?Captain Blacktip!?  Alan turned to see Yvo striding across the cold ground.  Behind him, his paws tied, pulled along by two soldiers, was a stoat.   Kurt.

Alan did not even attempt to hide his expression of disgust.  ?Overseer Yvo??

The wolf gestured, and the two soldiers brought Kurt around and forced him to his knees before Alan.

?He was caught this time.?  Yvo said.  ?I understand that you took responsibility for him after his last.. incident.?

?Hardly worth mentioning-?

? The sentence is death.?

With a gesture from Yvo, one of the guards holding Kurt down handed his crossbow to Alan.   It was loaded.

The mink looked down at Kurt?s sullen gaze, and rebellious face.  As Alan?s eyes met his, the stoat?s face changed.

?No, Captain? I -?

Alan pulled the trigger.

As Kurt?s body hit the ground, Yvo was already walking back to Kotir.

Alan handed the guard back his crossbow, and stepped away from the spreading pool of blood.  He didn?t flinch as Cass launched herself at him, pounding him with her fists.

With little ado, Alan caught her paws in his and held her still.  ?That?s enough.?

She spat in his face.

Alan slapped her. As she fell, he turned and started back toward the infirmary.  ?Someone put a bucket of water over her head until she calms down.?  He snapped at Radish.

From behind him, he heard her voice.  ?You will never be the officer your brother was!?

Alan?s gaze hardened as he saw Konnor?s still body, quietly sleeping away each passing season in the infirmary.  ?You?re right.?  He said.

[Opal]

Character's name: Murda Taevas

Category: Male Mink

Application:

The Quarry is vast. Great chunks of sandstone lie in disarray, worn paths tracing between them, from the cliff face down to the river and back again.

Murda Taevas has three brothers and one sister. His mother Jensie is too old to work and so they provide for her. His father Bern is strong and keeps his children in discipline, but he is never angry without cause. The family lives in the log cabin that once held the guard captain and the architect?s apprentice, and they work as masons for any woodlander that is willing to feed them.

It is dawn, and a hedgehog has come. Bern addresses the rest of the family over breakfast, which the hedgehog has provided.

?Today will not be devoted to digging,? he says. ?Rotchkin here has asked us to assist in the expansion of Brocken Tel?s sett. We will be laying down a stairwell, building three doorways and fitting doors to them. Moles will be carrying out tunneling and excavation work at the same time, so we can speak with the Foremole to find out how strong the foundations need to be for each of the fittings we?ll be placing.?

Murda raises his paw. ?By my understanding, Father, the work is beneath the forest itself. You?ll need hatchets, a small supply of wax for covering cut root ends, and a way to melt the wax.?

The hedgehog nods, and Murda smiles to himself. Father?s approval is important, he supposes.

Bern smiles. ?Good,? he says. ?Is there anything else we need to bear in mind while we work??

?Who?ll be staying to watch Mother?? Mai?s body language says that she doesn?t want to.

?This work won?t need physical strength,? Bern says, ?Rasch, if you?d stay behind today, and then we?ll see how much still needs to be done tomorrow??

Rasch nods, and Murda finds it hard to contain his smile. He hasn?t been allowed out on a job for a while. Father had always said that if he kept up his exercises he would get to work on the big jobs soon, so the smaller jobs were a welcome reprieve.

The family finishes their meal and each member thanks the hedgehog before going to fetch the day?s tools. Murda waits a little, until only he and his father are left.

?Thankyou,? he says. ?And, I?m sorry.? His voice almost gutters.

?Whatever for, son?? Bern tilts his head.

?I hadn?t been exercising so much recently. I?d? stopped believing you. I?m sorry ? I won?t ever do that again.? He can feel his lower lip trying to tremble. ?And? I promise to work harder now. I really do.?

Bern nods, and places a paw on his son?s shoulder. ?Only do as much as you need to. Mai told me about the stories-?

Murda is suddenly interested in the ceiling. He?s biting his lip, forcing the tears back. Father wasn?t supposed to know about that, Father was going to hate him?

?-and I think that it?s been far too long since our kind passed on legends.?

?what?

?Mai told me, you give the younglings hope. She said you stopped them from hurting when their parents were enslaved or forced to work all day to provide Kotir?s tithe. That is remarkable. I would not be fit to be a father if I tried to stop you.?

Murda chokes, and he starts to cry. He holds the tears back as hard as he can, but they come. And his father folds his arms around him and reassures him, and muffles the child?s sobs so that nobeast else can hear.