Judges' Picks

[Balmafula]

Name: Vanessa Fern
Species: River Otter
Gender: Female
Age: 20 seasons
Category: Yew Guards



?Here noo, who wants another go, laddies??

The loud voice issuing from a small tavern in the southern end of Yew was unmistakably that of a maid. Vanessa Fern raised a foaming beaker of ale high, leaning her chair back and putting both footpaws up on the table. The pretty ottermaid?s Yew Guard uniform was almost unrecognizably rumpled, her helmet was being used as a makeshift drinking beaker by a drunk vole, and a large hedgehog lay senseless on the opposite side of the table amidst the remains of what had obviously been a drinking contest.

Cheers and whoops rang out from all quarters as Nessa grinned in victory. When no other drinking partners appeared forthcoming, the ottermaid quaffed her tankard and sauntered to the barrel for a refill. As she walked back, someone called to her.

?Hoi, Nessie, showem that trick o? yourn?s with the tankard! ?

Winking at her audience, the ottermaid raised the full tankard and settled it on her head with graceful confidence. Under the admiring gazes of half the tavern, she walked to her table, her swaying hips keeping the vessel in perfect balance as she basked in the attention.

Unexpectedly, something hit her footpaw and the floor was suddenly rising up to meet her. Intoxicated though she was, Nessa retained much of her well-known agility. Rolling forward she turned her fall into a somersault and bounded up with ale dripping from her chestnut headfur. Fiercely, her green eyes roved the room until they settled on a smirking otter a head taller than she. The ottermaid marched up to him until they stood nose to nose.

?Ye tripped me.?

It wasn?t a question so much as a statement. The big male smirked wider, slurring as he turned back to his drink.

?Mebbe I did, mebbe I didn?t, me pretty.?

Nessa?s eyes flashed as shoved her face in his.

?Ah?m warnin ye bucko, stroke mah fur the wrong way jus? one more time an? Ah?ll...?

?An ye?ll do what, Nessie??

?That!?

Gleefully, the ottermaid punched him right in the nose with all her strength and pushed his chair over, slamming him into the mouse sitting next to him. It was the signal for an all-out brawl. Tankards bounced of heads, someone burnt his tail in the fireplace, and wild punches were traded over overturned chairs and spilt ale. Nessa was right in the middle of the action, smacking creatures left and right to get to her opponent, head-butting the vole who?d been drinking in her helmet under the table as she went.

Suddenly, a gust of bitter cold wind blew in as the door opened, letting in three tall figures in Yew Guard uniforms. The room immediately grew quiet. Creatures paused, acknowledging the authority of the town protectors. Gambling sets quickly disappeared along with loud discussion. Both uniformed squirrels and the otter officer wore stern faces and nodded curtly as they strode through the room. The fighters at the far end of the tavern melted away like snow under the sun at their approach, leaving only the ottermaid sprawled lazily on the floor. Nessa blinked and looked up through the rather nice black eye she had acquired, only to find herself staring straight into the grim face of her commander. Still flopped on the floor, she saluted and grinned cheekily.

?Evenin? Sarge!?

The two squirrels hauled the miscreant up firmly by her shoulders and started frog-marching her forcefully towards the door.

?Och, leggo ?a me, ye bottlebrushed, snaggletoothed, poker-faced clods! Ow, stoppit!?

Nessa gasped as her face was hit by a wave of freezing air and the door slammed behind her. The big otter stood over her and Nessa instinctively knew there was no way to get around it this time.

?You, Miss Fern, are without a doubt the worst guard I have ever had the misfortune of training. Fighting and drinking in a tavern, have ye no shame miss? You are undermining the reputation of all your comrades and the entire Yew Guard!  And this is not the only time you?ve behaved so irresponsibly. If only your father were still here, he?d have a thing or two to say about your behavior.?

Nessa?s eyes sparkled angrily as she yelled at the Sergeant.

?Mah faither?s dead, ye great omadorm, dead, ye hear, an? ye can?t say what he?d think aboot me!?

Wearily, the otter turned with a command to his subordinates.

?Take her to the lockhouse for the night.?

[Balmafula]

Character's name: Gashrock
Character's species: Rat
Character's gender: Female
Character's age: Equivalent of early thirties
Category: Vermin Performer



The purple robe spread over the seated rat as she ran her paws down the seams. It was of a rich, bright color, and it would hang splendidly over her should she slip it on.

It wouldn't do in the slightest.

Carefully setting it down, Gashrock paced the room to pick up her dagger. That felt light, but then, there was no need for extreme force. Instead, she returned to pick the robe back up, holding it at paw's distance as her left paw sliced. One slit, another, and soon the bottom of the robe was fraying.

Much better.

"Oy!" came a gruff knock from the door. "What're you at?"

"Costumin'," Gashrock called back without moving.

"Can I c'min?"

"Aye, watch your step," she said.

Whitepaw, a ferret, opened the door, pushing several scraps towards the wall as he did so. He looked around, then blinked. "What're you doin', cuttin' them nice clothes all up?"

"They looked funny," Gashrock explained. "Fancy gowns ain't right, for us travellin' folk. I have to do that ruddy old mouse again, she wouldn't've worn anything this nice. Gotta cut it up."

"Dewhurst won't want you wastin' scraps."

"Dewhurst can't tell the difference between a loony lament and a merry...minstrelly...wotsit." Gashrock trailed off. Oh, Dewhurst could memorize them all just fine! Brilliant vixen, no one better to work for. But no matter how hard the rat tried to cater to her audience, hopeful songs for squirming children or vulgar ditties for drunken revelers, sometimes it felt like Dewhurst was never going to care.

Whitepaw blinked again. "Melody?"

"Innit. 'Snot like she'll know the difference between a proper robe and an old travellin' cloak, neither."

"Yer workin' too hard, is all I'm sayin'. C'mon and have a drink."

"Oh, who's the one wastin' now? There's not enough grog for all of us."

"There is iffen you drink slow."

"You mean cookie's die-luted it. Shove off, I'm busy."

"It's just shows, innit? Everyone knows yer just pretendin' to be some kind of a, a mouse, or...what's it now, rabbit." Whitepaw attempted to mime a creature with larger ears than his own.

"Keep up, those are hares."

"Oh, go and boil yer head."

"Ooh," Gashrock grinned. "May I? Only the way it's goin' with grog being so dear, I'm sure cookie would just love summat new to try! Fresh rat head for all! D'you think I'll be big enough to pass around?" Probably not, even if for some dismal reason the troupe had all of her to gnaw on. Short for her seasons, Gashrock could fit into plenty of robes, hemming them to fit her rather than having to shrink back into anything too small.

"Never mind," Whitepaw groaned. "Good luck with all yer...work."

"Oy," said Gashrock, stepping forward. Instantly, her left paw reached towards the sleeves of the gown--by then cut apart slightly--to retrieve the dagger, which had been stowed in an impromptu pocket fashioned from the other scraps. "This here has some...prack-tick-al advantages."

Whitepaw backed out of the room. Once he was out of sight, Gashrock followed after to sort the fabric lying on the ground. Yes, there was still work to be done.

[Balmafula]

Name: Goragula
Species: Toad
Gender: Male
Age: 60+
Category: Merchant



Arenn had tried to run.

The fool?s bloodied body smacked to the floor with the thick slap of meat on stone. Anybeast who ran from Goragula never made it far. The rat guards had found this one before he?d even made it past Yew, and hauled him, wailing, to Goragula?s own chamber. The squirrel?s face was a swollen mess of purple bruises and his breath wheezed from him in ragged whistles. He was a far cry from the smart young merchant who had borrowed a bagful of gold the month before.

?You stink of fear.?

Goragula?s voice was quivering with danger. Trembling, Arenn forced his eyes to meet those of the toad, who sat before him at a table spread with two goblets, a bottle, and a knife. In the darkness, all that could be seen of the enormous creature was the amber glint of his eyes and the wide, unflinching curve of his mouth. Fingers of panic began to quicken in Arenn?s chest.

The lidless stare lingered on him a second longer. ?Good. I like a beast who knows when to be afraid.? Uncorking the bottle, Goragula poured out a slick flow of wine into each cup and pushed one towards Arenn.

?However,? the toad said, ?I am hospitable to my business partners. Drink.?

Knowing better than to object, Arenn crawled to his feet and took the goblet. The wine was exquisite, but turned to vinegar in his mouth as he felt the two rat guards shuffle behind him. They were waiting.

?We are business partners, aren?t we, Arenn? I was under the impression we had a deal.?

Arenn heard his own hapless voice trickling from him. ?Goragula, please, I meant to have the money by today ??

?The fool does not exist who would mean not to pay me. Yet, here you are. Where is my money??

There was nothing Arenn could say. Nearly every merchant in North Mossflower had borrowed from Goragula; there seemed to be no amount he could not provide, though nobeast knew how he had amassed his seemingly infinite treasury. Some said he?d been a merchant once, until he?d discovered the secret that nothing breeds gold like gold itself, and forced his fellow traders into the stranglehold of debt. Now, he guarded his business like a dragon to its hoard. Arenn had never met anybeast who had failed to pay him.

?One week,? the squirrel croaked. ?That?s all I ask.?

Goragula twitched, but his face remained expressionless. ?Obviously you didn?t hear me. I asked you where my money is.?

?I?ve had a poor harvest,? Arenn eventually said. ?Please understand. Without crops, I have nothing to sell. My stall is failing, and I needed your money to feed my family. Please. My wife is with child, and growing weak. She will die if I do not get healers, and once I have paid them, there is nothing left. My own children are starving! I?ll get your money ? I?ll pay any rate you want ? just one more week. Just one.?

The toad took a long sip of wine as he considered this. ?I see. You have spent my gold on tending to your spawning wife.? There was a brief silence before Goragula?s mottled throat began to pulsate with a guttural laughter as coarse as sea-hewn rocks.

He seized his knife. Before Arenn had a chance to react, the toad slammed the blade into his paw. He screamed and jerked back, but Goragula forced the knife deeper, grinding it into the table. The toad brought his face so close to the squirrel?s that Arenn could feel the creature?s breath on his cheek.

?Do I look like a charity to you??

Arenn let out an agonising moan, his paw twitching around the knife. Licking away the blood that had spurted onto his face, Goragula resumed his placid demeanour as quickly as he had broken it. ?You have one week, because I am merciful. But this is a promise: fail me again, and I will rip your children limb from limb.?

He tore the blade from Arenn?s paw and the squirrel immediately fell backwards, sobbing desperately. Ignoring the squirrel?s cries, the toad turned to his two rat guards. It was time the traders of Yew learnt what it meant to cheat Goragula.

?Find the pregnant wench, and slit her throat. That should make it easier for him to pay.?