Yew Guard Applications

[Balmafula]

Character's name: Grainger
Character's species: Squirrel
Character's gender: Male
Character's age: 34



The barracks door swung open with a blinding flash of lightning. The mouse Shaffers dropped his dice mid-shake, and all the guard present leapt to their footpaws. Grainger stumbled to the corner and eased the bloodied, unmoving form of Mock onto an unoccupied cot and snapped his head around.

?All right!? the squirrel barked. ?You?ve done your looking?? The thunder rumbled its tardy reply to the lightning. ?Now help out the rest in the cart.?

?You heard the Sarge,? the otter Race called out. ?Biceps and pawsteps!? The remaining Yew guard emptied onto the street as Race approached Grainger and inspected a gash on his shoulder. ?What happened??

?Vagrant attack,? Grainger said, wiping bloody soot from Mock?s nose and mouth. The younger squirrel?s breaths came in sharp wheezes. Grainger pointed to a water basin on one of the tables; Race obliged and poured him a cup. ?Sentries missed them?came out from the underbrush.?

?How many??

?I didn?t ask them!? Grainger grit his teeth and shook his head, then slowly poured the water into Mock?s mouth. ?Ten? Twelve, maybe. Their archers were sloppy.?

?Looks like one caught you, though,? Race said. ?Need a bandage, sir??

Grainger grunted. ?I?ll live.?

Another flash lit the room, followed by a louder crash.

Grainger stood up and rubbed at his filthy neck. ?They weren?t organized,? he said. ?We killed seven, and wounded at least three?? Grainger clenched a paw. ??and I could?ve chased them, Race. I had ?em!?

?Grainge, we can?t stop all of the attacks on the convoys, and you know that,? Race chided. ?You did what you could: you kept your troops alive. Leave the rest to Flax.?

Grainger grunted again. ?Flax??

?Hell?s Teeth, Top!? The vole Palmetto burst into the barracks carrying the shoulders of the mouse Causey, while the mouse Watts carried his legs. ?What?d they do, use their fangs??

?Not much room on that ridge?it was close quarters,? Grainger admitted, finishing what was left of Mock?s cup. ?We bled ?em f?sure.?

?T?Top saved us,? Causey said with a moan, shaking his head to and fro.

?Stuffin? nonsense!? Grainger shot back.

?Palm, what?s the count?? Race asked.

The vole scratched at the back of his ear as he gave his report. ?Patrol party reported six wounded and one dead?that was Bratcher, sah.?

?Noted, Corporal,? Grainger said, nodding to Palmetto. ?Now help the injured over to the healer?s, and stow the wagon.?

?Aye!? Palmetto saluted, ducking back out of the barracks. The thunder came almost at the same time as the lightning.

?Storm?s here,? Grainger said. He walked over to the basin and began washing the blood away from his paws and arms. ?Boys?ll be restless.?

As if on cue, the barracks door swung open again, and the tall otter Ayers strolled in, followed closely by Shaffers, Palmetto and Watts.

??No, you can?t!? Shaffers protested. He quickly stood at attention with Palmetto and Watts in front of Grainger and Race, while Ayers leaned casually on his spear.

Grainger raised an eyebrow and shook his bloodstained paws over the basin. ?Speak up,? he said finally, reaching for a cloth scrap.

?Ayers is being heartless and won?t let?? Watts started.

?Stow it, Watts!? Ayers interrupted. The otter gave a sly smile to Grainger. ?My watch is done, and Mock?s on deck.?

?Mock can?t make the watch tonight,? Grainger said, drying his paws. ?You?ll take double watch tonight and be off tomorrow.?

?He can?t, or won?t?? Ayers said with a sniff. ?Lazy tail.?

?Son of a whore?? Race growled. ?Is there a problem with your hearing, mister??

Grainger quieted Race with a soft hiss while still looking Ayers in the eye. ?I said he can?t. Now take your spear and go out??

Ayers dropped the spear and spat on the ground. ?I?m done tonight. I?ll be in the tavern, if you have anything else to say.? He glowered at Grainger and Race, then stormed out into the darkness.

?I?ll break his back!? Race cried, slamming his paw on a table.

?Let me, Sarge!? Watts said, stepping forward. ?He?s had it coming.?

?Leave ?im be.? Grainger leaned over and picked up the spear. ?Palm, send a healer over for Mock, and make sure he gets some hot food?if he can keep it down.?

?Aye?? Palmetto said, confused.

Grainger stepped towards the door.

?Top!?

Grainger turned. Watts, Shaffers and Palmetto held out a rain cloak to him.

?Keep out of trouble, boys,? Grainger said as he slipped on the cloak and departed.

[Balmafula]

Name: Istvan
Species: Otter
Gender: Male
Age: 32



Istvan considered winter the best time of year to die.

Spring, now, spring was another matter entirely. Spring was the time when the All-Mother gave the gift of life most freely, and to die during such a time was tantamount to throwing it back in her face. But winter was when the Mother claimed her due, and to return to her as part of the earth?s yearly payment was a truly noble sacrifice.

That was why he volunteered to join the caravan?s escort. Everyone else said that he was signing his death warrant, but it was more like paying back a loan.

?Corporal!? yelled the sergeant from up on his cart. ?Go and see what?s holding up th? merchants in front. We ain?t got time to stop every time one of ?em spills their drink.?

The otter saluted and strolled off towards the front of the currently stalled column, carefully avoiding the steep drop to either side of the path. Unsurprisingly, two of the merchants had decided to stop their carts in order to have a good squabble. Istvan sighed, his breath turning to  white mist in the chilly air.

?Problem, sirs??

?You could say that!? trilled the fatter and better-dressed of the two, a vole. ?I caught this sneak rifling through my money box.?

?I was doin? no such thing! Th? box just ?appened to fall out of ?is cart, an? I was puttin? it back fer ?im.? the accused, a fox, replied indignantly.

Istvan sighed again, his tattooed face momentarily disappearing in to a cloud.

?Tell me, good sirs,? he asked. ?Do you fear death??

They stared back at him blankly. That was a start; at least they weren?t complaining.

?You shouldn?t. After all, you are only returning to the great Mother of us all. And your life essence will be born again, according to your actions in this life. So, with that in mind...?

In one swift motion he grabbed the fox around his neck and lifted him over the precipice. Istvan could see his impassive face, complete with its myriad of black-inked fire, reflected in the beast?s terrified eyes.

?Do you think that you will be happy with how you are judged??

?I?msorryI?msorryIwon?tdoitagainjustputmedownyoudamnmaniac?

Istvan lowered the blubbering would-be thief back on to solid ground, where he lay in the mud gasping. Then he treated the shocked vole to a bow.

?I don?t think he?ll be troubling you again, sir. Now if you?ll excuse me, he has to pay for his offense.?

?W-what are you going to do to him??

?For every offense, there must be an equal payment. As he sought to deprive you of the gold earned through your honest labor, he has proven that he is not worthy of the gifts he has already been given.? The otter drew a curved knife with an elaborately carved handle.

The vole waved his paws, ?Woah, woah. I don?t want any trouble here. If you?re going to kill him I don?t want it to be on my head.?

?No, no, nothing so serious,? Istvan reassured him. ?The Mother requires reparation, certainly, but it is proportional to his crime.?

He grabbed the prone vulpine?s arm and examined it critically, barely noticing the beast?s weak struggling. Underfed, scarred, and certainly not taken care of. It would make a poor sacrifice, but even the maltreated blood of any four legged creature was preferable to the fish and occasional birds he had been reduced to.

?All Mother, giver of the unequalable gift of life, today one has disrupted the natural order of your creation in his attempt to achieve by cowardice what should be earned by strength. He has proven himself unworthy of the true strength which you alone supply by your lifeblood, and your loyal priest now returns this gift to you so that it may be given to one more worthy.?

The knife fell, and bright red blood sprayed across the ground. It quickly disappeared in to the churned mud of the cartpath, but for a moment it was the purest, most beautiful thing Istvan had ever seen.

?Have someone bandage him up so that he can get his cart moving again,? he said, turning around and walking back towards the guards? cart. The otter could feel the two merchants? terrified stares on his back, but their opinion was no concern of his. Istvan served a higher purpose than public relations.

After him, there was no one else.

[Balmafula]

Character's name: Ben Slider
Character's species: Otter
Character's gender: Male
Character's age: 27



Ben stared out of the infirmary window at the road leading from the harbor to home. It had been eight long months that he had been away from his wife and family, and now that he was mere hours from seeing them again, he knew that it would now be impossible.  A fit of gut-wrenching coughing caused him to double-over and gasp for breath, his yellowed and blood-shot eyes squinting with pain. He would never see Naida and the pups again.

?Epidemic icterus? the doctor had concluded, keeping his distance from the otter. ?A contagious liver disease. Some beasts die and some recover, but it stays with them all their lives.? There was no good explanation why. The sickness was still largely mysterious to healers, but they knew enough to tell him he was infected, and that meant if he went home, he would infect his wife and pups as well. They had waited so long, and he had missed them so much, but he would have to distance himself now, for their sake.
?It?s in your blood, your syliva, your urine?even your tears. Don?t share drinks with anybeast. Don?t spit or bleed into anyone?s drinking water. Don?t kiss anyone you wish to live a long, healthy life,? the doc advised.  Ben placed his face in his paws. He could never touch his wife again. He would have to remain alone the rest of his life, and abandon his family ? much as he loved them. Oh he knew Naida would not care if he carried this disease home to her. She would gladly throw her life away to be with him.

But Ben could not allow that to happen.

After the doctor left he took up a quill and parchment to write his last letter to his beloved wife. As much as he longed to convey his love and the impossible circumstances that were forcing him away, he knew the only way Naida would let him go would be if he ended their relationship himself, or was dead. He had no idea how long it might take for him to die though. She was young and full of life. She deserved a chance to move on.  So he wrote the words of a cold-hearted ####. ?I?ve found another,? he lied, ?I?ve fallen out of love with you.? It would hurt her deeply, he knew, and it might take her years to recover. It would be enough proof for her to have their marriage dissolved, however. Then she could marry again in good conscience before age stole her beauty. He hated to cause her this pain, but he would rather she hate him than love him now. Yet he would always love her.

Another fit seized him and at the end, yellow mucous dripped from his nose. He wiped it away with his kerchief, stained yellow with bile and flecked with brown spots where he?d first sighted blood and knew something was terribly wrong. No one else in his crew had contracted the disease. It hardly seemed fair either, as he?d kept clean while they visited brothels, gambling halls and opium dens up and down the coast. Why him? What had he done to deserve such a fate?

He rinsed his paws in the washing basin and dried them thoroughly before finishing the letter. He would send his eight-month?s worth of earnings with the letter. Perhaps it would soften the blow ? help them to survive until Naida could find another means of support. As for himself, there was nothing left for him. Even if he did survive, it wouldn?t be much of a life. He decided he would take the dangerous jobs that no one else wanted. If he lived, he would send the money anonymously to his family, and if he died, well, at least it wouldn?t be in a retching puddle in some infirmary.

With the letter of recommendation he?d received from the captain, he could go anywhere now. Perhaps north, far from the coast and all the familiar roads, he could live out the rest of his days, utilizing his wretched body for whatever it was worth, far from those tell-tale reminders of the life he left behind.

[Balmafula]

Name: Maxine Honeydouble
Species: Badger
Gender: Female
Age: Thirty-three



Maxine woke to a pair of Yew Guards at her door and the afternoon sun shining through the windows. The senior guard, a hedgehog streaked with gray, turned with a grin to the small otter at his side, cutting a thumb at the badger as she pulled on her uniform.

?Quartermaster Honeydouble keeps her own time,? said the hedgehog. ?Perhaps if she lived in the village proper she?d wake with the sun like a normal beast.?

?Are you hungry?? said Maxine.

?Tea would-?

?Are you wearing clothes? Are your weapons sharp??

On her paws Maxine?s head brushed the ceiling, and the belt about her waist cracked with age and strain against her heft. Both guards made way as she pushed out the front door.

?You want for nothing, Ricard,? said Maxine. ?I?ll hear none of your jibbering about my habits.?

The quartermaster?s cabin stood a great distance from Yew proper, and on her lawn rested a large cart carrying a stack of quarter staves, a box of spear heads, and a pile of Yew Guard banners. Maxine tested the weight of a staff in her paw.

?Ahhh, the double-sweet lass I remember,? said Ricard. ?Well, while I want nothing the posts are in need. We?re to assemble and ship these before the day is out.?

?Just so,? said Maxine. ?The sooner we?re through the sooner I can be rid of your spiny hide.?

The hedgehog guard placed a paw over his heart and gasped in mock offense.

?Must you start on so raw a paw with your new squadmate??

The black and white stripe of Maxine?s brow crumpled into a gray chaos.

?Steady, sweetums,? said Ricard. ?I agree. You look a tad too?comfortable for active service, but we need the seasoned at our front. Carrigul stirs.?

The staff in Maxine?s paw cracked in half, but still the hedgehog stood calm and smirking. He gestured towards the otter guard.

?Recruit Fellows will keep your cabin tidy while you?re gone.?

She looked from Ricard to Fellows and back again. Then she turned back towards her cabin, snorting over her shoulder as she went.

?I've done my share of fighting. Go jest of Carrigul elsewhere.?

The door slammed harder than she would've liked, but a check of the shelves showed everything remained in place. Her rack of ledger scrolls and mead bottles were rattled but unbroken. The many jars of salve, tea, spice, jam, ink and onward retained their caps and labels. And an armor stand in the corner holding an enormous jerkin of woven scales, a scalloped kite shield too scoured for an insignia, and a polished war pick kept upright.

Maxine plopped down by the corner fireplace and set her kettle for a boil. She kept her back to the front door as it creaked open minutes later.

?Peddle your lies elsewhere, fool,? said Maxine.

?Ricard left for the Northern posts, ma?am. I?m-?

?I?m not old enough for ma?am.?

Fellows saluted and made busy with bringing the spearheads and staves inside. Maxine grabbed the young otter by the coat and sat him down like a ragdoll by the fire, an attempt at a friendly smile on her face.

?At ease,? said Maxine. ?I?ll reserve my ire for that prickly dolt.?

An unsure laugh bubbled from the young otter. Maxine reached for the tea kettle and tried again.

?How long have you served? I've not seen many guards so young.?

The otter chanced a look up at Maxine.

?J-just a week, ma-miss,? said Fellows. ?I started right on me twelfth.?

Maxine?s smile vanished, and the tea kettle she?d been fishing out dropped full on into the fire, sending a spray of sparks. Maxine roared, sending a quiver through her chins.

?You?re twelve!? Is he mad as well as stupid? You would not last a day in the wilds!?

Fellows turned red and puffed out his chest.

?Ricard believes in me! He said if you won?t c-come I?ll get a spot on the forward patrols.?

She did not speak or move her gaze from the kettle in the fire. Instead she raised a paw and pointed towards the armor rack in the corner.

The armor didn't fit as Maxine remembered, and Quartermaster Fellows had to dig out a few extra belts to keep the coat tight. But the pick?s ironwood grip carried all the right grooves and all twenty-seven notches were accounted for. Strapping the shield on her back over a light pack she left Fellows and her cabin home for the North.

[Balmafula]

Character's name: Captain Noonahootin
Character's species: Owl
Character's gender: Male
Character's age: Mature (60s in human years)



Captain Noonahootin was not one to tolerate tardiness. The grey owl had long since learned to condition himself to waking early in the day, and if an owl could consistently and without complaint reverse his nocturnal sleep schedule, than the company Noonahootin waited for could damn well do it too. Were robins not renown birds of the early morning?

Within moments, an brown blur swept by and the wee orange-breasted bird in question fancifully perched herself upon the branch at a respectable distance from the owl, throwing her wings back and leaning forward in the customary bow that birds used to greet each other. With eager eyes, the robin looked up and then immediately shrank back at the stern glare the captain was giving her.

?A scout of Yew is never late, Corporal Wingchut!?

The robin gaped for a moment before squinting at her superior officer. ?Your head's on backwards, Cap'n!?

The owl shuffled his body to align with his flexible neck, then pointed a curved, sharp talon at the smaller bird. ?YO-HOOO ARE LATE, CORPORAL WINGCHUT!?

?Sir! Yes sir, sorry sir!? Corporal Wingchut slapped a wing across her brow, saluting to the large bird of prey scowling at her. ?The winds weren't in my favour this morning, Cap'n!?

?Fight through it, ol' gal! Ah, well, it is what it is!? Noonahootin cooed, his voice much softer now that the robin was attending to due proprieties. ?You remember your training from yesterday, I assume. We have precious time to make up, now. Let's get to it.?

With that, the grey owl spread his wide wings, engulfing the small robin with his shadow, and silently took off from the branch with a powerful stroke of his feathery appendages. In the air, the owl closed his eyes in bliss, happy in his natural environment of gravity-defying flight. Effortlessly, he glided through the branches of the trees that whipped by him in blurs of green and brown, swooping around and past the obstacles as though they weren't even there. A few flaps and he was above the great canopy of the forest, the ground a far-away place and Yew a spec in the distance behind him and a long forgotten thought. Below, his student Wingchut was furiously flapping her wings as she fought to keep out of the captain's sights. She, too, dodged and weaved her way skillfully through the forest, yet never once did she ascend to the heights Noonahootin looked down from. Instead, she skirted along the bark of the trees, her tail feathers occasionally skimming the leaves. Feeling he had given her enough time, Captain Noonahootin screeched his long, doleful call.

Now the game could truly begin.

Wingchut went swooping, up, down, and around each tree, her flight pattern seemingly chaotic. She'd double back, or be lost entirely in the foliage adorning the woods. Looking down and searching with his wide eyes, Captain Noonahootin caught sight of the fluttering robin when the sun hit her wings and he identified her pin feathers against the leaves. The owl trailed the robin for a moment longer. Then, he swooped down in silence, aligning himself to be just ahead of her. He dove through the canopy top, his talons extended to catch the robin as she passed beneath his claws. He missed however, for with a curse, the robin looked up and spotted her pursuer. Quickly, she swerved, and the owl felt a mix of disappointment and satisfaction.

Noonahootin screeched at her, reprimanding her lack of attention. A lucky happenstance had saved the robin, but it would not happen again. The owl repositioned himself above the tree tops, predatory eyes searching for the smaller bird. However, after long minutes of searching, he could not locate her, and braked hard, swerving his head to and fro and eventually all the way around, slowly descending.

The bash was harder than it was supposed to be. He knew that from the look of shock on Wingchut's face when she knocked him cleanly out of the air. Still, Noonahootin was not hesitant to cast her a look of approval, his eyes heavily hooded as he let himself fall. When he spread his wings again and swooped to avoid hitting the ground, Wingchut was waiting for him, fretting with all the worry of a mother.

?Not to worry, Corporal,? Noonahootin started before the robin could. ?We all have moments when we learn to be clever.?